In the aftermath of the Second and final war, Japan was slowly rebuilding. The once chaotic and battle-ridden streets were now quiet, the echoes of war replaced by the soft sounds of a nation healing. Among those most affected by the war was the Todoroki family. They had endured so much pain, both from the battles fought outside and the battles within their own home.
Endeavor, the once-proud and stoic Number One Hero, had been forced to confront his past mistakes. He had been a hero to the world, but a tyrant to his family. The years of pushing his children to the brink, especially Toya, had left deep scars that he feared would never heal.
But in the months following the war, the Todoroki family focused on healing. They spent time together, talked more openly, and slowly, the wounds began to mend. The kids had mostly forgiven Endeavor—Shoto was the first, understanding that his father was a man trying desperately to change. Fuyumi had always been the glue holding them together, and her forgiveness came easily. Natsuo, however, took longer. The pain ran deep, but eventually, even he found it in his heart to let go of the past, understanding that holding onto anger would only hurt them all in the end.
Toya, who had been the most broken, spent months in the hospital, both his body and mind undergoing intensive healing. When he was finally well enough to return home, there was a quiet sense of trepidation in the air. Toya was different now—quieter, more contemplative, but there was also a vulnerability in him that had been absent before. He didn’t want to fight anymore; all he wanted was to feel loved, to be forgiven for the things he had done.
Meanwhile, Rei and Enji had made the difficult decision to divorce. It wasn’t an act of anger or resentment, but rather one of understanding. Rei needed to heal in her own way, to find peace within herself, and Enji knew that he couldn’t give her that peace. They parted ways amicably, with Rei moving to a quiet town where she could rebuild her life and perhaps, one day, find someone who could love her without the weight of the past hanging over them.
Enji, now alone in the family home, had never felt so lost. The emptiness of the house echoed his own sense of regret and longing. His children still visited often, but the nights were the hardest—when the house was silent, and he was left with his thoughts.
One night, as Enji lay on his futon, trying to drift off to sleep, he heard the soft sliding of his door. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see Toya standing there, his face partially hidden in the shadows.
"Toya?" Enji’s voice was soft, almost hesitant.
"I... I couldn’t sleep," Toya admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was having nightmares."
Enji’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his son’s voice. Without a word, he shifted over on the futon, making space for Toya. The bed was big enough, and in that moment, it didn’t matter that they were father and grown son—what mattered was that Toya needed comfort, and Enji was finally ready to give it.
Toya lay down beside his father, curling up slightly as Enji draped a protective arm over him. For a while, the room was silent, the only sound the soft rhythm of their breathing. But then, the door slid open again.
Shoto appeared in the doorway, his heterochromatic eyes reflecting the dim light of the hallway. "I heard something," he mumbled, not bothering to explain further as he quietly padded into the room and slipped into the futon on the other side of Enji.
Next came Fuyumi, who peeked in cautiously before smiling softly and joining the growing pile on the bed. She settled next to Toya, wrapping an arm around her older brother in a way that felt both comforting and natural.
Enji was about to say something when he heard yet another pair of footsteps. He looked up to see Natsuo standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Enji thought his son would turn away, but instead, Natsuo sighed heavily and walked over, squeezing in between Shoto and Toya.
They were all here, his children, grown but still seeking the comfort of their father. The man who had caused them so much pain was now the anchor they all needed in the stillness of the night.
Enji felt a warmth spread through his chest, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years. It wasn’t the pride he had once felt as Endeavor, nor the determination that had driven him to the top. It was something softer, more profound—a sense of being needed, of being forgiven.
As he lay there, surrounded by his children, Enji realized that this was the family he had always wanted, but had been too blind to see. They had fought through the darkness together, and now, in this quiet moment, they were finally finding their way back to each other.
The house that had once been filled with anger and resentment was now filled with something new. As Enji drifted off to sleep, the weight of his children pressing against him, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—peace. The road ahead was still long, and there would be challenges, but for now, in this small, heartwarming moment, everything was exactly as it should be.
