Himura Residence - Training Grounds,
Friday Afternoon
"Your stance is sloppy."
Tsubaki adjusted his footing, shifting his weight as his grandfather circled him like a predator assessing prey. He wore only training pants, his torso bare to allow for unrestricted movement. Sweat already glistened on his skin despite the cold air surrounding them.
"Again," Yukihiro commanded.
Tsubaki moved through the form—a basic defensive stance transitioning into an offensive strike. His body was strong from years of self-imposed physical training, his muscles well-defined and capable. But his movements lacked refinement.
"Stop." Yukihiro raised a hand. "Your physical conditioning is excellent. Most students your age couldn't match your strength or endurance. You've clearly pushed yourself hard."
He stepped closer, adjusting Tsubaki's arm position with clinical precision.
"But you have no formal training in martial arts. No foundation in proper technique. You move like someone who learned to fight through trial and error—effective enough against untrained opponents, but lacking against anyone with real skill."
Tsubaki's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. His grandfather was right. All his training had been solo, focused on building physical strength and quirk control. He'd never had a teacher to show him proper combat form.
"You need to move like water," Yukihiro said, demonstrating a flowing transition between stances that looked effortless despite his age. "Always flowing in battle. Always adapting to changes. Never rigid, never predictable."
He shifted, his stance becoming solid, immovable.
"But also like ice—strong and sturdy when you need to hold your ground. The balance between fluid adaptation and unyielding strength—that is what you must achieve."
Tsubaki watched carefully, committing every word to memory.
"I'll try again," he said.
Saturday Morning - Cryokinesis Training
"Focus on the ice spear you used against the Nomu," Yukihiro instructed, standing across the training ground from Tsubaki. "Create it. Then control it."
Tsubaki extended his hand. Ice formed in the air before him, crystallizing into a sharp spear approximately six feet long. It hovered, responding to his will.
"Good. Now move it. Not by creating new ice to push it, but by directly controlling what's already formed."
Tsubaki concentrated. The spear shifted, rotating slowly in the air.
"What you're doing," Yukihiro explained, "is cryokinesis—direct mental control over ice you've already created. Most ice users can only create and shape their ice in the moment of formation. But you showed during your fight that you can manipulate it after creation, changing its direction mid-flight, reshaping it in real-time."
The spear began moving in a circle around Tsubaki, picking up speed.
"That's the Himura bloodline showing itself," Yukihiro continued. "True cryokinesis is rare, even among ice users. It's what made our family renowned. You can create ice, yes, but you can also command it like an extension of your consciousness."
Tsubaki's concentration deepened. The spear split into three smaller ones, all orbiting him in complex patterns.
"How many can you control simultaneously?"
"I don't know," Tsubaki admitted, his voice strained from concentration. "I never pushed this aspect before."
"Then let's find out." His grandfather said with a smirk.
Saturday Afternoon - Endurance Training
The temperature in the training ground plummeted. Not from Tsubaki's quirk, but from Yukihiro's.
Tsubaki stood in the center, moving through the physical drills his grandfather had taught him that morning. Punch. Block. Kick. Transition. Each movement precise, controlled.
But frost was forming on his skin. Spreading across his arms, his chest, his shoulders. His grandfather was deliberately dropping the temperature, coating him in ice, testing his ability to function under the conditions his own quirk created.
"Don't stop," Yukihiro commanded, his voice cold as the air around them. "Your quirk will create this effect naturally in extended combat. You need to be able to move through it. Fight through it."
Tsubaki's muscles protested. The cold was seeping into them, making movement harder, slower. But he pushed through, maintaining the forms even as ice crystals spread across his torso.
"In your fight with the Nomu, you mentioned frost covering your body," Yukihiro said, watching with clinical interest. "You saw it as a weakness, a sign you were reaching your limits."
Tsubaki's kick was slower than it should have been, the ice restricting his range of motion.
"Break that limit" Yukihiro continued. "Let your body adapt to it don't let the cold limit you."
The words struck something in Tsubaki's mind, but he couldn't fully process them while maintaining movement through the intense cold.
"Keep moving," Yukihiro ordered. "Show me you won't break."
Sunday Evening
Yukihiro watched his grandson complete the day's final training drill. Three days. That's all they'd had, and Tsubaki had approached each moment with laser focus. No complaints. No breaks beyond what was absolutely necessary. Just relentless determination to improve.
'He's improving at a incredible rate,' Yukihiro thought.
Tsubaki lowered his hands, dismissing the ice constructs he'd been manipulating. His body was covered in sweat despite the frigid temperature, his chest heaving with exertion.
"Time," Yukihiro announced. "You need to return home."
Tsubaki grabbed a towel, wiping his face. "We'll continue tomorrow after school?"
"Yes. We have two weeks until this Sports Festival. If we maintain this pace, your improvement will be significant." Yukihiro paused, choosing his next words carefully.
