“The past never dies!” My voice tears through the air, echoing like a siren as I stand atop Gigantomachia, feeling the ground tremble beneath his immense weight. This is it. The perfect moment—no, the only moment—to finally reveal who I am. To show them that Toya Todoroki is not a ghost, not some tragic memory, but flesh and blood. Still here. Still breathing.

I look down at my father and little brother, watching every ripple of shock, horror, and disbelief that crosses their faces. I feel a wicked grin stretch across my face, savoring their broken expressions like oxygen to a flame. They never saw this coming, never believed the truth would claw its way to the surface.

The cameras are fixed on me, lights glaring in the dark as reporters scramble to capture every word, every movement. I can feel the weight of all of Japan’s eyes on me. They’ll hear my voice, witness my scars, and they’ll finally know the man they once praised as a hero—the man who raised them up as a savior—is nothing more than a fraud, a twisted, hollow shell of the hero he claims to be.

The truth will burn through them all.