Author's Notes: this story is set immediately following the sports festival, and a few parts overlap with the next episode. Any events covered in the manga/anime I have briefly referenced for the sake of keeping the timeline straight, I but didn't go into any details since Horikoshi has already done that. The bulk of this story is my personal headcanon about what was going on with Todoroki in between those scenes that we didn't see. As soon as Midoriya said "he's trembling" during their battle, my mind went all over the place with imagining how he might be affected after such an intense event. This is what I came up with.

Also, it's shamelessly sprinkled in "Japanglish" here and there. Most of the meaning should be apparent from context, but feel free to ask me if it isn't! (And if you know Japanese better than I do and have a suggestion for better wording, let me know and I'll update it.) I'd write the whole thing in Japanese if I could, since that's how I hear their voices in my mind, but alas I don't know enough to do that.

Without further ado, enjoy!


When Shouto awoke in the temporary nurse's office, he was sure he was going to open his eyes and find himself on the floor of his father's training room, and he braced himself for a stern reprimand for whatever it was he had done that had made him pass out. He was startled when it was not Endeavor's voice he heard, but Recovery Girl.

"Ah, good, glad to see you're awake, you wouldn't want to miss the award ceremony!" the elderly healer hero said cheerfully. "Well done, second place!"

Shouto blinked and looked around, relieved that no one else was in the room. "How long was I out?" he asked. Judging from the muffled sounds of the crowd, the stadium was still full, so he didn't think it had been long; but he felt unusually disoriented.

"About ten minutes," said Recovery Girl. "They're still cleaning up the ring now."

Shouto sat up and nodded, then shivered. In spite of having used his fire briefly, he felt like his body temperature had been significantly lowered. True, he'd melted the ice and brought forth a tremendous flame in the match against Midoriya, but then only momentarily lit the flames against Bakugou. After several rounds of battle, plus the earlier challenges, he'd used a great deal of ice, and for a much greater duration than the fire. Hoping to correct this, he held his left hand up in front of his chest and lit just enough fire to the feel the warmth. Almost as soon as he did this, though, his stomach lurched and he put out the fire and clamped his right hand over his mouth. Recovery Girl handed him a basin, but he shook his head and waved it away.

"I'm okay. Just got a little nauseous for a minute."

"That's not uncommon after being knocked out, especially if you have a head injury," Recovery Girl reminded him. "I don't think you do, but I'll double check."

She examined him, and Shouto found himself cringing at being touched. The last couple hours had been emotionally and physically exhausting, and he was yearning for some quiet and solitude.

"No, no head injury," she confirmed, "but certainly some whiplash." She put her quirk to use, melting away neck tension and a headache Shouto hadn't been aware of until it was suddenly gone.

"Arigato," he said. "That feels much better."

"You still feel like a little icicle, though," said Recovery Girl with pursed lips.

"So desu."

Recovery Girl wrapped a heavy blanket around his shoulders, and Shouto closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for it to reflect his body heat. There didn't seem to be very much of it. He tried again to light a little fire, but again he immediately felt sick and stopped short. What the—?

It must have shown, because Recovery Girl shoved the basin into his hands. "You hold onto that, young man," she said. "I don't care if you want to be all macho, I'm not cleaning it up off the floor!"

Shouto's mind was racing. Was it because of the fire? After once, he'd assumed it was a coincidence, and he probably was just nauseous from being knocked unconscious, but twice in a row…

One of the festival logistical staff was at the door for Recovery Girl, and while she was talking to him, Shouto set down the basin, shrugged off the blanket, and pushed his left sleeve, impatient to test his theory. He breathed deeply and lit the fire, this time letting it creep up his arm instead of staying in his hand. Sure enough, it made him want to throw up. He stopped before letting it get that far, then braced his hands on his knees and took several deep breaths. What the hell? he wondered. He had vague memories of vomiting from heat stroke once years ago when his father had scolded him for his imbalanced skills and put him through a grueling series of drills to hone the fire side, but this was nothing like that. He was too cold, not too hot.

"Now what'd you do that for?" Recovery Girl asked, noticing the charred remains of the bandages that had been on his left arm a moment ago.

