A few days later, the morning sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, reflecting off the polished surfaces (Y/N) had decorated with such care.
She was sitting at the breakfast bar, a notepad in front of her, chewing the end of a pen thoughtfully.
"Shoto?" she asked as he walked in, already dressed in his hero suit but with his jacket still over his arm.
"Yeah?"
"We've been here for months now, and we've made this place so beautiful." She looked around the expansive open-plan living area.
"But it feels a little... quiet. I was thinking, maybe we should throw a housewarming party? A real one. We could invite our colleagues from the agencies-Mirko, some of the others you work with, maybe even some of your old classmates from UA."
Shoto paused, his hand hovering over his coffee mug. His first instinct was a sharp jolt of hesitation. A party meant more people, more eyes on them.
(Y/N) saw his hesitation and her expression softened into something a bit more tentative. "I just want people to see us as a team, Shoto. Not just a headline. Plus, you've been working so hard lately... you deserve to relax and show off your home."
Shoto looked at her-her eyes were bright with excitement, the "little light" her mother had talked about shining through.
He realized she wasn't just asking for a party, she was asking to cement their life together in the eyes of their peers. She wanted to be his wife in public, not just behind the high walls of the villa.
"You're right," Shoto said, his voice softening. He walked over to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We should do it. Who were you thinking of inviting?"
"Everyone!" she laughed, her energy returning instantly. "Mirko will probably complain about the 'fancy' food but eat all of it anyway. And I'd love to meet more of your friends."
Shoto leaned down, pressing a kiss to her temple. He felt a wave of affection, but also a renewed sense of duty.
If this is what, that will make her feel at home here, then they were going to do this, they were going to invite the world into their sanctuary.
"Let's do it," he said. "Next Friday. I'll help you with the list."
(Y/N) beamed, leaning her head back against his chest. "It's going to be perfect, Shoto. I want everyone to see how happy we are."
Shoto held her, a quiet vow forming in his mind. He would make sure she stayed happy.
^ • ^
The preparations for the party were in full swing. Unlike the chaotic, informal gathering with Class 1-A, this was meant to be a more sophisticated affair for the pro-hero community.
(Y/N) moved through the villa with a purposeful energy, arranging white lilies in crystal vases and ensuring the catering staff understood the exact temperature for the hors d'oeuvres.
Shoto watched her, leaning against the kitchen island. He was dressed in a sleek, dark suit that made his bi-colored hair stand out even more.
"You're overthinking the napkins, (Y/N)," he said, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.
"I am not!" she shot back playfully, smoothing out a linen fold for the third time. "Mirko is coming, Shoto. If the napkins aren't perfect, she'll probably use her sleeve and then judge me for it. I want our home to look... established."
Shoto walked over, gently taking the napkin from her hands and setting it down. He pulled her into the space between his arms. "The house looks like a home because you're in it. Not because of the napkins."
(Y/N) sighed, leaning her forehead against his chest. "I just want tonight to be special. For us. No headlines about 'The Todoroki Heir' or 'The Hakamada Successor.' Just Shoto and (Y/N)."
Shoto tightened his grip on her waist. He knew that for everyone else, the "arranged marriage" narrative was common knowledge.
In Japan's high-society hero circles, these unions were seen as traditional and stable. No one suspected a cold, legal contract, they just saw two powerful families joining forces.
The doorbell rang, signaling the start of the evening.
The night was a whirlwind of hero gossip and laughter. Mirko arrived in a dress that looked like she'd had to be sewn into it, immediately grabbing a drink and slapping Shoto on the back hard enough to make him stumble.
Hawks fluttered in shortly after, charms and compliments flying as he chatted with (Y/N) about her time-anchor Quirk.
"I'm telling you, Kid," Hawks said, leaning back with a chicken skewer in hand, "a Quirk like yours is a PR dream. Efficient, clean, and you look good on camera. Your father really picked a winner for Shoto."
(Y/N) laughed, though the mention of her father made her stomach do a small flip. "I like to think, Shoto and I picked each other, Hawks."
"Oh, absolutely," Hawks winked, though his eyes darted to Shoto for a split second, a look of knowing between two men who understood the weight of expectations.
As the night progressed, (Y/N) found herself near the balcony, taking a moment of quiet away from the noise. She overheard a group of sidekicks from a local agency talking nearby.
"It's a perfect match, honestly," one whispered. "The Hakamada family needed the Todoroki fire to stay relevant post-war, and Shoto gets a wife who basically doubles his combat efficiency. It's the most logical arrangement I've seen in years."
"They look happy, though," another added.
