2

Kai Chisaki and the Hassai Group had plotted to use the Quirk-killing drug produced from Eri to rise to power, but their scheme had ended in failure when the hero team successfully stormed the yakuza compound and rescued the girl. This had come at a high price, however; Chisaki had killed Sir Nighteye, Mirio Togata had lost his Quirk, and Tomura Shigaraki and the League of Villains had managed to steal samples of the drug in question. These losses contributed to heavy criticism of law enforcement and growing dissatisfaction with the hero establishment from the public at large. Though emotions ran high all around in the immediate aftermath, time marched quietly onward, and the chill winds of the coming winter did much to soothe the wounds of all those involved.

Eri’s Quirk could “rewind” living things to previous states, but as she couldn’t yet control this powerful ability, she was quarantined in a hospital for the time being. That said, there was little worry of another rampage since the horn on her forehead that emitted the rewinding energy seemed to have shrunk since the big battle. She couldn’t stay at the hospital forever, of course, so those in charge were in the process of deciding where she would end up. One proposal was U.A. High itself, because of the presence of none other than Shota Aizawa, whose “Erasure” Quirk was, for now, the only known check against potential outbursts of Eri’s ability. Today, Aizawa was at the hospital for a visit.

“Umm …”

“What is it?”

The standard hospital bed dwarfed the small girl, who looked at Aizawa questioningly while sipping juice through a straw.

“What kinda dance is Deku gonna do …?”

A glint of anticipation shone in her eyes. Enthusiasm, even.

Ever since Eri’s variant Quirk had manifested, her daily life had been nothing but pain. Though the six-year old’s dark, brutal past still weighed on her and would not soon be forgotten, Izuku Midoriya had suggested that she attend U.A.’s upcoming School Festival. Aizawa thought that introducing her to the school on the day of the bombastic festival might be a bit much, so he’d brought Eri for a visit just a few days earlier and had witnessed her adjusting to life in the outside world, little by little. The sights and sounds of the older children working hard to prepare for the big event had already planted a seed of excitement in Eri’s wounded heart, and their events, performances, and exhibits might be just the things to help that seed sprout.

“You can look forward to finding out, on the day of,” said Aizawa.

Eri made a face far too serious for someone her age and, with a rapid series of small nods, said, “Okay … I’ll look forward to it …” It was half in agreement, half in wonderment about the very concept of having anything at all to look forward to.

Though Aizawa had been taking a number of days off recently, he’d gotten word about how hard his kids were working. He was still a bit concerned how the other classes would respond to class A’s bold plan, but he wasn’t worried about the quality of the event itself. Whether working for others’ sake or their own, the effort his students were putting in would be sure to reach hearts and minds.

A few days had passed since Aizawa’s hospital visit. With U.A. High’s dorm system firmly in place, the students’ animated conversations and laughter filled the campus even on Sundays, and today was no exception. In fact, the grounds were even more active on this particular Sunday, since the kids had no time to lose in prepping for the impending festival. Weather this good made it the perfect day to roll up their sleeves and put in a full day’s work.

In one grassy area near the main school building, class 1-C of General Studies was busy putting together its own exhibit, a haunted house they called “Labyrinth of Doom.”

“Shinso, hold this up while I nail it in!”

“Sure thing.”

Hitoshi Shinso put down the lumber he was carrying and approached his classmate, who was struggling to mount a grandfather clock against a wall. He held the clock in place, and each rap of the hammer against the nails made Shinso’s muscular arms tingle.

“The clock looks good here, right, guys?” asked the classmate with the hammer. The others seemed to approve, but in Shinso’s opinion, the stately clock looked almost too nice for what was supposed to be a decrepit mansion.

“Since the clock’s going to start crying like a creepy baby, shouldn’t it look a little more aged and worn down?” he said. His classmates thought about it, nodded, and started in with their own suggestions.

“Did we still have some of that paint lying around that makes wood look damaged?”

