Evening light cast long shadows across the sidewalk as Souta and Shoto made their way home. The sky above had gone soft and gold, the air still warm from the day's sun. After the intense matches and physical toll of the Hero Studies class, neither twin had the energy for much conversation. But it wasn't uncomfortable. With them, silence had always been an accepted language.
The familiar gate of their family estate loomed ahead. Shoto pushed it open, and the two stepped into the quiet, well-kept yard.
The smell hit them before they even got through the door.
Savory. Rich. Warm in the kind of way that didn't just reach your nose - it sank into your bones and told you that, for tonight at least, you were safe.
Souta blinked, grinning faintly. "He cooked."
Shoto's expression didn't change, but his pace quickened just slightly.
Inside, Fuyumi greeted them with a tired but warm smile from where she was setting the table.
"Welcome home! You two made it just in time - Toya's almost done. Go wash up!"
Shoto headed off toward the bathroom without a word. Souta hung back a moment.
"You seem in a good mood," he noted.
Fuyumi raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you be? He's making the spicy miso ramen tonight."
Souta gave a mock-serious nod. "Right. A valid reason to live."
"Exactly."
They joined up again just as Toya stepped out from the kitchen, apron still on, sleeves rolled up. His red hair was messily tied back, a sheen of effort on his forehead.
"I heard that," he said dryly, setting down a large bowl of steaming noodles.
Shoto sat down. "We weren't trying to hide it."
Toya scowled, playfully. "Rude."
"Delicious," Souta corrected, already halfway into his seat. "The world is full of rude people. Not all of them cook like you."
"You're only saying that because I got you those extra eggs last time."
"…No comment."
The table slowly filled with more dishes: pickled vegetables, grilled meat, miso-marinated eggs, soft tofu with ginger and scallions. It was the kind of spread that had become rare over the years - when everyone was busy or quiet or tense. But tonight, it felt like the clock had rolled back a few years, to simpler times.
They ate. Joked a little. Even Shoto made a dry comment that got a small laugh out of everyone.
No one mentioned Endeavor. He wasn't home yet - probably still out working or attending some public function. His absence was not lamented, rather they were glad.
Still, somewhere deep in the back of Souta's mind, he knew the man had a hand in all of this. The upgraded ingredients, the quiet financial support for Toya's cooking education - even the new knives in the kitchen were likely Endeavor's doing. It didn't erase the past, but… it was something.
Later, after the table had been cleared and the dishes were half-done, Souta leaned against the wall near the hallway.
"Toya," he called.
The older brother looked over from the sink. "Yeah?"
"Thanks."
Toya just shook his head, waving the wet sponge in his hand like a lazy sword. "You two are gonna be the death of me. Go get some rest, will you?"
Souta turned to go, "Goodnight big bro."
"…goodnight, Souta."
---
Later That Night
The house had fallen silent. Only the low hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of a wall clock could be heard.
The front door opened with a low creak, followed by the muted thump of heavy boots. Endeavor stepped inside, the heat still clinging faintly to him from whatever mission or patrol he'd been pulled into. His coat slid off with a practiced motion, hung neatly by the door.
He stood there for a moment.
The house smelled faintly of grilled meat, broth, and ginger. He could still sense the lingering warmth of a meal well enjoyed. Familiar. Comforting, in a way he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge.
He made his way into the dining room - and stopped.
On the table, the lights dimmed to a gentle glow, was a single covered plate. Beside it, a small folded card leaned against the edge of the dish. No frills, just black ink on plain paper. A simple line.
"Toya cooked today. Don't let it go to waste." -Souta
Endeavor stared at it.
For a moment, something shifted in his expression.
A faint crease in the brow. A softening around the eyes that didn't quite reach relief, or regret - but hovered somewhere in between. His hand hovered above the card for a second longer than necessary, as if expecting it to vanish.
Then, as if remembering himself, he exhaled sharply. The softness evaporated. The scowl returned, like armor snapping into place.
He sat down without a word.
The food was still warm beneath the covering - miso-glazed meat, rice, and vegetables, clearly plated with care. Toya had always had talent in the kitchen. That, at least, Endeavor could admit. Even if it was another path forged away from the one, he'd forced onto his children.
