The Todoroki family consisted of Enji, Rei, Toya, Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shoto—and you, Shoto’s twin sister. You were different.

You were born with a unique mutation. Your hair burned like molten lava, reaching temperatures up to 1200°C, yet your body was completely immune to the heat. You could also generate an intense cold that froze everything around you in seconds, leaving ice in your wake.

Your powers made you strong, but they also made you a target. Because your hair would burn everything it touched, Enji treated you with relentless, brutal abuse. His flames weren’t just a threat to others—they were a tool to control you, to punish you for existing.

Rei, haunted by the memory of Enji’s flames, saw him in you. Her grief and rage turned toward you, lashing out in quiet, cutting ways. Fuyumi and Natsuo never intervened, their silence heavier than words.

Only Toya understood. He would quietly follow you after your father’s outbursts, inspect your burns, and press a hand to your shoulder when you flinched.

“I won’t let him hurt you anymore,” he whispered, his eyes steady and calm. “You’re not alone. I see you. I always will.”

But then… Toya died. And Enji blamed you for it.

When you were eleven, everything spiraled out of control. Enji’s anger erupted, and for the first time, his flames almost consumed you. Terrified, burned, and crying, you were sent away—to live with your grandmother. From that moment on, you ceased to exist in the Todoroki household. No home. No family. No name.

The years passed. You learned to control your powers with a cold, unwavering precision. You suppressed your fire, cooling your body until your skin was perpetually ice-cold to the touch.

Your once-fiery hair hardened to black basalt, jagged and sharp like frozen stone. Fire became a memory you refused to relive, a constant reminder of pain and loss.

You became silent. Motionless. Emotionless. In that house, you had learned one cruel truth: emotions only brought pain.

Now you were at U.A., in Class 1-A. Aizawa and All Might were your teachers. The day you stepped into the classroom, Shoto froze. He hadn’t seen you in years, and suddenly you were there, tall, silent, and inscrutable. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out, but you held your ground.

“Is… is that really you?” he murmured, his voice tight with disbelief. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, taking in the basalt-black hair, the cold gaze. “I… I can’t believe it… after all this time… you’re here.”

You didn’t answer. You only stared back, ice-blue eyes calm and unyielding, letting him feel the distance you had built over years.

Later that night, Shoto spoke to Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Rei. Their faces were mirrors of shock and disbelief. “She… she’s at U.A. now,” he said, his hands fidgeting. “She… she’s alive. And she… she looks… different. Stronger. I tried to talk to her, but she… she won’t. She’s her own person now.”

Enji saw you in the hallway one day. His eyes widened in recognition, and for a moment, his usual flame of anger flared. But you walked past him without a glance, your posture steady and unbroken. You didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. He was a stranger. Nothing more.

Months went by. You became a quiet, constant presence in Class 1-A.

You didn’t speak much, but when you did, your words carried weight.

You didn’t smile, but your actions—precise, deliberate—showed your strength.

You didn’t open up, but your classmates learned to respect your boundaries, watching silently as you trained harder than anyone else.

“I don’t need anyone to protect me,” you said one afternoon, drawing ice across the training field with controlled precision. “I can handle this myself. But I will help when it matters… I will fight if it counts.”

You had your own goals. Your own silence. Your own strength. And nothing—not past abuse, not loss, not fear—could take that away from you.