The basement of Musutafu University hummed with a warmth that made you forget the winter chill outside. As Ren descended the stairs, she felt the temperature rise with each step, the heat from the adjacent boiler room permeating the air. By the time she reached the bottom, she was already starting to regret her choice of outfit.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Ren stepped into what felt like a time capsule. The university newspaper office was a relic of a bygone era, all wood paneling and vintage furniture. Old-fashioned desk lamps cast a warm, golden glow over the room, giving everything a sepia-toned quality that made Ren feel as though she'd stepped onto the set of an '80s newsroom drama. She loved it, from the smell of ink and paper, to the jarring sounds of the photocopier.
Her heels clicked against the floor as she made her way to her desk, desperate to remove her winter coat in the tropical temperatures of the office. She wore a black dress and over-the-knee boots, looking more suited to a fashion runway than a student newspaper office. Diamond earrings glinted in the low light, hidden beneath the dark waves of her that fell past her shoulders.
As she reached her cubicle, Ren shrugged off her coat gratefully, draping it over the back of her chair. She rolled up the sleeves of her dress, already feeling overheated in the stuffy basement. With a sigh of relief, she bent down to unzip her boots, replacing them with a pair of sneakers she kept stashed under her desk for just for this environment. As she straightened up, Ren caught sight of Kaito through the window of his office. He was staring out at the office and his eyes had found hers. Ren smiled politely in greeting, acknowledging his gaze, but felt a twinge of discomfort. She knew Kaito found her attractive, and in truth, she had first developed a schoolgirl crush on the older man, but her thoughts were occupied by someone else entirely.
It had been a week since she'd last seen Shoto. Between his work study and her commitments to the paper, university, and the public appearances her father's PR team had arranged, they'd barely had time to text, let alone see each other. Ren missed him terribly. She longed to talk to him, to ask him about his training, about his decision to work with his father despite their complicated history. She wanted to know if he was happier now, using both sides of his quirk. More than anything, she found herself daydreaming about him in her lectures, trying to remember what he felt like.
As she removed her laptop from her bag, she placed it on her desk and grimaced at her reflection in its dark screen. She was yet to tell Shoto about her quirk, admit to the one secret she had never told anyone. But the guilt had been fading lately, replaced by a growing comfort in their relationship. It was falling out of focus while other parts of her life became more important. Part of her knew she should tell him, but another part was relieved that the weight of her secret was becoming easier to bear.
Ren booted up her laptop and as she waited for it to turn on, her eyes fell on the framed articles hanging on the walls of her cubicle - her first three published pieces for the university paper. Each one a carefully crafted critique of the hero system, examining its flaws and proposing alternatives. She felt a surge of pride mixed with a hint of unease. How would Shoto react if he read these? Had he read them? The paper was available to read online but she had never thought to send them to him.
Shaking off her thoughts, Ren began clicking and typing, organising her research for her next article. She was so engrossed in her work that it took her a few minutes to notice the weight of someone's gaze on her. Without looking up, she sighed and said, "What's up, Bubbs?" without skipping a beat Bubbles asked:
"How's Todoroki?" Her voice was filled with barely contained glee.
Ren kept her eyes fixed on her screen, fighting to make sure her expression gave nothing away; was she glowing? Could Bubbles see Shoto's affect on Ren's skin like a treasure map ending in their secret relationship? "I have no idea what you mean," she replied calmly.
Bubbles let out a laugh that echoed through the quiet office, her pink waves of hair flowing in the air from the fan beside her. "Please," she said, before leaning forward and whispering: "you look like a Jackson Pollock painting." Ren knew immediately what she meant- streaks of red and silver must be all over her face, given Shoto was all she was thinking about nowadays. She couldn't give it away so easily.
The heiress finally turned to face her friend, tossing her hair back dramatically. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she said, "You mean... expensive?"
"Ren, I can see where his tongue has been," Bubbles said flatly.
"Ah!" Ren gasped, instinctively bringing her knees together to hide her thighs from Bubbles view. She blushed furiously until, in half a heartbeat, Her eyes widened as realisation dawned. "Oh my God," she breathed and turned to her friend, open-mouthed in shock. "You're bluffing."
A triumphant grin spread across Bubbles' face, she smoothed down the front of her sunflower-print dress. "You're the only person who's ever figured that out," she said, sounding impressed. "I still have Kaito wrapped around my little finger." Ren felt her cheeks grow hot as she realised she'd been caught. There was no denying it now. Bubbles had figured out her secret.
"So," Bubbles continued, her eyes twinkling with delight, her pixie voice becoming dreamy as she appraised her friend, "the beautiful, anti-hero daughter of the billionaire, hero-worshipping media mogul has fallen for the good-looking, prodigal son of the number two hero? It's like something out of a romance novel!"
