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WE’RE BACK BABYYYY — ♚ 𝕶𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖊 ♚ pt.II

(Pt.I here)

Summary: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚃𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚒 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚠𝚗, 𝙴𝚖𝚒𝚔𝚘, 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢’𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚌 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝— 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘 —𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝. 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝙴𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗, 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜?

Last chapter introduced Emiko, as well as a bit of her past to better understand her current state of mind. This chapter is shorter than the rest and is the continuation of expressing the conflict Emiko’s facing, as well as making one path visible to her.

The teacher's coffee nearly jumps out of its container at the sudden drop of Emiko’s textbook. 

“You finished a month's worth of material,” She looked him dead in his dumbfounded eyes, nodding along as he spoke. “In a night?”

She confirms with a firm nod. 

“A single night?”

“Yes sir.”

His eyes narrow, and he leans forward on his desk. “You have a month to do it. Are you sure you don’t just want to go over it before you turn it in?”

“Nope, thanks though.” She takes a few steps away, before backtracking for that morning’s assignment and continuing her path. A deep sigh fell from his lips as he hung his head.

Someone had grabbed Emiko’s arm, stopping her in her tracks. She looks back to see Shoto. Her face lights up, before she notices his untamed hair and distraught look.

“Where were you? You can’t just disappear like that.”

“I didn’t feel like fighting yesterday.” she shrugs, but he yanks at her arm trying to pull any bit of seriousness out of her. 

“Then don’t fight. The old man was pissed, and we were all worried. Natsuo said you never stayed at his in the first place.” 

She pulls her arm out of his grip, furrowing her brows. “What is this, an interrogation? I thought you’d have my back. You hate him just as much as I do. I offered for you to come with, y’know.” 

“What do you mean ‘come with’? Come with where, Emiko?”

“Nevermind, just forget it.” she sighs, turning towards the direction of her desk.

“Hey, wait.” He grabs her again, but she doesn’t turn around. “Just- come home after school, alright? We can walk together. You could talk to me too, if you want…” he offers for any sort of support. “I know this week’s rough for you, and I think you might’ve felt like I’m siding with Dad over you.. But last night was horrifying. I don’t care what his motives are, I only want to know that you’re safe, wherever you go.”

She swallows back the lump in her throat, nodding. They stood there for a moment as the last few students flowed in before the bell rang.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Lunch had finally come. Everyone started packing once the bell rang, but she’d been packed for the past half-hour. She’d gotten home late enough to miss dinner and left early enough to avoid confrontation. She’s hungry, to say the least. She was the first out the door, blending in with the hundreds of students. 

“Emi,” Shoto called. “Wait up.”

She turns back to see her brother amongst his group of friends trying to catch up with her. In truth, everyone had wanted to introduce themselves earlier, but she’d been so cold and closed off that they figured she wouldn’t appreciate being bothered too much.

But Yaoyorozu had asked Shoto if they were really related, which made so much more sense to everyone. Who knew he had a sister? No wonder she’s so reclusive and abrasive. Shoto was intimidating at first, they thought. Maybe she’s warmer in person.

“Hey,” she mutters, at a loss for what else to really say. 

“I was wondering if you’d like to join us for lunch.” 

She looked amongst the group. She opened her mouth, but was quickly shut down. 

“Before you say no, I think you’d really like them.” 

She sighs, but nods. 

After some introductions in line, she sat down more familiar with Shoto’s friends. They were nice people, really. They just didn’t seem like her kind of crowd. She’s proud of him though, proud of him for finding a bunch of people to hang out with.

They were both homeschooled ever since they had basic book smarts, probably averaging them to have been pulled out of school around first or second grade. Neither of the two remember. It was so far off and insignificant. She was more or less self educated. She had her own books and resources, but her father just didn’t put as much time or effort into her schooling as he did Shoto’s. 

She’s still smart, though. At most lacking in one or two areas which she wasn’t disciplined enough to endure. The hero ethics textbook was long, and she was convinced that most of those words were made up. But it’d all gotten done and the bit of self-validation it gave her felt nice. 

“I just can’t believe you have a sister,” Uraraka smiled, stuffing her cheeks with curry.

“He didn’t tell you about us?” Emiko’s expression was softer, relaxing into the casual chatter as she poked at her tempura. 

“‘Us’? Todoroki, you have more siblings and never told us?” Yaoyorozu put a hand over her mouth, feigning shock.

“It didn’t seem important.” he shrugs.

“Unimportant?” Emiko quirked a brow. “I’m sure your other three siblings would just love to hear that.”

“Two,” he corrects.

“Huh?”

“Two other siblings.” he clarifies.

She presses a napkin to her lips. “Right.” She squeaks. “My bad.” 

Fortunately, the others didn’t seem to catch onto the tension, carrying on with their conversation.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Class drug on for what felt like an eternity. This time, she was more sluggish getting packed. Her second-to-last class was quirk training, which completely drained her by the time English class came around. 

