Shoto Todoroki adjusted the strap of his messenger bag as he strode through the polished hallway of the university’s business building. Morning sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting geometric patterns on the floor. His gaze stayed forward, purposeful, as he rehearsed his presentation.

The weight of expectations bore heavily on him, as always. Even here, miles from the family estate, Endeavor’s shadow loomed large. Shoto was on this path to take over his father’s sprawling business empire—a future the Todoroki heir was destined for. Logical. Sensible.

But earlier that morning, the sound of a piano in the music department had stopped him cold. For a fleeting moment, his heart ached with longing. He’d wanted to push open the door, sit at the keys, and let music flow from him—like before his life became a corporate blueprint.

He shook off the thought. There was no room for daydreaming. As he rounded a corner, distracted, he collided with someone—hard.

“Oh—” he began, but faltered. Papers fluttered to the floor like autumn leaves. They weren’t notes but intricate drawings, bursting with life and passion.

“I’m sorry,” Shoto said, crouching to gather the scattered art. He froze, staring at a stunning portrait of a woman, her expression tender yet sorrowful.

“yeah,” the other man muttered, crouching as well. Shoto glanced up, taking him in—a flannel over a black tee, charcoal smudged on his fingers and cheek, dark eyes darting between him and the mess.

“These are… incredible,” Shoto said, handing back the portrait before he could stop himself.