"Of course they do. They're professionals. That's the beauty of these high-level arrangements, everyone knows their role."
(Y/N) stood still, her fingers tightening around her glass. Role. The word felt cold. She looked across the room at Shoto. He was talking to Best Jeanist, but his eyes were scanning the crowd.
The moment they landed on her, his expression shifted, the stony mask of "Hero Shoto" melted into something soft, genuine, and worried. He started walking toward her immediately.
He didn't care about the "role." Or did he?
"Are you okay?" he asked, reaching her side and shielding her from the others with his body. "You look a little pale."
(Y/N) looked up at him, searching his face. "Shoto... do you think people only see us as 'logical'?"
Shoto frowned, his gaze hardening as he glanced at the gossiping group nearby. He knew what they were saying. He knew that in their world, "arranged" often meant "artificial."
He reached down, taking her hand in his and interlacing their fingers tightly, letting his left side's warmth seep into her skin.
"It doesn't matter what they see," he said, his voice was low and firm. "They weren't there when we were dancing in the kitchen. They don't know the house you've built here. Let them talk. I know what's real."
^ • ^
The party was at its height, the villa glowing with warmth and the sounds of laughter. (Y/N) was the heart of it, moving gracefully between groups of Pro-Heroes, her eyes bright with the pride of the home she had built.
To her, this night was the ultimate proof that her marriage to Shoto was a success, a beautiful, budding romance born from a traditional arrangement.
The front door opened, and the temperature of the room seemed to plummet.
Hakamada stepped in. He didn't look for the coat check or a drink. He stood in the foyer, his presence as sharp and cold as a winter morning, clutching a black leather portfolio like a weapon.
(Y/N) spotted him and beamed, excusing herself from a conversations. "Father! You made it!" She reached out to hug him, but he merely caught her hands, giving them a stiff, formal squeeze before his eyes shot over her shoulder to Shoto.
"A word, Shoto," Hakamada said, his voice cutting through the festive hum. "In the study. Now."
"Father, at least have some tea first-" (Y/N) started, but Shoto gently placed a hand on her arm.
"It's alright," Shoto said, his voice tight. "I'll be right back. Go check on the dessert tray, okay?"
(Y/N) watched them go, a small flicker of confusion crossing her face, but she shook it off. She trusted Shoto, and she trusted her father.
She headed toward the kitchen, leaving the two men to disappear behind the heavy oak doors of the study.
^ • ^
Inside the Study
The "click" of the lock was deafening. Hakamada didn't sit; he tossed the portfolio onto the desk.
"Three months in," Hakamada began, his voice a low, transactional drone.
"The public is enamored. The 'Todoroki-Hakamada' branding is the most stable asset in the hero market right now. But I am here to discuss the long-term milestones."
Shoto stood by the window, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "I'm not a CEO, Hakamada. Talk to my father's lawyers if you want to discuss branding."
"I'm talking to you because you are the one in the bedroom," Hakamada countered coldly.
He flipped open the portfolio to a page highlighted in red. "The Five-Year Succession Clause. Let's be very clear about the terms we agreed upon."
Shoto's jaw tightened. "I know the terms."
"Do you? Because the Hakamada estate didn't provide this villa and five billion yen in 'rehabilitation funding' for Endeavor's image out of charity. You have a five-year window to produce an heir. A child with a stabilized hybrid of your elemental Quirk and her Time-Anchor. If that 'result' isn't achieved by the end of year five, the Exit Clause is triggered."
Shoto turned, his eyes burning. "You're talking about a human life like a lab report. Did you forget it's your own daughter you are talking about"
"I'm talking about the survival of our lineages," Hakamada said, leaning over the desk. "If you fail to produce the heir, the marriage is dissolved. The villa is seized. The funding for your father's 'atonement' charities is pulled, and the Todoroki name is left to rot in the scandal of a failed merger. (Y/N) will be returned to the Hakamada estate for a more... productive pairing."
Shoto felt a wave of nausea. "She doesn't know. She thinks we're just... living."
"And she doesn't need to know," Hakamada snapped. "Her ignorance makes her a better partner. She's soft, Shoto. She's compliant because she thinks she's in love. Use that. Don't let your 'conscience' get in the way of the five-year plan. Keep her happy, keep her healthy, and keep her focused on you. Don't forget you are on clock."
Hakamada straightened his tie, leaving the portfolio open on the desk-a silent, black-and-white reminder that every kiss, every dance, and every night Shoto spent with his wife was being measured against a biological quota.
"I'll see myself out," Hakamada said. "Make sure she stays in the dark. It's for her own protection."