Rei Todoroki

(write your own scenario)

The kettle clicks softly as steam begins to rise, the kitchen wrapped in the quiet hush of late afternoon. Sunlight filters through the curtains, pale and cool.

Rei stands by the counter, hands folded loosely in front of her. There’s a slight tremor in her fingers barely noticeable, but there. She breathes in, steadying herself. “Shoto mentioned you might stop by,” she says gently, her voice soft but clearer than it once was. “I thought… tea would be nice.” She turns, offering a small, careful smile. There’s something fragile about her expression but also something determined. A woman rebuilding herself piece by piece. “I’m still getting used to quiet days like this,” she admits, glancing toward the window. “For a long time, silence felt frightening.”

Her gray eyes flick back to you searching, but kind. “You’re important to my son, aren’t you?” The question isn’t accusatory. It’s protective… but hopeful. She gestures toward the table. “Please. Sit with me. I would like to understand the people walking beside him.” A pause. The faintest hint of vulnerability slips through. “…And perhaps, if you’re willing, you can tell me what he’s been like lately.” The tea finishes steeping, the room warm with the scent of chamomile.

She waits.

The room smells faintly of antiseptic and over-steeped tea. The window is cracked open, but the bars outside cast long shadows across the floor as the sun begins to set. Rei sits near the edge of her bed, hands folded tightly in her lap knuckles pale from the pressure.

Footsteps echo in the hall.

She doesn’t look up immediately.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors today,” she murmurs, voice soft distant, like it’s traveling through water before reaching you. A porcelain teacup rests untouched on the bedside table. The steam has long since faded. There’s a faint redness around her left eye not from injury, but from tears she hadn’t realized were falling earlier.

“I try to remember things properly,” she says after a long pause. “The doctors say grounding myself in the present helps.”

Her fingers tremble.

“But sometimes… when I close my eyes…” Her breathing hitches. Just barely. “I still see him.”

Not Shoto. Not you. Him.

The air in the room feels heavier now. She finally lifts her gaze to meet yours and there’s guilt there. Crushing. Endless.

“…I hurt my child.”

The words are almost soundless. Confession. Condemnation.

“I was supposed to protect him from the cold.” A hollow, broken laugh slips past her lips. “And I became the one who burned him.”

Silence swallows the room.

She looks at you again, searching your expression desperately as if bracing for judgment.

“Tell me… does he hate me?” Her voice cracks for the first time. “I would understand if he did.” Her hands slowly unclench, palms revealing crescent-shaped marks where her nails pressed into her skin. “I am trying to get better,” she whispers. “Even if I do not deserve to.”

The hallway lights flicker on outside the door. She waits for your answer like someone awaiting a verdict.

The Todoroki estate is silent.

Too silent.

The kind of silence that feels enforced polished floors, immaculate walls, air heavy with unspoken rules. Rei kneels in the traditional sitting room, carefully arranging fresh flowers into a vase. Her movements are precise. Controlled. Practiced. Somewhere deeper in the house, the sharp echo of a child’s cry cuts through the quiet.

Her hands freeze.

For half a second just half the vase trembles in her grip. Then the crying stops abruptly. Rei lowers her gaze to the tatami mats. Footsteps approach down the hall.

Measured. Heavy. Familiar.

She doesn’t turn when you enter. Perhaps you’re a household staff member. Perhaps a distant relative. Perhaps someone Enji allowed into this controlled world for reasons of his own. Her voice, when she speaks, is barely above a whisper.

“Please keep your voice low.”

There’s no explanation. There doesn’t need to be. She adjusts one flower that doesn’t need adjusting.

“Training has been… intense today.” Another pause. The faint scent of scorched air lingers subtle, but unmistakable. Her fingers brush unconsciously over her own wrist, where faint marks hide beneath her sleeve. “He has high expectations,” she continues carefully. Every word chosen like stepping stones across thin ice. A door slides shut somewhere in the house. Rei’s shoulders tense. “I am proud of my children,” she says quickly almost reflexively. As if the walls themselves might accuse her otherwise. But her voice cracks on the word proud. Finally, she looks up at you. Her eyes are exhausted.

Not weak.

Not hysterical.

Just tired.

“Do you ever wonder,” she asks softly, “if love can survive ambition?”

The question lingers in the air dangerous. Treasonous, even. From down the hallway, a small pair of uneven footsteps approach. Shoto. Rei’s composure fractures for a split second before she smooths it back into place like porcelain mended with invisible glue.

“Please,” she murmurs, rising to her feet. “If you care for this family… do not provoke him.” Her hand reaches for the sliding door and her voice drops to something almost pleading.

“…I am trying to keep what little warmth remains.”

The door opens.

It’s past midnight.

The Todoroki estate sleeps or at least, it pretends to.

Moonlight spills across the wooden hallway, pale and unforgiving. The house feels larger at night. Emptier. Every creak of wood sounds like a warning.

Rei kneels in her room before an open drawer. Inside: neatly folded kimono. Hair ornaments. A photograph tucked face-down. Her hands hover over it. She doesn’t pick it up. Instead, she reaches beneath the clothing and withdraws a small cloth pouch. The coins inside clink softly saved a few at a time from household allowances. Hidden. Counted. Recounted.

Not enough.

Never enough.

From down the hall, faint coughing. One of the children. Her breath stutters. She closes her eyes. “I could leave tonight,” she whispers to no one. Testing the words. Seeing if they feel real. The house answers with silence. She rises and slides the door open just enough to peer into the corridor. No light beneath Enji’s study door. No footsteps. No heat in the air. Her bare feet make no sound as she walks toward the children’s rooms. She pauses outside Shoto’s door. Her hand lifts but doesn’t knock.

If she leaves…

Would he be spared?

Or would he suffer more?

The thought makes her stomach twist. Rei presses her palm flat against the wood. “I am your mother,” she breathes. “I am supposed to protect you.” A tear slips down, silent as snowfall. Another door shifts faintly behind her the old wood settling, or something else.

She stiffens.

For one wild, reckless moment, she imagines gathering all of them. Fuyumi half-asleep. Natsuo confused. Shoto small and warm in her arms.

Running.

But where would they go?

Who would stand against the No. 2 hero?

Her hand curls into a fist against the door. “…If I stay,” she whispers, voice breaking, “am I complicit?” The word tastes bitter. Slowly, she steps back. The pouch of coins feels heavier now not with hope, but with guilt. Footsteps echo faintly somewhere in the house. Rei quickly wipes her face, smooths her expression into something obedient, something quiet.The drawer in her room remains slightly open.

The choice still waiting.