Shoto stopped by her desk with his bag already slung over his shoulder. 

“What about your friends?” She asks, looking up at him after she shoves her books in her bag.

“They’re going a different direction,” he explains. “I thought it would be a good time to talk.”

She hums in response, standing up and throwing on her bag. 

“Hey, what’s on your bag?” He asks as they make their way to the door, pointing out the sticky brown stain.

“This? Oh, I just sat my bag down. Didn’t realize the soda on the ground, I guess.” Her eyes fixate on the wall’s seam as they walk. A small white lie, she thought. He didn’t have to know that she was on a roof. It would only make him ask questions, and the answers would just warrant more questions. Short and sweet, it’s for the best.

They finally break free from campus walls, the crowd of people eventually thinning. When they reach a less populated portion of the street, Shoto takes a sharp breath in, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I won’t tell Dad, you have my word, you know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Where you went yesterday. I won’t say anything, I just wanna know.”

“Selling drugs.”

He nudges her, looking her in the face. “I’m serious.” She kept her eyes on the road ahead, but his gaze remained fixed on her.

“I just needed a break, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, an address? People?”

“Bold of you to assume I have people.” She scoffs. Silence falls between them. Shoto stops on the sidewalk, Emiko only doing the same a few steps ahead.

“…You know, I didn’t invite you to lunch out of pity.” He starts, waiting for her to say anything at all. 

“Dad robbed us from being friends. But we’re not rivals anymore, and I really do want to be friends with you. I want to be your brother, it’s just—“

“‘It’s just’ what? I know I’m a piece of shit, alright? I’m a disappointment to dad, I piss off Yumi, I pushed away Natsuo, I’ll never be able to give mom a home to come back to..” her voice strains and cracks, her shoulders pulling close to her neck. 

Shoto puts a hand on her shoulder, but gives her the autonomy to hide her flushed face and teary eyes in her arm. “Fuyumi’s not mad at you. She’s never mad at you. You were best friends growing up, you were practically at the same level as her.”

She grimaced at his words, wiping the fresh tears with the base of her palm and sniffling.

“She’s not mad. She’s worried. We all are. Natsuo is too. He said you didn’t come by the other night. That he told you it wouldn’t work and to just stay in your room. He feels bad, you know. He was worried about you getting hurt. I was worried about you getting hurt,” He escalates. “Where the hell did you go??” He spits, only to hear soft sniffling entangled in the dead silence.

“Emiko, I’m—“ He pauses, his hand falling off of her like his attacks at the wall she’s put up. He lets out a sigh. 

“I should’ve come with you when you asked for back up. I don’t know what it was for, but if I didn’t brush you off then I would. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t…” she wipes the snot from her face and readjusts her bag on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It was stupid, anyway.” She turns her head in his direction, but her eyes remain downcast. Wet strands of white hair stick to her bright red cheeks, no matter how hard her sleeve battles it. “Can we just go home?”

He watches her fallen and defeated figure for a moment, before silently nodding.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

“It’s not fair.” each hit Touya landed was an emphasis, a point that he could never get across to anyone. “He won’t even watch me practice. Why won’t he just look at me?” The sack barely budged, but getting some pent-up hurt out felt better. He sighs, catching his breath. “And Yumi..” Tears prick at the corner of his eyes before he goes back to abusing the punching bag. “She doesn’t think I’m good enough either. Why doesn’t anyone think I’m strong? I was before. So what if I get a little hurt? Heroes get hurt all the time!”

Emiko sits crosslegged at the corner of the tatami mat, picking at loose threads. “Hey,” his arms drop heavy with exhaustion, only swaying with each pant. “Are you listening?” 

She pouts at the floor. Lip out, eyebrows knitted together, and shoulders high. She lets out a huff, shooting up and running to the center of the mat. A soft thump comes from the punching bag. His head fell to the side watching her. She seemed so… determined. Hitting the bag as hard as her little five-year-old arms could as if she were hammering something. Slowly, Touya breaks into snorts and giggles. 

“And why are you upset?” He plops down on the mat right where he stands while he watches her work herself out. “Because everyone thinks I’m stupid. I’m smart all the time! You all think I don’t understand, but I do!”

He watches up until she tires herself out. When she’s done, she throws herself down and pulls her knees to her chest. Did he make her feel that way? After giving her a few minutes to breathe, a few moments of silence to really feel, he gets up and holds out his hand to her. When she stands up, he closes her hand into a fist and repositions her thumb. “Don’t punch with your thumb in your hand, and..” He moves her arm to her side. “Start from here, not above your head.” 

Being wrong gave her a headache. Like if she couldn’t do something simple like this, then maybe she really was stupid. For someone to point out that she was wrong, her brother of all people, she got that sharp feeling in her throat. 

He eventually had her completely repositioned, before giving her the go-ahead to hit again. They’re still weak, the stillness of the sack proving this. Regardless, she spills everything she has into each punch. A tear slid down her plump cheek. She felt so small. She was painfully aware of how weak she was. 

