The air inside the Hakamada Tower always felt thin, like it had been filtered through too much money and not enough soul.
(Y/N) clutched her tablet to her chest, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor as she exited her father's office. Her heart was still heavy from the meeting.
Masamune, her father hadn't even looked at her while he spoke, his voice a cold drone about "market shares" and "bloodline efficiency." To him, she was just a beautiful piece of furniture that happened to have a Quirk he didn't understand.
She reached the heavy mahogany doors of the waiting area and pushed them open, expecting to see the usual line of nervous businessmen in grey suits.
She wasn't prepared for the cold.
It wasn't the sterile chill of the air conditioning. This was different, a sharp, crisp presence that made the hair on her arms stand up.
Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window was a man who looked like he had been carved out of winter and fire.
(Y/N) stopped in her tracks.
It was Shoto Todoroki. At twenty, he hadn't lost all the boyish softness she remembered from the news clips of his U.A. days.
He was broader now, his hero suit replaced by a dark, perfectly tailored coat that made him look intimidatingly regal. His dual-colored hair caught the morning light, and his profile was so sharp it hurt to look at.
For the first time in her life, (Y/N)'s Quirk flickered without her permission. Her fingers twitched, a silent snap echoing in her mind. The world didn't stop, but her heart certainly did.
He's beautiful, she thought, a sudden, dizzying wave of infatuation crashing over her.
Shoto turned his head. His mismatched eyes-one grey as a storm, one turquoise as a flame-locked onto hers. (Y/N) felt her face heat up instantly.
She wanted to say something, to introduce herself, to apologize for staring. She gave him a small, shy smile, her breath hitching in her throat.
Shoto didn't smile back.
He gave her a single, stiff nod-the kind of look one gives a stranger at a funeral. It was polite, distant, and utterly freezing. He didn't see a girl, he only saw an appointment.
"Mr. Todoroki?" Masamune's secretary called out. "Mr. Hakamada will see you now."
Shoto stepped past her. As he brushed by, (Y/N) caught the scent of peppermint and woodsmoke. She stood there, rooted to the spot, watching the office doors close behind him.
She felt like she had just seen the sun for the first time.
^ • ^
The click of the latch behind Shoto felt final, like the sound of a handcuff locking into place.
Masamune Hakamada didn't look up. He was a man who moved at his own pace, letting the silence do the work of making his guests feel small.
He finally set a fountain pen down on the desk and gestured toward the seat opposite him. Shoto didn't take it. He stood with his hands at his sides, his posture a stiff, defensive line.
"I've read the audit," Shoto said, his voice level but brittle. "You've bought forty percent of my father's outstanding liabilities in the last six months alone. That's not an investment strategy. That's a siege."
Masamune smiled then, but it didn't reach his eyes. "A siege implies I intend to destroy you, Shoto. I don't. I want to absorb you."
He pulled a leather folder from a drawer-no flashy digital screens this time, just heavy, old-fashioned paper.
"Your father's agency is a black hole. He spent millions on private reparations for the war, money he didn't have. If I call in these debts today, the Todoroki name becomes a footnote in a bankruptcy court. Your mother loses her care facility. Your sister loses her school. You lose your license."
Shoto's jaw tightened so hard it ached. "What do you want?"
"A legacy," Masamune said, leaning forward.
"My daughter, (Y/N), has a Quirk that could change the world, but she's... soft. She lacks the discipline of a hero lineage. I want a grandson who doesn't have that weakness. A child who carries your fire and her ability to hold time still."
The air in the room seemed to vanish. Shoto felt a cold, familiar nausea. "You're talking about a Quirk marriage. My father-"
"-Your father is the reason this is happening," Masamune interrupted. "He created the debt. I'm just offering the solution. You marry (Y/N). You live as a couple. The day a child is born that manifests both your powers, the debt is erased in full. Then you can divorce her, if you want. Until then, you are a Hakamada asset."
Shoto stared at the contract. He thought of the girl in the hallway. He tried to remember her face, the way she had looked at him with that wide eyed, almost desperate admiration.
He felt a bitter, dark thought take root: She knows. He assumed she had looked at him like that because she knew he was already hers.
He figured her "crush" was the reason her father had targeted him in the first place. To Shoto, she wasn't a girl; she was the reason he was being forced back into the very cycle of abuse he had spent his life trying to break.
"And if I refuse?" Shoto asked, though he already knew.
"Then I start making phone calls," Masamune said simply. "And by tomorrow morning, the 'Number One' legacy is a scandal that won't survive the news cycle."
Shoto looked at the pen on the desk. He thought of Fuyumi's tired smiles and Natsuo's hard-won freedom. He thought of his mother's quiet gardens.
He picked up the pen. His hand didn't shake, but his heart felt like it was turning to ash. He signed his name with a slow, heavy stroke. He didn't look at Masamune. He looked at the terms again. He just wanted to leave before he burned the room down.
As he turned to the door, Masamune spoke one last time. "Try to look happy, Todoroki. My daughter is quite fond of you. It would be a shame to ruin her fantasy so early."
Shoto didn't answer. He wrenched the door open and stepped out.
^ • ^
(Y/N) was still there. She was leaning against a marble pillar, the sunlight catching the soft curve of her face. When she saw him, she stood up straight, a genuine, radiant light breaking across her features.
She looked breathtaking effortlessly elegant, with a warmth that seemed to pull at the very center of his chest.
For a split second, Shoto felt a sharp, involuntary tug of attraction. He was a man, after all, and she was undeniably beautiful.
But that realization only made the bitterness in his throat taste like poison. He looked at her and didn't see a girl; he saw a gilded cage. He saw the "perfect" mother for a "perfect" child.
(Y/N) took a hesitant step toward him, her heart visible in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, to perhaps ask if he was alright or to finally introduce herself properly.
Shoto didn't give her the chance.
He didn't stop. He didn't slow down. He didn't even acknowledge her presence with a look. He kept his gaze fixed on the elevator doors, his jaw set in a line so hard it looked like it might snap.
He brushed past her, the wind of his movement cold enough to make her shiver. He treated her like she was invisible, like she was just another piece of furniture in her father's cold tower.
He refused to give her a single word, knowing that if he spoke, he might lose his composure or worse, he might find her voice as beautiful as her face.
(Y/N) stood with her words dying in her throat, her hand half extended into empty air. She turned to watch him go, the rejection stinging worse than a physical blow.
She had spent years admiring him from afar, dreaming of the day they might finally meet, only for him to walk past her as if she were a ghost.
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft, metallic chime, taking Shoto with them.
(Y/N) stood alone in the silence of the lobby, her heart sinking. She still had no idea that her father had just signed away her life.
She only knew that the man she loved had just looked right through her, leaving her in a world that felt colder than it ever had before.