Six days slipped by in a blur of training, packing, and quiet anticipation.
The day had finally arrived: the U.A. dormitories were complete, and Class 1-A was ready to move in.
For Souta and Shoto, the transition had already been carefully prepared. After many long discussions - and a fair amount of emotional back-and-forth - their siblings had agreed. Given their family's complicated history, and Endeavor's many enemies, it made sense. Natsuo had already been living most of the time at his university campus anyway, so the change merely changed his destination for the weekends. Fuyumi and Toya, busy with their respective teaching and chef work, made arrangements without much fuss.
Their father, unsurprisingly, had refused to move with them. No amount of convincing from Fuyumi could sway him. Endeavor's pride was too deeply rooted to ever rely on someone else's protection.
Still, despite that heavy detail, the siblings were happy - and relieved - to be making this move together.
They weren't alone. Most of Class 1-A had eagerly accepted the dorm plan, seeing it not just as a safety measure but as a new step toward true independence.
Most of them… but not all.
On the morning of the move, after a final meeting in their old classroom, Aizawa had addressed them solemnly.
"There's something you all should know," he said, his voice even gruffer than usual. "Ojiro won't be moving into the dorms with you."
A murmur of confusion swept through the room.
"Most of you must have noticed it, but he hasn't been attending classes since the U.S.J. incident," Aizawa continued. "Yesterday, we were informed that his parents have withdrawn him from U.A. entirely. Their decision was final."
A deep, somber silence followed. The realization hit hard. Ojiro, their steadfast, kind classmate, was gone.
"They believe," Aizawa said after a moment, "that it's too dangerous. That U.A. couldn't protect him."
He didn't say it with anger - more like a heavy acceptance. A teacher who understood the weight of a parent's fear.
Souta felt a pang in his chest. He hadn't been especially close to Ojiro, but it still felt wrong, unfair. They had only just begun their journey as heroes… and already the road had taken one of them away.
It cast a gray cloud over what should've been an exciting day. But even as they carried that sadness with them, life pressed forward.
The Sports Festival was fast approaching, and they had no time to linger in grief.
By the afternoon, everyone was busy settling into their new home.
The dorms themselves were surprisingly nice - individual rooms for each student, common areas for studying and hanging out, wide open training fields nearby. It was a fresh start in more ways than one.
Souta, for his part, had been training harder than ever in the days leading up to the move.
His mastery over One For All had accelerated rapidly. Thanks to the fragmented memories and instincts he had inherited alongside the power, he had managed to piece together a rough version of Full Cowl - a glowing network of energy that coursed through his body, sharpening his movements, enhancing his reflexes. Barely a few percent yet, but it would increase with more practice.
It wasn't perfect yet, but it was stable enough to use in actual combat scenarios.
His leaps were higher. His strikes were faster. His body, already well-adapted from his previous quirk usage, was adjusting at an astonishing pace.
Meanwhile, his first copied, and now more or less original quirk - CryoPyre - had begun to evolve as well.
He had spent hours experimenting with the ice half, something he had only recently acquired. His flames still felt way easier, more natural. But now, carefully, deliberately, he practiced controlling ice formations, shaping them into blades, shields, and blasts.
And most fascinating of all - unlike Shoto, who had to actively balance his temperature to avoid frostbite or burns, Souta didn't suffer that drawback.
Thanks to his copied regeneration quirk, his body instinctively corrected for thermal imbalance. His internal systems healed the small tissue damage that would have occurred from overusing either extreme.
He could unleash powerful fire bursts or sprawling ice walls without hesitation, seamlessly transitioning between the two.
It was a strength Endeavor would have drooled over - a "perfect" version of the fire-and-ice combination he had obsessed over for years.
When Souta finally revealed this progress to his siblings in a private demonstration, the reactions were… complicated.
Fuyumi had been the first to rush forward, relief written all over her face.
"I'm so happy, Souta!" she cried, hugging him tightly. "You don't have to hurt yourself to be strong anymore."
But Toya and Shoto were quieter.
