The story of Tsubaki Todoroki
Five Years Old
The air in the house was always cold. Not just the chill of the air conditioning that Endeavor favored, but a deeper, silent kind of cold that seemed to stick to the corners of the rooms and the back of Tsubaki's throat.
Tsubaki was five, and his Quirk had fully manifested a year prior. It was pure, beautiful ice, like glittering snow crystals, a perfect echo of his mother's power, only stronger. Endeavor had tested him once, the moment the crystal-white hair and piercing blue eyes confirmed the Quirk's lineage.
"You are weak. You are a failure."
The words weren't shouted—they were delivered in a low, resonant growl that was far more terrifying than a scream. They were the first, foundational truth of Tsubaki's young life.
The Training Room
The training room—a massive, concrete space in the west wing—was where the warmth of the house always vanished entirely. Tsubaki stood pressed against the glass viewing window, the surface fogging slightly with his breath.
A booming sound echoed through the thick glass, rattling his small frame. Inside, his twin brother, Shoto, was wreathed in a swirling vortex of flames and ice. At five years old, Shoto was smaller than Tsubaki, but his power already felt immense.
Endeavor was a towering monument of fire, his voice an unending torrent of commands.
"Harder, Shoto! The right side is insufficient! You will not fail, you carry my legacy!"
Tsubaki watched his brother stumble, the fire flickering weakly before the ice surged forward, covering Shoto's left arm in a painful-looking sheath. Tsubaki's chest felt tight. Shoto looked like he was in pain—always red-faced, always sweating, always terrified.
Tsubaki gripped the cold sill of the window, his fingertips tingling with latent power. He wanted to go in. He wanted to show Endeavor his ice. He could make ice so hard, so fast, it would stop those flames. He could prove he wasn't weak.
He pushed the door handle open and stepped into the humid, charged air of the training room.
"Father," Tsubaki said, his voice small but determined. "I can make my ice stronger. I can—"
Endeavor didn't turn around. He didn't even twitch. It was as if a piece of the furniture had spoken.
"Get out," Endeavor said, his attention never leaving Shoto, who flinched violently at the sound of the deep voice. "If you cannot help with my masterpiece you are unnecessary here. Now leave your interrupting."
Unnecessary. The word settled on Tsubaki's skin like frost.
He stood for a moment, waiting, hoping that the man who was his father would look at him, acknowledge his presence, and test him again. When Endeavor moved closer to Shoto, his shadow engulfing the younger twin, Tsubaki knew the moment was over. He backed out, closing the heavy door softly.
He realized then that the abuse Shoto endured was terrible, but it was at least attention. Tsubaki received nothing. To be ignored was to be less than human.
Later that day, Tsubaki went to find his mother, Rei. She was sitting in her room, staring out the window at the snowless garden. Her own white hair was immaculate, and she looked tired, her eyes cloudy with a sorrow Tsubaki couldn't name.
He approached her, holding up his right hand, where a perfectly sculpted miniature ice swan rested. He'd worked hard on the details.
"Mama," he whispered. "Look. I made this. It's for you."
Rei looked down, and Tsubaki saw that small, agonizing flicker of fear in her eyes—the ghost of the ice that had caused her so much pain.
"Oh, Tsubaki," she said, her voice soft and strained. She didn't touch the swan. She didn't touch him. "It's very beautiful. You are so gifted with your ice."
Then, her expression melted into profound worry.
"Have you seen Shoto? Is he okay? Did Enji make him use the fire again? You must be sure to tell me if he pushes his quirk too far, Tsubaki. He must not push himself too far; he is still young after all."
She gently took his hands, not to praise his gift, but to check for his twin's injury. Tsubaki's lips trembled. The ice swan slipped from his grasp and shattered silently on the carpet.
She hadn't asked if he was okay from his own Quirk use. She hadn't asked if he was pushing himself. In her trauma, his mother only saw him as a secondary scout, a source of information about the son who was currently being destroyed by his destiny.
Tsubaki pulled his hands away. "He is fine, Mama. Just fine."
He left her room feeling colder than any of his ice creations. His mother's love was a resource entirely reserved for the one who was being hurt. His pure, powerful ice was merely a painful reminder of her own past, not a reason for pride.
Tsubaki found his older sister, Fuyumi, in the kitchen, furiously trying to make dinner while keeping an ear out for the screams that sometimes escaped the training room. Fuyumi was the only one who truly made space for him.
"Oh, Tsubaki, there you are," Fuyumi said, her voice warm but hurried. She knelt and pulled him into a quick, tight hug. "Are you hungry? I made your favorite—soba."
"I'm not hungry," Tsubaki muttered, pulling back. He wanted to ask her: Why does everyone only care about Shoto's fire? Instead, he asked, "Why is Father always watching him?"
Fuyumi sighed, her smile strained. "Because Father is… focused on legacy. Shoto has a unique Quirk, Tsubaki. You and I, we just have our own thing. It's better this way, okay? It means Father won't hurt you like he hurts Shoto."
He won't hurt me because he thinks I'm not worth the effort. The unsaid words echoed in Tsubaki's small head.
Then, Natsuo walked in, slumping against the counter with teenage angst etched onto his face.
"Seriously, Fuyumi, are we doing soba again?" Natsuo grumbled, not even glancing at his twin brothers. Natsuo was focused on escaping this home and its shadow. He barely registered Tsubaki's existence, viewing him as just another background detail in their father's oppressive house.
Fuyumi looked exhausted. "Just eat it, Natsu. At least we're all together."
Tsubaki looked at his sister, the only source of warmth, yet still unable to give him the answer he desperately needed: You are strong. You matter. She just wanted him to be safe, which, to Tsubaki, meant being small.
Tsubaki lay in bed that night, the cold radiating from his small body. He replayed the day's encounters: Endeavor's dismissal, Rei's distant fear, Shoto's agony, Fuyumi's placating, Natsuo's indifference. They had all, in their own way, confirmed the same truth: Tsubaki Todoroki was inferior.
He thought of Endeavor's cold, dismissive words that would never leave him : "Tsubaki you are weak. The fact is that Shoto is meant for greatness; he will surpass All might he is my legacy your a failure so get out of the way."
The words were not advice; they were a branding iron.
Tsubaki sat up in bed, his small fists clenched tight enough to draw blood. A surge of fierce, resentful energy shot through him, and the air around his head dropped instantly. A thin layer of frost instantly coated the wooden headboard.
He looked at the frozen wood, then down at his hands—hands that could freeze fire, shatter concrete, and bring the strongest Quirk to a halt.
Weak.
His five-year-old mind made a silent, burning promise that would define the rest of his life.
He wouldn't just be better than Shoto. He wouldn't just be seen by his family. He would reach a height of power so undeniable that the entire world would have no choice but to bow down.
He would train in secret, push his body to the breaking point, and perfect his Quirk until his ice was a force of nature. He would be flawless. He would be unstoppable.
I will be the Number One Hero.
I will be so strong, Father will be forced to look at me, and that look will be regret.
I will make them all see who they threw away.
The cold in his room intensified until the air was painful to breathe, but Tsubaki didn't shiver. The hatred burning in his chest was enough to keep him warm. He was no longer the ghost. He was the ticking time bomb.
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Authers note:
Hope you enjoyed
Bye