“Nope. None here.”

“There should be a can back in the classroom, though.”

“Hey, how about some baby handprints on the floor in front of the clock? With red paint! Spooky, right?”

“Totally creepsville!”

“And more handprints on the wall facing the clock! Just to up the creepy factor!”

“Nice thinking! That’ll send those Hero Course kids crying for their mommies.”

“Ooh, I’ve got it! Let’s put some bloodstained diapers here and there, too!”

“How is that scary, exactly?”

While his classmates laughed and discussed ideas, Shinso picked up the unused lumber and said, “I can grab that paint after I take this to the trash.” A number of them thanked him, and he walked away in silence.

Ever since he’d put in his transfer request, Shinso had started feeling pangs of guilt while hanging out with these familiar faces. When should he tell them? Would it be too late if he waited until his transfer was approved? Shinso was more aware than anyone that his “Brainwashing” Quirk wasn’t suited to traditional hero work, but he’d decided to pursue his dream and apply to U.A. all the same. Unfortunately, the practical portion of the entrance exam (a battle against robots) hadn’t been a stage where his talents could shine, and he had been rejected from the Hero Course. Shinso had anticipated this and submitted a separate application to General Studies just in case, knowing that with good enough grades, an eventual transfer to the Hero Course was theoretically possible.

His outstanding performance in the Sports Festival had put the transfer plan into motion, but still, nothing was guaranteed, and he already perceived an enormous gap between himself and the students of the Hero Course who’d been training since the start of the school year. Until Shinso could receive that same training, it was up to him to work on his Quirk on his own time. Aizawa must’ve felt an affinity for the boy since he’d agreed to help in the meantime. Shinso understood the rare opportunity before him and would put up a desperate fight if that’s what it took, but all the same, he was plagued by doubts and unease.

Shinso stopped, gazed up at the blue sky, and sighed. A cool breeze shepherded the clouds overhead.

Was there really a spot waiting for him in the Hero Course? Where would this next great leap land him? His doubts made him feel like one of those drifting clouds, and nothing scared Shinso more than being blown about into nothingness. It was this lack of confidence that had kept him from telling his current classmates about the possible transfer.

Now distinctly aware of his fainthearted turn, Shinso shook his head to dispel the dark thoughts before setting off for the classroom.

“Those balloons shaped like our teachers … Those positions look good to you?”

“I think you spelled something wrong on this sign!”

“The food stalls are sure to rake in the biggest profits.”

“I hear 1-A’s putting together some kinda band?”

“Kenranzaki’s probably gonna pull off her third win in a row at the beauty pageant.”

“Sucks that the teachers aren’t doing anything special themselves, this year. I was looking forward to that.”

As he walked across the campus, Shinso picked up conversations here and there, knowing that the energized atmosphere was only going to intensify as the festival approached. For any given high school in Japan, the ubiquitous school festival was a chance for students to let off some steam and learn a thing or two outside of the classroom. With that in mind, Shinso reflected on how this one might be his first and last with the members of class C. Feeling dark thoughts encroaching again, he put on his best poker face and tried to focus on the simple act of walking. Rather than embrace the angst, why not concentrate on what he could and should do?

The trash collection spot was behind the main building, but as Shinso rounded the corner, he found himself staring at an enormous dragon on the nearby patch of grass. One big enough to ride.

Right … Class B is doing a play.

The students of class 1-B were hard at work painting the dragon’s head and building set pieces resembling a castle, rocky crags, and so on.

“C’mon, Monoma, isn’t this good enough?” said Yosetsu Awase. “It’s as realistic as it’s gonna get.”

“Yes, we’ve covered the realism angle. Now we’re going for sheer intensity,” explained Neito Monoma.

Apparently Monoma wasn’t quite satisfied with the already very impressive dragon prop.

“Let him have his way!” said Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, slapping the exasperated Awase on the back. “Attention to detail ain’t a bad thing!”