"I'm not anti-hero," Ren protested weakly, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.
Bubbles' smile widened. "Clearly."
Ren looked at her friend, really looked at her. Bubbles, with her bright pink hair and perpetually cheerful demeanour, had become a constant source of light in Ren's sometimes overwhelming life. They were good friends after months of working together, hanging out between lectures and shopping after class. But could she really be trusted with something this big? This girl who took delight in drama, was building her career from the foundations of tabloid gossip and rumours? With her slightly ditsy personality, psychedelic clothing and somewhat unprofessional habits?
Taking a deep breath, Ren reached out and placed her hand on top of Bubbles'. "Please," she said softly, "don't tell anyone. We really don't need the whole world knowing."
Bubbles' expression softened, a rare moment of seriousness crossing her features. "Ugh, a secret love?! Oh, I wouldn't spoil this for the world," she said dreamily. "It's my very own soap opera!" Her usual cheerfulness returned as she added, with a sincere smile: "You have my undying loyalty, fidelity, and understanding." A mischievous smirk spread across her face; "if you give me every single detail right..." She reached into her star-shaped bag and pulled out a small recording device, pressing the record button with a flourish. "Now."
Ren couldn't help but laugh, a wave of affection for her friend washing over her. Despite the teasing and the potential danger of her secret being discovered, she felt truly grateful to have someone like Bubbles in her life.
The media heiress reached over and turned the recording device off, making Bubbles pout in disappointment. But her pout was soon replaced by an expanding grin as Ren began to share some carefully edited details of her relationship with Shoto, grateful to let the secret out, to have someone she could talk to. The warmth of the office, which had felt stifling earlier, now seemed cozy and comforting. The golden light from the old lamps cast a soft glow over everything, creating an atmosphere of intimacy that made it easier to open up. Bubbles listened with rapt attention, her eyes wide and sparkling as Ren described stolen moments and secret meetings. She gasped at the romantic parts, giggled at the awkward ones and pushed Ren for more intimate details that Ren had to roll her eyes at.
As they talked, Ren found herself glancing around the office, taking in the details she often overlooked. The ancient filing cabinets in the corner, probably filled with decades-old stories. The corkboard covered in a chaotic mix of event flyers, story ideas, and candid photos of the newspaper staff. The ever-present hum of the old computers, a constant backdrop to their conversation.
It struck her then, how much this place had come to mean to her. This basement office, with its outdated equipment and quirky charm, had become a sanctuary of sorts. Here, she could be herself - not Ren Ishikawa, media heiress, but just Ren, aspiring journalist and normal college student.
As she made her way through her family house, her steps echoing in the cavernous spaces, Ren found herself drawn to the warmth and bustle of the kitchen. It is where she spent most of her childhood, fussed over by the staff, babied by everyone, spoiled by the cooks. Unlike the rest of the house, which seemed to exist in a state of perpetual stillness, the kitchen was always alive with activity.
Pushing open the swinging door, Ren was enveloped in a cacophony of sounds and smells. The kitchen was massive, easily the size of her entire apartment, with gleaming stainless steel appliances and a huge marble island at its centre. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, its light catching on the polished surfaces and creating a dazzling display.
The air was thick with the aroma of roasting meat, sautéing vegetables, and baking desserts. Chefs in crisp white uniforms moved about with practiced efficiency, their faces flushed from the heat of the stoves. Sous chefs chopped and diced at lightning speed, while pastry chefs delicately piped intricate designs onto tiny cakes.
In the midst of this controlled chaos stood Hana, Ren's housekeeper and surrogate mother figure. Despite being well into her fifties, Hana moved with the energy of someone half her age, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a neat bun. She wore a simple but elegant black dress, a stark contrast to the white uniforms of the kitchen staff.
As soon as Hana caught sight of Ren, her face lit up with a warm smile. "There you are!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to embrace the young woman. "We were beginning to think you'd gotten lost on your way here."
Ren laughed, returning the hug with genuine affection. "I considered it," she admitted, "but I couldn't pass up the chance to raid the kitchen before dinner."
Without waiting for an invitation, Ren hoisted herself up onto the marble island, kicking off her heels and crossing her legs beneath her. Here, in the kitchen, surrounded by people who had known her since childhood, Ren felt she could truly be herself. The kitchen staff, many of whom had watched Ren grow up, greeted her with warm smiles and excited chatter. They seemed to vie for her attention, each eager to show off their latest culinary creation.
"Miss Ren, try this," one chef urged, offering her a spoonful of creamy, decadent lobster mac and cheese.
"What's all this Miss Ren?" She shuddered as she repeated it, earning a small smile of apology from the chef. Ren still took the spoon gratefully.
