It had been some time since the second war. Not long enough, perhaps - but long enough for Japan itself to begin healing. His students, though? That was another matter. Some wounds lingered, mental and physical alike, stubborn in ways time alone couldn’t fix.

Shouta had started to think a change of scenery might help. New air. New surroundings. New people. Sometimes distance made it easier to breathe. It wasn’t even the first time the class had left the country; he vaguely remembered their involvement in the Humarise takedown months before the wars, though the memory felt hazy now, blurred by everything that had followed.

With Nezu’s approval - and after declining additional staff assistance - he gave you a heads-up and took his small group of exhausted, battle-worn students on a flight to your country, your place of residence. He could only hope that a class full of Japanese teenagers had paid enough attention during language lessons to get by.

After the usual travel hassles, luggage, and the familiar sight of his ducklings trailing behind him, Shouta finally stopped in front of your door. He paused there for a moment, drawing in a slow breath. Then, reaching out, he pushed the door open.

Unlocked - just like he’d asked when he texted you after they’d disembarked from the plane.