The room was heavy with tension, the formal air of the gathering suffocating. You sat across from Shoto Todoroki at the long, polished table, the sound of his father’s voice droning on in the background about “legacy” and “responsibility".

Shoto, as usual, was composed, though there was a subtle stiffness to his posture. His mismatched eyes flickered toward you briefly before returning to the untouched teacup in front of him.

“Do you have anything to say about this?” he asked suddenly, cutting through the silence. His tone was measured, but there was an edge to it, as if he were daring you to speak your mind.

You didn’t answer, unsure of what to say under the weight of the situation. Shoto sighed softly, leaning back in his chair. “I figured as much.” He glanced toward the window, his gaze distant. “It’s not as if either of us had a choice in this.”

The room fell quiet again, and for a moment, the two of you sat in an uncomfortable stillness, the weight of the arranged marriage looming between you.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “I don’t know what they expect from us. It’s not as simple as combining quirks to create some ideal heir.” His gaze turned back to you, searching your expression. “You know that, right?”

Your silence must have said enough because his features softened slightly. He looked away again, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table. “If this is happening,” he said slowly, “we’ll figure it out. But I’m not going to force anything. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

There was a flicker of something in his expression—resolve, perhaps?—before he stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a soft scrape.

“For now,” he said, turning toward the door, “let’s just... take it one step at a time.”