Toya had simply crossed his arms, a strange flicker of emotion passing through his eyes - something between pride and bitterness.
Shoto, standing beside him, wore an unreadable expression. Not anger. Not jealousy. Just… something quietly conflicted.
Souta understood. Shoto had suffered his whole childhood because of his quirk. But there was no denying it - he had become something that once upon a time, their father had desperately wanted.
Still, Shoto clapped a hand on Souta's shoulder before they left that night.
"You've grown strong," he said simply. "Make sure you use it for yourself, not for him."
Souta nodded, before addressing Shoto himself. "Don't you think you should also follow this advice slowly?"
Nevertheless, Souta felt the responsibility on his shoulders. The responsibility that came alongside strength.
The Sports Festival was only a few days away now. And he intended to step onto that stage not as someone's "perfect creation" - but as himself.
As Souta Todoroki.
---
The afternoon sun spilled through the windows of Class 1-A's new dorm common room, casting a warm glow over the chaos unfolding.
A sudden ruckus outside snapped everyone's attention to the front of the building.
Yells. Shouts. A full crowd gathering.
They were here.
The other classes.
From General Studies to Support Course and Business Course - students from across the campus had come flooding toward the 1-A dorms, curiosity and frustration radiating off of them like a second atmosphere.
Before anyone else could even reach toward the door, Souta was already moving, tugging his jacket over his shoulders as he stepped outside.
The moment the students saw someone from 1-A appear, the noise doubled.
"You think you're better than us just because you fought a few villains?" someone from General Studies shouted.
"Yeah! Just 'cause you got lucky doesn't mean you deserve special treatment!"
"And the Sports Festival - don't think you'll automatically win because of some dumb incident!"
More voices piled in, overlapping, accusatory.
A wall of resentment and nerves.
Standing among the crowd, Souta could pick out familiar faces:
Shinso from General Studies, silent but sharp-eyed, hands shoved in his pockets.
Monoma from Class 1-B, already smirking like he had a whole speech prepared about how "hero course students are so predictable."
Tetsutetsu, fists clenched, glaring fiercely but not necessarily out of hatred - more out of determination to prove himself.
Souta's boots hit the pavement with a quiet thud. He stood at the bottom of the dorm steps, facing the small sea of students alone.
At first, he said nothing.
Just looked at them.
Not angrily - not arrogantly - but with something heavier.
Worn.
Finally, he spoke, voice sharp but not raised: "You think we're lucky? We're not 'special' because we fought villains. We didn't win anything. We survived. Barely."
The crowd wavered, murmuring low.
Even Shinso tilted his head slightly, as if considering the words more carefully than the rest.
Souta's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. His voice trembled slightly - not from fear, but from everything still etched into him from the U.S.J. attack.
"Some of us were almost killed. One of us…" His voice cracked there, just a little. "…one of us had to leave U.A. because his parents couldn't trust that he'd be safe here anymore."
Monoma opened his mouth, probably to say something smug - but closed it again, frowning.
The courtyard quieted.
Really quieted.
The anger in the air dulled under the weight of his words, replaced by something closer to shame.
Souta exhaled, running a hand through his hair, before his voice softened, "None of us asked for any of this. We just did what we could when people tried to murder our teachers and classmates. That's it."
He looked over the gathered students - not with hostility, but with something tired, almost understanding.
"If you think you can do better - if you think you can stand on the front lines too - then good. You should try. I'll cheer you on."
Finally, Souta offered a faint, tired smile: "Good luck at the Sports Festival, everyone. Really."
And with that, he turned and walked calmly back up the stairs into the dorm, leaving a stunned, silent crowd behind him.
Inside, his classmates watched with wide eyes.
Even Bakugo, arms crossed, muttered a gruff, "Hmph," like he might - maybe - respect that move a little.
Kirishima broke the tension first, slapping Souta on the back as he came inside.
"You nailed it, man," he grinned. "Said exactly what needed saying."
Souta just shrugged, weary. "I just didn't want to make more enemies today."
But deep down, he hoped maybe, just maybe, he had reminded everyone - even his own class - what this road really meant.