“I knew you were a man of taste, Tetsutetsu,” said Monoma, while adding intricate cross-hatching nearly too detailed to be done with a paintbrush.

“Ooh, that’s looking great,” said an impressed Setsuna Tokage, who was painting a crag nearby.

Proud of his handiwork and the positive reactions to it, Monoma threw back his head and laughed. “I daresay our dragon is nearly ready to devour class A whole! They can have their silly band and dance club, since everyone knows that the theatrical production is the tried-and-truest road to success at a school festival! Yes, it will be class B that claims the limelight this time!”

Shinso walked past class B, wondering if modern medicine had come up with a name for whatever disturbing condition was clearly afflicting Monoma.

If my transfer gets approved, I could end up as his classmate …

Shinso figured that he was more likely to be placed in class A—given Aizawa’s involvement in his independent training—but class B was still a possibility. He wondered if he was getting ahead of himself, though.

A bit farther along the path, he came across Mina Ashido, Ochaco Uraraka, Tsuyu Asui, and the floating clothes of the invisible Toru Hagakure. Yes, class A’s dance squad was in the middle of practice, though Eijiro Kirishima, Minoru Mineta, Hanta Sero, Rikido Sato, Mezo Shoji, and Koji Koda sat off to the side, apparently taking a breather.

“I’m gonna lodge a complaint with the PTA!” shouted a fuming Mineta.

“Chill out, dude,” said Kirishima, trying to calm his classmate. “I’m sure Sensei kept it a secret for a reason.”

“We’re talking the all-important notice about the beauty pageant! That’s, like, as important as finding out if school’s gonna be closed due to weather! I swear, I’m gonna give Sensei a piece of my mind for this dereliction of duty!”

“Yeah, riiight,” teased Sero. “One glare from him and you’ll fall to pieces, more like.”

This earned a pouty scowl from Mineta.

“Sensei wasn’t messing around,” said Sato. “He was all like, ‘Given how long you all took to decide on your event, I knew that informing you about the beauty pageant would only lead to more time wasting.’”

Sato punctuated his impression of Aizawa with a wide-eyed glare.

“‘You got that, Mineta?’” said Sero, also imitating Aizawa’s gravelly growl.

“Knock it off! You trying to make me wet myself again?” protested Mineta.

“Please don’t have another ‘accident,’ Mineta,” said Shoji.

“Har har, quit acting like it happens all the time, Shoji!”

As Mineta ranted, the big-boned Koda recalled Aizawa’s tone and shuddered in fear.

This conversation got Shinso’s attention. While Aizawa was stern enough during training, Shinso still hadn’t experienced a full-blown scolding himself. Strangely enough, he almost felt jealous that the kids of class A had.

“Stop sitting on your butt and get back to work, Mineta!” said Mina, who’d just finished coordinating with the other girls.

“Yeah, this’s your chance to shine, after all!” added Uraraka.

At this, Mineta’s frown was replaced by a sheepish smile.

“How about you show me what I can expect from you, my lovely harem dancers? I gotta know what I’m working with, first.”

“Sure. Fine. Watch closely, now,” said Mina. She began to dance, and the other girls followed her rhythm. The plan was to put Mineta in the middle, making him the star of this charming routine. The boys cheered in approval of the girls’ moves, but the would-be star looked dissatisfied.

“Too tame! You’re s’posed to be my harem, so try acting like it,” he said.

“And how does a harem act, exactly?” asked Asui flatly, with one finger at her lower lip.

“You’re s’posed to be in love with me, so how about some wiggly, grinding action! Of course, you’ll barely be wearing anything at all during the real thing, so we’ll get some skin on skin, y’know? Here, lemme give you a taste of what I’m looking f—”

With ragged breaths and bloodshot eyes, Mineta lunged at Asui in the hope of giving his perverted demonstration, but she caught him with her tongue and slammed him to the ground.

