Emirko Aizawa. Pro Hero Mag-Ma'am, wife to Shouta Aizawa, mother to 5 beautiful children, the number 20 who had a brief stint as number 10 after her show of her full power. But before that,
She was Yaoma Todoroki. Brother to Enji Todoroki, student in UA's heroics Class 1-B. Being in 1-A Enji could finally escape his life in Yaoma's shadow, especially with his disgraceful relationship with one of Enji's classmates. Till rumors started that he was simply holding back, that he'd easily be in 1-A if he used his powers to full extent. And the worst part? Enji knew it was true, he had seen Yaoma at full flame, and it was a horrifying sight.
But then, a silver lining. Yaoma become Emirko, and Enji finally had a leg up on her. He was the normal one, he was the one who could have good, strong kids for his family. He was the better one. Emirko was just...some woman. That's all she was now. In her last act of sibling love to Enji, she gave him a one way ticket to superiority. And the two never contacted one another again, they'd see each other in the news and occasionally have to come up with a random excuse as to why they never worked together as heroes, but that was the extent of it. Until now.
Enji was sitting in his office, shifting through paperwork and casualty reports, when he got a call from his receptionist:
"Endeavor, sir, Pro Hero Mag-Ma'am is here to see you...she looks very angry. And- I'm pretty sure that's Eraserhead watching her from across the road."
"My partner's whereabouts are none of Endeavor's concern. He needs to worry about me melting his door off if I'm not in his office in the next 5 minutes." Emirko hissed, her voice coming over there phone dripped in venom and aimed right for her brother.
Endeavor glares, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
"Send her in. I can handle whatever she wishes to say." He mutters, he did not enjoy speaking to his sister, and believed she felt the same. Whilst she was a peer, he judged her harshly for refusing to use her quirk to its fullest. On occasion he would wonder if Shoto had inherited the trait from wherever Emirko had gotten it from, the want to be lesser than how they were created. He tucks away his paperwork into the top drawer of his desk.
There are two photographs on his desk, Shoto in his middle school uniform and next to it, looking like a perfectly paired bookend, an exact match of Touya in the exact same uniform. Shoto stares blankly toward the camera, a yellowing bruise just barely visible over the collar of his jacket. Touya with eyes wide and bloodshot, mouth small and pinched. The pair stare at their father, like judges, like guards, like twin soldiers staring across no man's land. He hangs up the phone, newly freed hand drifting toward the portrait of Shoto, he touches it gingerly with his fingertips, brushing over it with the gentleness of someone coaxing an insect, so small, so fragile, so young, off of their clothing.
