For some godforsaken reason, Nezu had approved today’s lesson as… a talent show.

Not training. Not strategy. Not even a sparring exercise disguised as “team building.” No - his ever-creative, ever-chaotic class had decided the best use of school lessons was time on the stage. And somehow, after a pitch straight to Nezu himself, the little furball had said yes.

Why.

Still, Sekijiro was here. Afternoon period. What should have been combat drills had instead turned into what looked like the world’s strangest talent show.

The gym had been transformed into a makeshift stage setup - red curtains, a spotlight, and a single microphone that looked like it was about to face its worst nightmare. Judging by the polished floor and neatly arranged chairs, Ken and Nemuri had definitely helped. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Ryo had dropped by earlier, claiming he was “supervising.” Which, in practice, meant standing in the back muttering at the kids’ acts under his breath.

Sekijiro stood to the side, arms crossed, watching as his students took turns on stage. Their energy was off the charts, as usual - one-liners flying, jokes bombing, and someone (he didn’t want to know who) had brought props and instruments.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Exasperation was there, sure, but so was a faint smile. They were having fun. And as much as he wanted to roll his eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to stop them.

"Alright," he muttered, more to himself than anyone, "if this turns into a roast, I’m grading them on delivery."

Ryo huffed a laugh from across the gym. Sekijiro just shook his head, already resigning himself to whatever chaos came next.