“Talk about looking a gift harem in the mouth!” said Hagakure, whose invisible expression was likely set to “furious.” Ashido followed up with a threat.

“Pull that pervy crap again, and we’re cutting the harem number altogether! You got that?”

“Suuure, I’ll be good. I prooomise,” said a sneering Mineta.

“Like we’d ever buy that!” said Uraraka with a snort. Shinso was still observing, at a distance.

He’s gotta get expelled for sexual harassment one of these days, right?

With that new concern occupying his head, Shinso finally dropped off the lumber at the trash and headed toward the classroom for the paint. The school building was usually closed on Sundays, but the doors were left unlocked for the duration of this festival prep period.

Shinso heard voices coming from one of the classrooms he was passing, and upon peering through the door’s window, he spotted a drum kit, a keyboard, and guitars, along with Katsuki Bakugo, Denki Kaminari, Fumikage Tokoyami, Kyoka Jiro, and Momo Yaoyorozu. They must’ve been on break, since Yaoyorozu was distributing tea from a thermos.

“Phew, that hits the spot,” said Kaminari between slow sips. Meanwhile, Bakugo drained his cup dry in seconds, without a hint of sentimental reflection.

“Tea’s tea! Though this one’s a little sweeter than yesterday’s.”

“I should have expected you’d have a distinguishing palate, Bakugo,” said Yaoyorozu. “Today’s is a second flush Darjeeling, while yesterday I brought a first flush.”

“First? Second? What’s the difference?” asked Jiro.

“First flush refers to tea leaves picked during spring, while second means the harvesters waited until summer,” said Yaoyorozu as she passed Jiro a cup of tea poured from another thermos. The latter looked confused about why she was the only one getting a different drink, so the former clarified with a smile.

“Yours is milk tea, which should help protect your throat and singing voice. You mentioned some discomfort yesterday, yes?”

“Oh. Thanks … Yeah, this is great,” said Jiro.

Seeing Jiro’s expression relax, Yaoyorozu finally sat down to enjoy her own cup of tea.

Tokoyami was inspecting some power cords in one corner of the room, but before he could finish, Dark Shadow emerged from his body and shouted.

“Fumikage, gimme something to do!”

“As I explained yesterday, Dark Shadow,” said Tokoyami, “the stage will be lit up from all angles. Just the sort of place you cannot tolerate.”

“But I’m the only one left out! I wanna do something!”

“Aww, why the heck not? We could use a third guitarist!” said Kaminari without second thought. Jiro, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure.

“Our whole dynamic would be unbalanced, though. Maybe it could play bass instead?”

“No. That intricate fingering demands extensive practice. Dark Shadow couldn’t possibly learn it in time,” was Tokoyami’s reasoned response.

“I wanna play!” pouted Dark Shadow. “Everyone else gets to join the School Festival!”

With his companion on the verge of tears, Tokoyami was nearing his wit’s end.

“Shaddup!” snapped Bakugo. “Wah wah wah! Whining like a baby cuz you wanna play too? Why don’tcha bang on something, then? That’s about on your level!”

This gave Jiro an idea.

“Banging … Percussion, maybe? How about the tambourine? It’s simple enough, and it could add a nice touch to our arrangement.”

“Tambourine … Lemme!” said Dark Shadow.

“In that case, just a moment,” said Yaoyorozu, before producing a fully formed tambourine with her “Creation” Quirk. Dark Shadow snatched the instrument greedily and began jangling away.

“Tch.” Bakugo clucked his tongue venomously. “Just don’t throw off the damn beat.”

“Aye, aye!”

As Shinso finally walked away toward his own classroom, the joyous jangling and Bakugo’s roars of “Shaddup!” faded into the distance.

Is it just me, or has Bakugo gotten tamer since the Sports Festival?

Shinso picked up the paint he had come for and walked back down the corridor. The band had resumed practice by the time he passed the other classroom again; he heard them taking the piece from the top over and over. The sounds faded again, and Shinso got to thinking.