"No, no, the roast beef is the star tonight," another insisted, presenting a perfectly medium-rare slice drizzled with rich gravy. Ren accepted each offering with enthusiasm, her eyes lighting up with each new taste.
"Oh my god," she moaned around a mouthful of buttery roast potatoes, "I've missed this so much."
Hana watched the scene with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "You're all going to spoil her dinner," she scolded the chefs, but there was no real heat in her words.
"I'm nineteen, Hana," Ren protested through a mouthful of béarnaise sauce and chips.
Hana raised an eyebrow. "Would it kill you to act like it?" The older woman asked asked dryly.
Ren pretended to consider this for a moment before declaring, with all the gravity she could muster, "Yes."
The kitchen staff chuckled enthusiastically as Ren and Hana's conversation, something they had not heard in so long, brought a smile to everyone's faces. The sound of their laughter bounced off the high ceilings and polished surfaces. It was a stark contrast to the usual hushed tones that permeated the rest of the mansion, as if the kitchen existed in its own little bubble of warmth and joy.
As Ren continued to sample the various dishes being prepared, her eyes were drawn to the small television mounted in the corner of the kitchen. It was tuned to one of her father's news channels, currently showing footage of recent hero activity in the city.
Her heart skipped a beat as she caught sight of a familiar figure in the background of the shot. Shoto Todoroki stood behind his father, Endeavor, looking a little bored and tired but undeniably handsome. Ren felt a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the kitchen's heat.
"Oh, that's what became of the boy next door!" Hana exclaimed, coming to stand beside Ren, both women tilted their head at the nineteen year old hero-in-training. Hana was holding a bottle of wine, presumably for dinner. "He's so handsome."
Without thinking, Ren nodded in agreement. It wasn't until she noticed the knowing looks and stifled laughter from the kitchen staff that she realised her mistake. A blush crept up her cheeks as Hana fixed her with an amused gaze.
"They sent you halfway across the world, for a decade, but you still couldn't get Shoto Todoroki out of your head?" Hana teased, ruffling Ren's hair affectionately.
Before Ren could formulate a response, Hana pressed the bottle of wine into her hands and gently shooed her towards the door. "Go on now, your father's waiting in the dining room.
Still blushing, Ren ducked her head in embarrassment and made her way out of the kitchen. As the door swung shut behind her, she felt as if she were leaving behind a warm, comforting embrace and stepping back into the cold, formal world of the Ishikawa mansion.
The hallways seemed to stretch endlessly, their walls lined with priceless artwork and antique furniture. Ren's bare feet made no sound on the plush carpets as she padded along, the bottle of wine cool against her palm. Despite the opulence surrounding her, she felt out of place, like a splash of vibrant colour in a monochrome painting.
Finally, she reached the dining room. The space was cavernous, dominated by a massive mahogany table that could easily seat thirty-two people. Tonight, however, it was set for just two, the elaborate place settings looking almost comically out of place next to the thirty empty places.
Akira Ishikawa sat at the head of the table, in a crisp dark suit, his attention focused on the phone in his hand. He barely looked up as Ren entered, the soft clink of the wine bottle against the table the only acknowledgment of her presence.
Ren took her seat beside her father, pouring wine for both of them with practiced ease. It wasn't until the first course was served that Akira finally put his phone away, turning his sharp blue eyes to his daughter.
"Hello, darling," he said, his tone warm but somehow distant. He reached out, cupping Ren's face with his hand in a gesture of fatherly affection. For a moment, something flashed in his eyes – recognition, perhaps, or a hint of pain – before his expression smoothed over once more.
"Hello, Father," Ren replied, her voice carefully calm. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a couple of Hana's famous red bean cookies. "Stole these while Hana wasn't looking. Want one? I know you like them."
A ghost of a smile flickered across Akira's face as he accepted the offered treat. "Sure," he said, taking a bite. For a moment, the tension between them seemed to ease, replaced by a shared appreciation for this small act of rebellion against Hana's strict pre-dinner rules.
The moment was short-lived, however. Akira's gaze sharpened as he studied Ren, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice. "You're being nice," he observed.
Ren couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing in the vast room. "Is that so unusual?" she asked, tucking into her lobster mac and cheese. She had to admit, Hana had been right – she had indeed spoiled her appetite with her kitchen raid.
"Yes," Akira replied bluntly. Before Ren could respond, he continued, "I've been keeping an eye on your work for the MU paper. Quite a distinctive voice you've got. Although I don't always agree with your sentiments, you're a solid writer. Talented." Ren wanted to say thank you, but years of experience had taught her to be wary of her father's compliments. They usually came with strings attached. So instead, she waited, watching him carefully. She didn't have to wait long. "During your winter break," Akira said, his tone leaving no room for argument, "I want you to come and work for me. Learn the family business. It's time, Ren."
