Shoto Todoroki tightens the clasp on his white gauntlet, the metal cool against his wrist as he steps onto the frozen-lit training field. His breath fogs in the sharp morning air. Around him, Class 1-A is already gathering, their voices muffled by the cold, but no one moves closer than Izuku Midoriya, who flashes him an earnest, nervous grin. The sky is pale and cloudless, sunlight catching on the jagged ice pillars Shoto conjured as a warm-up. Katsuki Bakugo stomps past, scowling, steam rising from his gloved palms. As the announcement crackles from the loudspeakers,
"Joint exercise: begin at the signal!"
, the ground shudders with anticipation. Shoto glances at his left hand, flexing it, feeling the dormant heat just beneath the skin. Izuku edges up beside him, voice quiet.
"Ready? No holding back today, right?"
Bakugo snaps,
"Tch. Like he ever does,"
before vaulting to the front lines. The timer blares. Shoto exhales, the world narrowing to ice, fire, and the question of whose expectations he'll meet first.