Before he’d applied to U.A. High, he never could’ve imagined putting so much time and effort into anything besides studying on any given Sunday. Surely the training demanded by the Hero Course would occupy every free minute. He hadn’t been too far off the mark; U.A.’s classes were as intense as could be and the Hero Course asked a lot of its students, but the school was also sure to offer a host of laid-back events for the student body’s enjoyment, in the name of fostering that standard high school experience for all. Shinso had put U.A. up on a pedestal and overlooked this obvious fact—a fact he was being keenly reminded of through his observations that day.

On his way back to the green, he heard another group of voices around the next corner.

“All right, the clue for this next round is ‘white.’ ”

“Aoyama’s probably thinking … ‘rice’!”

“Wrong. It is ‘my skin, that glistens like freshly fallen snow. ✫’ ”

Shinso held his breath at the sound of one familiar voice in particular and peered around the corner at the source. Bingo—it was Izuku Midoriya.

“Glistening white skin, Aoyama? Only you could come up with an answer like that!”

“Midoriya, if you truly thought my answer would be ‘rice,’ you were sorely mistaken. Besides which, pain is my carbohydrate of choice, ✫” replied Yuga Aoyama. Next to him, Mashirao Ojiro gave an awkward smile.

“Midoriya hasn’t been able to guess a single one of your answers yet,” he said.

Tenya Ida and Shoto Todoroki were also part of this circle, and this group, too, was apparently taking a break.

The newlywed game? Here? Now?

Shinso wanted to keep moving, but his feet wouldn’t budge. Back during the Sports Festival, he’d used his Quirk to manipulate Ojiro. It had seemed like his only path to victory at the time, so he didn’t exactly regret his actions, but he’d be lying if he claimed he didn’t feel guilty at all.

Then there was Midoriya—the boy who’d defeated him. The one who’d broken the unbreakable hold of the brainwashing and proceeded to beat the struggling Shinso in a contest of strength. An opponent earnest and good natured enough to drop his guard and respond—risking another round of brainwashing—when, after their battle, Shinso vowed to become a hero.

When he’d submitted his transfer request, Shinso had imagined himself one step closer to his dream, but the more he’d trained in the days since, the more anxious he’d grown about the reality looming before him. While the kids of the Hero Course ran on ahead at top speed, here he was, lagging behind. Shinso leaned against the wall and gripped the paint can even harder.

“How about a more specific, personal topic?” suggested Ida. “For instance …our favorite heroes?”

Everyone besides Midoriya snorted and said, “Too easy,” just as Midoriya blurted out, “All Might!”

“If the goal is to get Midoriya and Aoyama in sync, shouldn’t they just rehearse?” said Todoroki with all his usual candidness. The others nodded in agreement.

“Be sure to spin my gorgeous self all about so that my sparkles can fill the entire hall! ✫” said Aoyama.

“Sure, I’ll do my best!”

I thought class A was just playing some music?

Shinso was no longer sure what sort of spectacle they were planning.

Beyond the wall that divided him from the group, Shinso saw Ida shoot up, inspired by Midoriya’s enthusiasm.

“I too have been working on my dance steps! Observe, everyone!”

Choreographer Ashido had decided to make use of Ida’s characteristic stiff joints and have him perform a solo robot, which he now demonstrated to the others. His awkward, clunky movements were the spitting image of a mechanized automaton.

“Wow, those are some not-too-smooth moves, Ida! Good going!” said Midoriya.

“Thank you. But I still need to brush up on my routine before the main event,” said Ida.

“Hey, why don’t you check out the Support Course’s robots, for reference?” offered Ojiro. “You’re already kind of friends with Mei Hatsume from the Sports Festival, right?”