"Your cryokinesis has developed remarkably in just three days. Your control over formed ice is approaching what takes most Himura family members years to achieve."
"But?" Tsubaki prompted, hearing the unspoken addition.
"But I can only teach you the basics of martial combat. I'm not a master of hand-to-hand fighting—my strength was always in quirk application. You'll need to develop your own style, one that integrates your ice manipulation with physical combat in a way that suits you specifically."
Yukihiro met his grandson's eyes.
"The forms I've taught you are a foundation. Build on them. Experiment. Find what works for your body, your quirk, your way of thinking. The greatest fighters don't copy—they innovate."
Tsubaki nodded, absorbing the advice. "I understand."
As his grandson gathered his belongings and prepared to leave, Yukihiro allowed himself a small smile.
'Two weeks,' he thought. 'Two weeks to prepare him for the sports festival. It's not enough for him to do well he wants to win it all and I'll help him.'
'I failed your mother, Tsubaki. Let me at least help you succeed.'
UA High School - Monday Morning
The moment Tsubaki stepped through the classroom door, every head turned.
"TODOROKI-SAN!" Mina practically launched herself out of her seat. "You're back! Are you okay? How are you feeling?"
"Welcome back, ribbit!" Asui added, her large eyes showing genuine relief.
"The doctors cleared you?" Iida asked, his hand gestures sharp with concern. "You shouldn't push yourself if you're not fully recovered!"
Tsubaki was surrounded immediately, his classmates clustering around with questions, concern evident on their faces. Even Bakugo glanced over, though he quickly looked away with a scoff.
"I'm fine," Tsubaki said, his voice calm but carrying enough authority to quiet the group. "Everything healed properly. I'm cleared for full activity."
He looked around at their faces—the relief, the worry, the genuine care they were showing. Something in his chest tightened.
'They were actually worried about me.'
"Thank you," he added quietly. "For... caring."
Yaoyorozu stepped forward, clipboard in hand but her smile warm. "We were all concerned, Todoroki-san. You protected us at the USJ. It's only natural we'd worry about you."
Before the conversation could continue, the door slid open and Aizawa shuffled in, looking only slightly less battered than when Tsubaki had last seen him. His face was still bandaged, his arm in a cast, but his eyes held the same tired intensity.
"Everyone sit down," Aizawa said, his voice rough. "We have a lot to cover. Todoroki, good to see you're not dead. Now sit."
The class scrambled to their seats, and the day continued with something approaching normalcy.
Over the following days.
A pattern emerged.
Classes during the day, where Tsubaki maintained his role as class president and participated in lessons. His classmates trained at UA's facilities after school, pushing themselves in preparation for the Sports Festival.
But Tsubaki would leave, traveling to his grandfather's house for continued training. Forms and stances. Cryokinesis exercises. Endurance drills under extreme cold. Each day building on the last, refining his control, expanding his limits.
He could see his classmates were training hard too. Bakugo stayed late in the training rooms, his explosions echoing through the building. Midoriya worked with weights and stamina exercises, trying to build his body to handle his quirk better. Yaoyorozu studied and created increasingly complex objects.
Everyone was preparing. Everyone knew what was coming.
The Sports Festival would be their stage.
UA High School - Friday Afternoon
Tsubaki was leaving the classroom with several of his classmates when he noticed something unusual.
Students. Lots of them. Crowding the hallway outside Class 1-A.
"What's going on?" Kaminari asked nervously.
At the front of the crowd stood a boy with distinctive purple hair and tired eyes. His expression was cold, assessing, as he looked at the Class 1-A students.
"So these are the famous Class 1-A students," the purple-haired boy said, his voice carrying a sardonic edge. "The ones who survived a villain attack. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."
"They don't look like much," another student muttered from the crowd.
Several of Tsubaki's classmates shifted uncomfortably. Murmurs of concern rippled through their group.
Bakugo, who'd been walking ahead, stopped and turned back with a scowl. "The hell is this? Some kind of welcoming committee?"
"Not exactly," the purple-haired boy replied. "I'm Shinso Hitoshi from General Studies. I came to declare war."
The hallway went silent.
"I'm going to crush you all at the Sports Festival," Shinso continued, his voice flat but determined. "All of you in the hero course... you're my targets. I'll show everyone that we general studies students deserve to be heroes just as much as you do. More, even, since we actually had to fight for our spots instead of having them handed to us."
"Handed to us?" Sero repeated, sounding offended.
"You got into the hero course through a test designed to favor flashy quirks," Shinso said.
"Some of us weren't so lucky. But the Sports Festival is our chance to prove ourselves. And I'm going to take your spot."
Several Class 1-A students looked nervous now, murmuring among themselves about this declaration of war, about potentially losing their positions in the hero course.
Bakugo snorted. "You done with your little speech? You got what you came here for hope you're satisfied, extras."
He turned to leave, clearly dismissing the entire confrontation—
"Is that all you came here for?"
Tsubaki's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He stepped forward, moving past his surprised classmates to face Shinso directly.
