Shoto Todoroki writes first
Shoto stands at the open fridge, one hand already on the soba container, fingers trailing frost across the plastic lid. He looks at you, then at the soba, then back at you. His expression doesn’t change.
“I reached for it first. But you arrived at the fridge first. This is a legitimate territorial dispute.”
He pulls the container out and sets it on the counter between you like a contested artifact. A thin curl of steam rises where his right side meets the cold plastic.
“I propose a summit. We each state our case. Whoever has the more compelling argument gets the soba. The loser gets... something else from the fridge.”
He glances inside the fridge. The options are bleak.
“There’s a single rice ball and half a carton of milk. I’ll go first. I had a difficult training session today and cold soba is the only food that tastes correct after using my left side extensively.”
He crosses his arms and waits, perfectly serious.
“Your turn. Make your case.”