He ate in silence.
Not a sound but the quiet clink of chopsticks against ceramic.
And when he was done, he stood, cleared the plate himself, and left the card on the table exactly as he found it.
Souta hadn't left it out of affection. Not out of love. It was an acknowledgment. Of responsibility. Of obligation. A cold, clear understanding of roles.
Endeavor knew that.
Still, as he walked toward the dark hallway, the taste of the food lingered.
And so did the silence.
---
U.A. High – Class 1-A, The Next Morning
The classroom was filled with the easy hum of chatter and soft shuffling as students filed in one after another. The air still held a bit of early-morning sleepiness, but the tension from the previous day's combat training had given way to something more relaxed.
Kirishima leaned against his desk, grinning as he compared bruises with Sero.
"Dude, Shoji nearly crushed me in that match yesterday. I didn't even know his arms could move like that."
"Yeah, man," Sero replied with a lopsided smile. "He's low-key terrifying. Like, super polite, but could probably snap a vending machine in half."
Mina, Jirou, and Kaminari had claimed the row behind them, all flipping through their school tablets halfheartedly, clearly more interested in people-watching.
"Hey," Mina nudged Jirou, nodding subtly toward the twins entering the room. "There they are - Team Style and Destruction."
Souta walked in beside Shoto, school uniform neat, but such a relaxed and slightly irritated look on his face, that others could think he was still sleeping.
Shoto said nothing, naturally, heading straight for his desk in the last row and sitting down without engaging anyone.
Souta took his seat at the desk right next to him, dropping his bag with a soft thud. Kirishima gave him a lazy wave.
"Yo! You guys really brought the fireworks yesterday. That match was insane."
Mina added with a grin, "Seriously. Half the class was too stunned to even cheer. You and Todoroki might as well have been fighting in a movie."
Souta gave a dry hum, pulling out his notebook. "He's the strongest in our class right now…"
He paused briefly, then without even looking up, added,
"Besides me, of course."
Kaminari nearly choked on his juice box.
Before anyone could respond, the door slid open with a soft creak. Aizawa trudged in like a man who had not, in fact, slept at all. He didn't even bother unzipping his yellow sleeping bag this time, just flopped into it near the front and spoke from within the fuzzy cocoon.
"We're deciding on a class president today."
A beat of silence.
"That's… it?" Kaminari asked, blinking.
Aizawa shifted slightly. "You've got until the end of homeroom to figure it out. Pick a president and a vice president. Do it yourselves."
And with that, he fully zipped himself up and went back to sleep.
A soft murmur of excitement ran through the classroom.
"I'd like to help organize the vote," Iida announced, already standing beside his desk with one arm raised. "Let's begin with a fair and democratic system. First, is there anyone who wishes to nominate themselves - or others?"
A few hands went up right away. Kaminari's shot up before his brain caught up with him, and Mina smacked his arm playfully.
Mina herself nominated Jirou, who groaned but accepted it with a shrug, before nominating herself as well. Kirishima was nominated by Sero. Yaoyorozu raised her own hand, calm and composed.
Then someone in the back casually said, "Hey, what about Todoroki? I mean, Souta."
More than a few eyes turned toward him.
Souta looked up, unbothered. "Not interested."
"But you'd be cool!" Mina said, surprised.
"I'd rather not be responsible for group decisions," he replied plainly. "Besides, that sounds like way too much social effort."
"Well," Iida said, nodding like a commander organizing troops, "if there are no further objections - then we proceed to a vote. Everyone, take a slip of paper from the front and write the name of the person you believe would be best suited for class president."
The class buzzed with conversation again as everyone shuffled to the front in loose groups to collect their ballots.
"Can we vote for ourselves?" Kaminari asked.
"Yes," Iida answered solemnly.
"No shame," Kirishima added, giving him a thumbs up.
Back at his desk, Souta stared at the blank slip of paper between his fingers for a few quiet seconds before casually scribbling something and folding it in half.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting toward the window, still too tired to care enough.