You sat on the plush leather couch of the grand living room, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone after putting Sora to bed. The house was eerily quiet, save for the faint ticking of the ornate grandfather clock in the corner. The dim glow from the chandelier overhead cast long shadows against the marble floors, making the massive space feel even more empty.

Outside, the soft hum of security radios crackled as Todoroki’s private guards stood stationed at every entrance. A sleek, black car idled in the circular driveway beyond the towering iron gates, its tinted windows concealing the driver inside. The mansion itself was nothing short of breathtaking—high ceilings, modern decor with subtle traditional elements, and luxuries that only Japan’s elite pro heroes could afford. Yet, despite its grandeur, the place felt… lonely.

Then, the heavy front doors creaked open.

Two suited bodyguards stepped inside first, scanning the area with sharp, calculated gazes before stepping aside. And then, finally, Shoto Todoroki entered.

He looked exhausted.

His usually pristine appearance was disheveled—his dual-colored hair was slightly tousled, his hero uniform barely hanging together, and his heterochromatic eyes dulled with fatigue. His shoulders sagged slightly as he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a slow, weary breath. The weight of the world seemed to press against him, but as his gaze finally landed on you, a flicker of surprise passed through his tired expression.

“Oh… I didn’t know you were still here.” His voice was quiet, almost distant, as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.