"Sumimasen," he said. "I was testing something."

"Well, test it when your arm has healed! You're supposed to be out there in just a few minutes for the award ceremony, and now I've got to replace those bandages already."

"Sumimasen," Shouto repeated, and sat patiently while Recovery Girl wrapped his scorched arm in clean bandages. He didn't remember injuring the arm, but he knew his own fire wouldn't burn it. It must have been Bakugou's doing. The last moments of the fight were blurry, but he remembered his opponent coming at him with rage that certainly had the potential for injury or worse. "Do you know how the fight ended?" he asked.

"Young Bakugou took advantage of your hesitation and slammed you into your own ice. Apparently that wasn't good enough for him, and he tried to drag your unconscious body back into the ring. You kids are so headstrong, one of these days I won't be able to patch you up anymore. That Midoriya is going to pulverize his bones into a powder sooner than later at this rate."

"How is Midoriya?" Shouto wanted to know.

Recovery Girl clicked her tongue reproachfully. "His arms are in bad shape, but his surgery went well. He'll fight another day."

"Surgery!?"

"How else do you expect me to fix shattered bones?"

"Mm." Shouto looked at the floor, imagining his classmate's injuries. Knowing Midoriya had put his own body through such damage just to turn around and push his opponent to beat him, sacrificing the goal that had meant so much to him, then undergo surgery and still come back to the stands to cheer for the guy that just beat him… it was a lot to take in.

"There you go," said Recovery Girl, gently patting his re-taped left arm. "I didn't want to take much more of your stamina after you used so much of it in the ring already, so that arm will take a little longer to heal, but as long as you change those bandages at least once a day, you should be fine by the end of next week. They're ready for you out there now, unless you think you're going to vomit on the podium."

"No, I'll be fine. Arigato gozaimasu."

It was a tense trip home after the ceremony. Not wanting to spend it with his father, Shouto had refused to ride home with him and taken the train instead. He almost wished he'd chosen the other way, though. So many people on the train recognized him from the festival and wanted to talk to him and ask him questions about his performance, and he wanted nothing more than sit quietly and be alone with his many conflicted thoughts.

"There you are!" said Fuyumi excitedly when he came through the door. "Dad and I were almost starting to wonder if you missed the train!"

"It was crowded," said Shouto simply.

"You did such an amazing job, I'm so proud of you!" Fuyumi beamed.

"A second-place finish for the son of the second-place pro hero," Endeavor said less enthusiastically. "And after such an impressive showing in the match before. You could have easily beaten that other boy if—"

"I don't want to hear it," said Shouto. "It's been a long day. I'm tired. I'll see you both in the morning."

The next day he was still tired and unusually cold, but relieved to wake up to an empty house. Endeavor and Fuyumi had apparently both gone to work early. He felt better after some hot tea and a quiet breakfast by himself. He then walked to school with his hood up, hoping that without his distinctive hair visible, he'd be less likely to be recognized and bothered on his way. It was effective, but he may as well have stayed home; after a short debrief about the sports festival, Aizawa-sensei sent them all home for the next two days to rest and recover.

Thankfully, the house was still empty when he returned. Realizing he hadn't done so yet, Shouto decided to start by changing the bandages on his left arm as he'd been instructed. He washed his hands and carefully unwound the tape and examined the damage. The skin was pink and tender, but there was no blood. He gently pressed on the wound and was glad to find it didn't hurt much. Let's try this again, he thought, wondering if after some rest he'd be able to use the fire again normally.

Nope. The warmth the flames felt nice for a few seconds, but that was all he got before getting queasy.

"…unbearable…"

Shouto drew in a sharp breath, remembering again the sound of his mother's voice describing his left side on the phone all those years ago. Her voice in that memory was inseparable from the sound of the whistling tea kettle, followed by screaming – his own? – as the boiling water was thrown in his face. He hadn't thought about these things in years, but since the previous day, he could hardly think of anything else.

Yes, he thought, looking in the mirror at his scar, the red side of his hair, and the blue eye that everyone said looked just like Endeavor's. It IS unbearable. No wonder I feel sick.


TO BE CONTINUED...