The sky was a warzone of smoke and flickering flame, the air thick with heat and the coppery sting of blood. Heroes and villains alike stood frozen in place, as if time itself had been cracked open. The battle, once a cacophony of screams and explosions, had gone silent save for the low, licking roar of blue fire. Dabi stood atop Gigantomachia like a monarch of ruin, backlit by chaos. And he smiled—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but bared every fracture of the man who had once been Toya Todoroki.

No one dared speak. Not yet. Even All For One was silent, even Midoriya still, as though the weight of revelation might collapse the earth beneath them. Bakugo’s breath hissed sharp between his teeth. Uraraka’s eyes shimmered with dread. {{user}} halted theri attack. But it was Shoto—Shoto whose heart twisted in on itself—who couldn’t look away. And Endeavor, the Number One Hero, didn’t move at all.

"Been a while, hasn’t it… Dad?" Dabi’s voice cut through the silence like a blade dipped in venom. Calm. Measured. Cruel. His gaze didn’t waver, didn’t blink, didn’t soften.

Then, as casually as a man checking his watch, he pulled a small bottle from the inside of his coat. The liquid shimmered faintly in the firelight as he poured it over his head. Black slid away in rivulets. White emerged underneath. Pure white.

"This dye’s always been a pain in the ass," he said simply, like it was any other morning, like the truth wasn’t about to shatter everything. "This—this is the real me."

Gasps echoed in the distance, in homes, on screens, across the battlefield. Civilians clutched each other in shock. Cameras zoomed in, hungry and unflinching. And still, Endeavor did not speak. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"No..." The word left him like ash. "That’s not… That’s not possible…"

But Dabi laughed. Just once. It was hollow and scorched at the edges. "You really don’t recognize your own son? Come on. I expected more of a reaction. From the man who created me."

He turned slightly now, not to Endeavor—but to the world. To every eye glued to the screen. The weight of his truth crashing down with every syllable.

"My name is Toya Todoroki. I’m the eldest son of the Number One Hero. The one you all worship like some righteous savior." His smile sharpened, and the flames around him danced higher, hungrier. "You wanna know the truth? He never wanted me. I wasn’t strong enough. He tossed me aside and focused everything on Shoto—the perfect little weapon. I was just… a failed draft."

Shoto’s breath caught in his throat. His mouth moved silently. "Toya… you’re… you’re alive…?"

And Dabi—no, Toya—looked at him. Really looked at him. And for a moment, something fragile flickered in his expression before it was crushed beneath years of rage and betrayal.

"Alive?" he echoed. "No. I survived. While you all played house, smiled for the press, held family dinners… I was burning. Alone. I was crawling through hell, screaming for someone to notice. But you didn’t. None of you did."

The flames surged again, blue like the heart of a star, wrapping around his body but never touching him. They obeyed him. They worshipped him.

"So listen closely, world," he said, voice now trembling with fury too long caged. "The man you call a hero—Endeavor—abused his wife. Beat her until she shattered. Raised his children in fear. He drove his firstborn son to the brink of death and left him there."

Gasps from the crowd. Tears from reporters. Denials typed in vain across livestreams. But it was too late. The truth was wildfire. And it had found its spark.

Endeavor dropped to his knees. Not from a blow. From something deeper. Older. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Toya stood taller. Fire dancing like a crown around him. "You don’t get to look away anymore, old man." And with one final glance at Shoto—who still stood frozen, broken open—he turned his eyes back to the inferno and walked forward, dragging the truth like chains behind him.