Ren felt her heart sink. She had known this was coming, had dreaded it for years. "I appreciate what you're saying," she began carefully, "but I want to make a name for myself, stand on my own two feet, earn the position in the family business, not just have it as the result of nepotism."
Akira's eyes hardened, he straightened his tie. "It's not a request, Ren." Ren looked down at her plate, fighting to keep her expression neutral. She could feel the familiar anger and frustration bubbling up inside her, threatening to spill over. But she forced it down, knowing that an outburst would only make things worse. "Take advantage of the privileges that come with your life, darling," Akira continued, his voice softening slightly. "Most aspiring journalists would kill to work at Ishikawa Industries."
As Ren struggled with her response, her mind drifted to Shoto. She thought about how he was working with his father, overcoming their difficult past, learning from him. Maybe, she thought, she could do the same. Maybe this was an opportunity, not a life sentence.
"Sure, Father," she said finally, meeting his gaze. "Sounds like a good opportunity."
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of polite small talk and long silences. By the time Ren excused herself, citing fatigue from her busy day, she felt drained, as if the very air in the dining room had been slowly suffocating her.
She made her way up the grand staircase, her fingers trailing along the ornate banister. The upper floors of the mansion were quieter, the plush carpets muffling her footsteps. Family portraits lined the walls, generations of Ishikawas staring down at her with solemn expressions. She passed a portrait of her mother, though it was more like looking in a mirror.
Finally, she reached her childhood bedroom. Pushing open the heavy oak door, Ren stepped into a space that felt both familiar and strange. The room was exactly as she had left it years ago, a time capsule of her pre-teen self. The walls were a soft lavender, adorned with posters of bands and movies she had long since outgrown. A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, its gossamer curtains stirring gently in the breeze from the open balcony doors.
The dark haired girl made her way to the balcony, wrapping herself in a soft blanket she grabbed from the foot of the bed. The night air was crisp and cool, a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere inside the mansion.
From her vantage point, Ren could see the lights of the city stretching out before her. And there, just visible over the high fence that separated their properties, was the Todoroki house. Ren's eyes were drawn to a particular window, one she knew belonged to Shoto's room. It was dark, he must still be at work.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Ren pulled out her phone and dialled Shoto's number. The phone rang once, twice, three times, and Ren was about to hang up when suddenly, Shoto's voice came through the line.
"Hey," he said, his voice rough with fatigue.
"Hi," Ren replied, unable to keep the smile from her voice. "I feel like I haven't spoken to you in forever."
There was a pause, and then Shoto's matter-of-fact tone: "It's been five days, Ren."
Ren couldn't help but laugh softly as Shoto's usual literal understanding of words shattered what should have been a sweet sentiment. "I miss you," she admitted, her voice softening. She heard Shoto clear his throat, and she could picture him perfectly – the slight furrow of his brow, the way he would glance around to make sure no one was listening. Feeling mischievous, Ren lowered her voice to a whisper. "I want you."
"I'm at the agency, Ren," Shoto hissed urgently, making her laugh again.
"When will I see you?" she asked.
"I have to go to this event tomorrow with my dad on behalf of the agency," Shoto replied.
Ren's eyes widened in surprise, a butterfly danced in her stomach. "The QRF Gala? I'm going with my dad."
"Oh," Shoto said, and Ren could hear the small smile in his voice. "So I'll see you there." Before Ren could respond, she heard an alarm go off on Shoto's end. "I have to go," he sighed.
They said their goodbyes, and Ren found herself staring at her phone long after the call had ended. She made her way back into her room, sinking down onto the edge of her bed. The room was dark now, lit only by the moonlight streaming in through the open balcony doors. Her phone buzzed in her hand, and Ren's heart skipped a beat as she read Shoto's message:
"I want you too."
Ren stared at her phone in disbelief; Shoto rarely said anything like that. She felt a blush creep up her cheeks and butterflies flutter in her stomach. She flopped back onto the bed, holding her phone to her chest and grinning like a lovestruck teenager.
"Pathetic,' she laughed at herself. But as she lay there, staring up at the canopy of her childhood bed, reality began to creep back in. Tomorrow, she would have to face Shoto at the gala, pretending they were mere acquaintances while their fathers watched their every move. She would most likely be asked about her writing, about her criticisms of the hero system, while Shoto was asked about his work as a hero. They would have to navigate the treacherous waters of high society, the public eye, journalists and reporters, all while keeping her true feelings hidden. All while dying from the want of each other.
Ren bit her lip, a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins. The thought of playing this dangerous game with Shoto, right under everyone's noses, was intoxicating. As she imagined his eyes on her from across the crowded gala, and couldn't help but wonder: was it wrong that the risk of being caught made her want him even more?