Chapter Text
The first son of the Todoroki Family was born with his mother’s shock of white hair and his father’s brilliant blue eyes. At least that’s what everyone says.
Hilariously enough, the family in question, failed to see the resemblance.
In reality, Todoroki Touya—as was his given name—had radiant white hair which sparkled like freshly fallen snow, dissimilar to his mother’s own dulling locks. His fluffy thick hair soft as opposed to the thin brittle strands of her head.
His eyes especially caused a stir across the family. To starkly different. The supposed brilliant blue of his father’s eyes turned fractal and iridescent in his own striking gaze, unnerving those who befell them. A dictation of the current holder of the Six Eyes.
There had been—still was—talk of it as a possible mutation resulting in a bewildering optic-quirk. But that was only after his parents went through the hassle of multiple DNA tests.
The results were consistent however, he was their flesh and blood. As humorous as it would’ve been for the first child of the arranged marriage of the prospective number two hero to be from an affair.
Still Touya had been an unnerving child, more doll than human. A child who appeared a step removed from mortal men.
Whilst he was a well-behaved and quiet toddler, he often came off as either cold and indifferent or air-headed. A gap in developmental milestones brought fears of brain trauma or mental disability. Premature birth was written as the cause.
His sickly body stunted in growth, lagging severely in physical milestones. Mental milestones were a hit or miss as often times his brain appeared elsewhere. (A side effect of a mortal vessel being occupied by power equal to that of gods.)
These imperfections however brought comfort to others. The small bits of behavior suited for children helping his parents push through their unease. Giving them the illusion of normality within humanly flaws.
Unfortunately, this occupation with the other ceased at three years old. The conscience of an adult helpful in regulating an overload of information. Controlling the flow with an ease that only came from years of trial and error through hard practice.
Unfortunately whilst Satoru was skilled in many ways, acting like a child—an honest to god innocent naive child—was not one of them.
Only his lack of knowledge regarding the settings of this world he found himself in kept his cover.
At four years old, his ‘quirk’ manifested in the form of brilliant flames that flickered blue on occasions. Namely, when Satoru was feeling fancy.
In the beginning, his father appeared intrigued by his brilliant flames. He’s significantly less intrigued when a doctor informs them his body is rather ill suited for a fire quirk. His mother is blamed for daring to pass on her own genetics in the form of his own ice-adaptive quirk body.
Frankly, Satoru couldn’t care less about either of his parents’ opinions. He’d be more than happy to be cast off as a failure like his other two siblings after the manifestation of their ice quirks, or a spare in the face of father’s dream masterpiece—whatever that was.
Unfortunately, at the present moment, despite his physical weakness and unfit quirk body, the flames he produced were growing powerful as they licked the fringes of the blue-scale. As such for the foreseeable future, Satoru was his father’s best bet for a dream Satoru didn’t even believe in.
Unsurprisingly, his father’s violent temperament followed into the training hall, leaving it a brutal endeavor—hah, Satoru snorted at his own pun—even if Satoru occasionally egged the hotheaded man on.
Apparently, when your father is the number two hero, standards are different though, and what his adult mind immediately registered as abusive could—and would—easily be swept under in a pretense of ‘discipline’ by society.
Hilariously, as far as his eyes could see—which meant everywhere—his father’s physical abuse centered around villains and himself, both of which were justified toward the betterment of society. Satoru nearly busted his gut at that realization.
In the face of his mother and siblings, the man was the ideal neglectful and absent patriarch worshipped by the Jujustu clans of Satoru’s past life. Though Satoru was of the opinion his previous father was the master of the art, the man not even interested in Satoru, the clan’s masterpiece.
Otherwise, Satoru’s father was pathetically simple. He was needlessly cruel—bordering sadistic—and so quick to rage you’d swear it was the only emotion he felt. As if that wasn’t enough horrible traits, the man took focusing on your goals to the point of fixations and obsessions until he couldn’t even see past them.
Yet, apparently Endeavor—as was his father’s hero name—was Japan’s Number Two Hero, an awe-inspiring title for a man who’s saved countless lives.
It was laughable in Satoru’s opinion to call such a man a Hero, but this World tossed that term around too lightly for his liking anyways. Rather than an aspirational quality, this world’s capitalistic corporations had stripped the word of its meaning and turned it into an industry.
Personally, he—both as Gojo Satoru, and Todoroki Touya—thought the world would be better off without the flaming bastard, unpopular opinion be damned.
It said enough about society that Satoru—thanks to being forced to spend nearly every night using it—had mastered his reverse-curse technique better than he had in his first life. The thought made him chortle as he sat slightly in his room healing the worst of the burns, cuts, and bruises he’d receive over the course of a day.
Despite it all, he felt entirely removed from this existence, not to mention his life, in a way he’d never been allowed to in his first life.
Don’t get him wrong, detached or not, he’d still kill his father without hesitation if he thought it’d do him any good, but currently his father was still of use to him.
Namely, regarding quirks, even if the man was rapidly losing his value in educating Satoru on them.
Needless to say, quirks were new to him, entirely unlike cursed energy, which he’d spent an entire lifetime perfecting. It was so much easier to learn from an expert on the subject than try to muddle his way through alone, especially in Satoru’s case.
Fire quirks had a lot of potential for collateral damage, whether it was destruction of property or injury to passersby and himself.
As fun as it would be, Satoru would prefer he needn’t wait for a life or death situation to figure it all out like he did with Reverse-Cursed Technique. Satoru was feeling lazy, and it was easier to ignore the verbal abuse of an insect, and put his foot down as he reached his limits than experiment the basic mechanics of quirks alone.
Which brings us to that first moment. As he stopped in the middle of his training and declared training was done for the day. His body still tensed for battle, one he’d win, but not without likely eviscerating the man and possibly revealing his Limitless technique.
Satoru would like to avoid his first murder being that of the number two hero. Maybe the years as a hero counted for something, or perhaps his father was more astute than he’d believed, because in the face of Satoru’s unflinching gaze, he conceded. A common predator coming face to face with the apex predator and wisely standing down before its ego was hurt.
< “It was his eyes, in truth, that won him that battle. That inhuman and disquieting gaze of his, the insurmountable and unknowable wrath of the universe straining against the fissures of his human shell.” — slex (slexenskee) >