“No thank you! Unnecessary! I shall find the robot within me without that sort of external aid!” shot back Ida. His first run-in with Hatsume, at the Sports Festival, had turned him into an unwitting walking billboard for her inventions. Later, when he and the others had gone to her for costume upgrades, she’d forced arm boosters on him that had rocketed him straight into the ceiling. Unpleasant memories, to say the least.

Unfazed, Ojiro gave a gentle smile and said, “It’s funny how the two festivals couldn’t be any more different.”

“They call it a sports festival, but it’s really just a battle showcase,” mused Midoriya. This got Ida reminiscing.

“The obstacle race, the cavalry battle, and then the orthodox tournament … Ah, come to think of it, everyone here made it to the final sixteen, yes?”

The top sixteen point scorers in the cavalry battle had earned spots in the final tournament, but that particular memory made Ojiro grimace.

“Yeah, though I decided to drop out.”

“Oh, right. Because of Shinso …” added Midoriya.

Still eavesdropping, Shinso felt his heart leap into his throat at the sound of his own name.

“Whereas I decided to move on all the same, ✫” said Aoyama with a wink.

While Midoriya seemed to search for the right words, Ojiro gave a frustrated laugh.

“And then—even though I tried to warn you, Midoriya, you let him get you right at the start of your match, with that Brainwashing of his.”

Shinso scowled, failing to detect even the faintest note of resentment in Ojiro’s voice. He found himself wishing that the tailed boy had hurled some abuse or cursed Shinso’s name; then he wouldn’t have to feel quite so guilty.

“Yeah, I couldn’t help myself …” said Midoriya, returning Ojiro’s smile. “I guess I just panicked since, well, the brainwashing was so powerful and … intense. And you don’t see mind-control Quirks too often, you know? Imagine being able to stop a villain in their tracks, just like that. But it’d also be super useful for saving people! No matter who you are, it takes time to stop panicking and think clearly—especially when you’re in danger and you gotta act fast—so imagine how handy Brainwashing would be for managing a distressed crowd and guiding them to safety … Yeah, I think it’s an amazing Quirk!”

Hearing Midoriya divert into muttering-analysis mode, Shinso’s whole body clenched up. People had always said his Quirk seemed best suited to a villain, but here was someone else seeing it in the same light he always had. All the comments and jokes about villainous mind control hadn’t kept Shinso from admiring heroes, so he’d never stopped believing that his Quirk could actually help people. Midoriya’s words filled him with a queasy mix of frustration and joy, and he had to hold back the words trying to escape his own mouth. No—to dash around the corner and say “Thank you!” now would be to rest on laurels he hadn’t earned yet. Shinso knew this, deep down. He knew where his next big step had to take him, and he knew that even that was just the real starting point.

Shinso forced a cocksure smile onto his own face and turned around silently, opting for a different, roundabout route. He still had to get stronger before the next time they met.

Beyond the wall, the class A boys kept chatting about the Sports Festival.

“Midoriya versus Todoroki was a battle for the ages, though,” said Ojiro.

“Yeah, I really gave it all I had but still came up short!” said Midoriya with a note of frustration in his voice. Hearing this, Todoroki paused for a moment before speaking.

“I might have technically won, but that’s not how it felt. Next time, I’m winning for real.”

The others stared in mild shock at this declaration, but Todoroki’s expression suggested that he might as well have said “The sky is blue”—so obvious was this truth to him. Midoriya realized that they weren’t going to get more of an explanation, so he responded in turn.

“Hmph, I wouldn’t be so sure! The next victory’s gonna be mine!” he said, with fists clenched. Joining the bandwagon, Ida pumped his own fist into the air, up and down.

“You two had better not count me out just yet!”

Seeing the trio nodding in solidarity, Ojiro started feeling left out.

“Don’t forget about the rest of us, okay? I’m pretty confident in a one-on-one fight.”