The air around him seemed to cool, his presence commanding attention without any visible effort.
"To see the students who survived a villain attack and make your declaration?"
Bakugo stopped, clearly listening despite his attempt to leave. The other Class 1-A students looked at their president with surprise—they were used to his confidence, but something about him now felt different. Sharper. More serious.
Tsubaki continued, his eyes locked on Shinso with cold certainty, "I hope you got a good look."
He wasn't intimidated. Wasn't concerned. If anything, he looked almost amused by the challenge.
"Your words don't matter," Tsubaki said, his voice carrying clearly through the crowded hallway. "No matter what you say, it won't change the result."
Shinso's eyes narrowed. "And what result is that?"
"I will win."
The simple declaration landed like a bomb. Students from both sides of the confrontation froze, shocked by the absolute certainty in those three words.
Tsubaki wasn't just accepting Shinso's challenge—he was declaring his own dominance. Stating with complete conviction that regardless of who entered, regardless of who tried to take spots from Class 1-A, he would be the one standing at the top.
"Whoa..." Kaminari breathed.
Yaoyorozu stared at Tsubaki, her eyes wide. 'He's changed,' she thought.' After the USJ, after facing that monster... we all changed. But Todoroki-san... there's something different about him now.'
Shinso opened his mouth, clearly not expecting this response. He'd come to make an impact, to establish himself as a threat.
But Tsubaki had stolen his moment, had turned the confrontation into a declaration of absolute victory.
"That's—" Shinso started.
"It doesn't matter what you do," Tsubaki interrupted, his tone not cruel but simply stating fact. "Train as hard as you want. Come at me with everything you have. The result won't change."
He walked forward, past Shinso, past the crowd of students. His posture radiated confidence—not arrogance, but certainty. The kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly what he was capable of and having no intention of being humble about it.
"I'm going to win the Sports Festival," Tsubaki said without looking back. "The world will know my name. That's not a threat or a warning. It's simply what's going to happen."
His classmates parted to let him through, several of them staring with a mixture of awe and concern.
"Damn," Kirishima muttered. "That was intense."
"He really just declared war on everyone," Jiro added, sounding impressed despite herself.
Even Bakugo looked grudgingly approving, a sharp grin crossing his face. "Heh. At least Ice Prince has some guts."
As Tsubaki disappeared down the hallway, the crowd slowly began to disperse, students whispering among themselves about what they'd just witnessed.
Shinso stood frozen, his declaration completely overshadowed. He'd come to establish himself as a threat, to make the hero course students take him seriously.
Instead, their class president had looked at him—at all of them—and declared with absolute certainty that none of them mattered. That he would win regardless of who stood in his way.
'What kind of confidence does that take?' Shinso thought, his hands clenching.' Or is it arrogance? Either way...'
He smiled slightly, something cold settling in his chest.
'I'll show you, Todoroki Tsubaki. I'll show everyone. The Sports Festival will prove who really deserves to be in the hero course.'
Elsewhere - Watching
In the teacher's lounge, several faculty members had been observing the confrontation through the hallway cameras.
"Well," Present Mic said, leaning back in his chair. "Todoroki certainly knows how to make a statement."
Aizawa grunted, his expression unreadable behind his bandages. "He's confident. The question is whether he can back it up."
"After what he did at the USJ?" All Might said quietly, his skeletal form hunched in his chair. "Fighting that Nomu, protecting his classmates... I believe he has the resolve. Whether he has the strength remains to be seen."
"The Sports Festival will show us," Midnight added, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Either way, it's going to be interesting."
Evening - Himura Residence
Tsubaki moved through his forms in his grandfather's training ground, each movement more refined than the previous day. The conversation in the hallway had already faded from his mind—it had been nothing but noise, a distraction from what truly mattered.
"You declared you would win," Yukihiro observed from the sidelines. "Bold words. Do you truly believe them?"
Tsubaki didn't pause in his movements. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I have to." Tsubaki transitioned into a strike, his form now noticeably cleaner than it had been days ago. "Because being anything less than first place means I'm still not good enough. Still second. Still nothing."
He stopped, turning to face his grandfather.
"I told them I would win because it's the only acceptable outcome. I'll back those words with results the world can't deny."
Yukihiro studied his grandson's face—the cold determination, the burning ambition barely contained beneath the icy exterior.
'You only want victory to prove your the best.
I hope you're ready to pay the price if you fall short. Words have power and you made yourself the number 1 target. ' He thought.
But aloud, he simply said: "Then let's continue. We have ten days left before the festival. Make every moment count."
The temperature dropped as they resumed training, grandfather and grandson pushing toward a goal that would make or break everything Tsubaki had worked for.
In ten days, the world would be watching.
And Tsubaki Todoroki would show them all exactly what he was capable of.
To Be Continued...
.
.
.
.
.
.
Author's note
Hope you enjoyed the first chapter of the new year.