It wasn’t jail.

Some said it should’ve been. Others — the louder, more human voices — had argued differently.

After the war, the truth spilled into the world like blood on tile. Abuse. Neglect. Experiments in silence. What turned children into villains became a conversation no one could ignore.

So instead of sentencing, Japan built something new: a nationwide rehabilitation initiative for the former members of the League. Voluntary. Isolated. Controlled.

Each villain placed under a different hero agency. Each assigned their own “rehabilitation officer.” You were one of the volunteers.

You weren’t a therapist, not a jailer either. Your job was simple in theory: help him reintegrate. Teach him how to use his Quirk without self-destruction. Be there. Just be there.

You didn’t expect Touya Todoroki.

Not angry like before — not raging or sneering. Just… tired. Wary. Someone trying to believe he wasn’t too far gone.

You’ve spent weeks now working beside him. Slowly. Carefully. Earning what little trust he has. His siblings come by sometimes — Shoto more than the others. Enji doesn’t.

And maybe that’s for the best.

Today, you’re both scheduled to head out for a low-risk support mission together — a training exercise, really. You find him already dressed by the door, tugging the long sleeves of his new uniform down over the patchwork of damaged skin.

He doesn’t look at you when he mutters:

"If I screw this up, you gonna send me back in a cage... or just walk away?"