“And I have been busy perfecting my new moves!” added Aoyama. “Prepare to be blinded by their brilliance! ✫”

The five boys accepted the mutual gauntlet throwing with bold grins on their faces, vowing to keep honing their skills before the next Sports Festival. If they were lucky, it would be on a day as beautiful as this one.

“Making progress?”

“Oh. Aizawa Sensei.”

As Shinso took the long way back to his classmates and their patch of grass, he heard Aizawa call out to him.

“We’re about halfway done, yeah,” he said, realizing that the can of paint must’ve reminded Aizawa about class C’s haunted house.

“Good to hear,” said Aizawa with a light nod. “Keeping up with your training too, I hope?”

Festival organization and frequent hospital visits had been keeping Aizawa busy, so Shinso had been training on his own each day after classes and festival prep.

“Yeah. I know that every second counts at this point.”

The curt response was imbued with Shinso’s un-shakable determination. Sensing this change, Aizawa opened his eyes a little wider than usual and said, “I see,” before turning to walk away. Before he could get very far, though, an excited group of students came down the path.

“Mew!”

“Nope, try again! More catlike! Like a little demon!”

“Meowww!”

“Now I wanna hear that ‘stray cat’ sound! Cute, yes, but also wild and untamed!”

“Mrrrow!”

“Oh, hey there, Aizawa Sensei!”

The student leading the pack noticed Aizawa, and the rest of the group—wearing cat-ear decorations, clad in literal cat suits, and practicing their honest-to-goodness cat calls—stopped to greet the teacher as well.

“Good meowrning, Sensei!”

“Right. Sure. Carry on.”

The cat impersonators moved along, and a dumb-founded Shinso asked, “What on earth was that about?”

“One of the second-year classes is doing a cat cafe where they’re the cats,” explained Aizawa.

So they were honing their cat impressions. An interesting idea, Shinso thought, but going for realism like that only lent them a strange, discomfiting energy.

“Cats are cute because they’re cats, I say,” muttered Shinso under his breath. As a fellow cat person, Aizawa nodded wordlessly.

“I wonder if little girls like cats too …” said Aizawa to himself.

“Little … girls?”

“Fashionwise, I mean.”

Aizawa walked away without further explanation.

He’s buying clothes for a little girl?

Shinso remembered the paint, tucked away his unanswered questions, and hurried off toward his classmates. This was it—he’d finally decided to tell them about his transfer application. It wasn’t that he’d suddenly grown confident or rid himself of doubts, but announcing one’s goals to the world was a good way to cut off one’s own escape routes. As Shinso approached his class, however, he noticed that they were on break, chatting excitedly about something or other.

“We oughta do it right after the Sports Festival.”

“Yep. Shinso’ll be none the wiser if we pretend we’re just prepping for the wrap party.”

Me? None the wiser about what?

They hadn’t noticed him coming back, so Shinso instinctively snuck behind one wall of the haunted house.

“But, man, when d’you think he’s gonna tell us about his damn transfer request?”

“It’s not like we haven’t known for a while now.”

“I guess Shinso’s just more thoughtful than he lets on.”

So they already knew. Shinso found himself blushing and feeling like an idiot for not realizing.

“That’s why we’re gonna throw him this awesome party—to really light a fire under him!”

“He’s the rising star of General Studies, after all.”

The eavesdropping Shinso gulped and felt his body clenching up again.

Don’t worry, guys—that fire’s good and lit now.

With this newfound conviction, he rehearsed his upcoming declaration in his mind.

I’m getting into the Hero Course no matter what, so just watch me.

These classmates of his had also shot for the stars and missed, but here they were, willing to put aside ego and lift him up to those heights. Shinso felt the weight of that implied responsibility, knowing full well how much it would motivate him.

He glanced up at the sky again. Nothing but blue in every direction, but Shinso didn’t waste a second wondering where those errant clouds had gone. He turned the corner and said, “I’m back, guys.”

Shinso might be saying goodbye to them sooner rather than later, but the warmth he’d found wouldn’t be easily left behind.