“See? It feels better to get it out, right?” with each hit, they slowly packed less power. She nods, catching her breath.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

“Oh, you’re  so mature for your age!”

 Those words were repeated over and over growing up.

Any time she shared a toy, or ate a vegetable, or said something just slightly intellectual, it was always met with the word “mature”. 

That’s a lie. It wasn’t that simple. She was a people pleaser, just like her sister. She made sure the house stayed clean, food stayed hot, and grades stayed high. Even after Touya’s passing, she knew it was her father's fault. It was his fault that Shoto got hurt and mom went away. It’s his fault that Yumi’s “as-needed” anxiety meds run empty all too often. His fault that Natsuo moved away.

She held her head high, though. Fuyumi wanted her to. She told her that it was all alright, and that she had things handled. Emiko’s small hands rested in hers growing up, trying to believe she was honest. Now she was fifteen and seethed every time her sister washed a dish or moved the old man's shoes where they went.

Now, she sat at the kitchen table. Dinners had been silent for years. Really, what was the point in doing these things anymore? Because Fuyumi wants to. Dad was here this time. The odds are always mixed on whether he “gets home in time” or not. Emiko knows he always stays out just a bit later than he has to. Between Shoto’s glares, Nastuo’s backhanded comments, Fuyumi’s over-the-top anxiety, and Emiko’s fragile patience, she wishes he would know better and stay gone. 

“So?” He starts. 

Fuyumi’s shoulders tense. “Dad, not right now, please?” She pleads

Emiko’s eye twitched, sharply side-eyeing him from across the table. She would only hold together for so long. For Yumi’s sake, but for hers as well. It wasn’t fair to herself to hold her tongue, to simply take the abuse.

“I have a right to know,” he persisted in a demanding tone.

“I don’t want anyone fighting at the table,” she retorted firmly.

“Then don’t fight with me.” He directed toward Emiko, cutting out Fuyumi as the messenger. 

“Dad—“ 

“I’m not speaking to you.” He reiterates, cutting Fuyumi off. She rests her head in her palms,  before grabbing her only half-eaten plate and excusing herself. Natsuo silently pleads for her to stay, but she waves him off and tells him to sit back down. 

Enji keeps his eyes fixed on Emiko, expecting an answer.

Moments pass before she scoffs, breaking eye contact and shoving tempura in her mouth. 

“She was with one of my friends.” Shoto confesses in a stale tone just as Enji opens his mouth to tell Emiko off. 

“She was mad, and I didn’t want her doing something stupid. So I sent her to a friends house to cool off. I’m looking out for her, like you tol—“ Shoto’s cut off by the blunt sound of his fathers fist to the table. 

“I’m not playing telephone, she’s capable of speaking for herself.”

She glances at Shoto, the slight rise of her shoulder saying ‘Thanks for trying’. Silence falls amongst the table. An uncomfortable silence. 

“I uhm,” her already low tone cracked, breaking under the pressure in the dining room. She stabbed through a piece of tofu. Keeping her eyes down like a vice, only briefly meeting her fathers to gauge his expression. “I just needed a break, that’s all.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.” his tone was softer than usual. Not by definition soft, but softer. 

“You’re question was?” her brows raise and she shakes her head defensively.

“Where were you.” he demands, becoming irritated once again.

“I went for a walk.” she retorts, finally meeting his eyes. “What else do you want from me? I can’t tell you more than I have.” 

“That’s bullshit.” He snaps. His gaze harshens, but she doesn’t back down. Not like he wants her to. She won’t tell him the truth, she wont hold her tongue, he’s losing control of her and it’s driving him to the brink of insanity.

“Prove it.” She dares. Natsuo presses his lips together, keeping his eyes firmly on his plate. Shoto kept his gaze directly on Enji. He never condones picking fights with their father, but for something so out of his control, he might as well watch the old man crumble. He can see defeat rising in him, the fact that he’s losing Emiko.

“Lose the disrespectful tone.” he starts, before his own tone drops. “I’m worried about you. You’re acting recklessly. And I feel.. Partially to blame.” 

Her jaw nearly drops. Everyone’s did. Her heart almost wouldn't start beating again. He was worried about her? That felt.. Like for the first time she wasn’t on the back burner. Maybe she’d taken too long to answer. He looks back at the table and starts stacking plates. What is this man doing, he hasnt washed a single dish in his entire life?

“And I’d like to nip your poor behavior in the bud. You’re going to UA under my name. When you bring shame on yourself, you bring shame on the rest of us too.”

Just as quickly as he made her feel acknowledged, he ruined it. He belittled her and chalked up years of battling her mental health for merely keeping his house liveable to “poor behavior”. She was so, so close to an actual resolution. 

Plates clinked against each other as he left, like his words hadn’t just split her chest wide open.