The mock city training grounds were a mess—chunks of concrete littered the streets, smoke curled from a building Mina had accidentally melted, and the faint smell of ozone lingered in the air. The last match of the day had just ended, both classes gathering in the center to cool down and compare bruises.
Ojiro rolled his shoulders, tail swaying lazily as he replayed the match in his head. Kendo had been as sharp and adaptable as ever, forcing him to keep moving and think ahead. It wasn’t a win he could claim easily, and that made it worth it.
Nearby, Kaminari groaned dramatically. “Ugh, I swear Tetsutetsu-kun is made of cheating. My hands are still numb!”
“That’s called endurance, Kaminari-kun,” Tetsutetsu shot back with a grin.
Before the bickering could turn into another round, Aizawa and Vlad King stepped forward, announcing that since the day had run late, Class 1-B would be staying in the 1-A dorms for the night to avoid curfew issues. The mix of cheers, groans, and Monoma’s smug “Class B will dominate at everything” was almost enough to make Ojiro laugh. Almost.
By the time they reached the dorms, “winding down” had turned into something else entirely. Blankets were draped between furniture in messy forts, string lights blinked overhead, and a snack table was overloaded with chips, candy, and suspicious-looking bottles tucked between soda cans. Someone had even dragged a speaker out to play music loud enough to make Tokoyami scowl.
Hagakure’s voice came from somewhere deep inside a blanket pile. “Spin the bottle! I vote Spin the Bottle!”
“Truth or Dare,” Mina called back. “Or Truth or Drink. You know, to make it more interesting.”
“Seven Minutes in Heaven!” Kaminari grinned like he’d just handed the world’s best idea to the group.
“Strip poker,” Monoma announced with theatrical confidence. Half the room yelled “NO!” at once, but not all of them sounded sincere.
Ojiro sat cross-legged near the snack table, tail curled around him, watching the chaos unfold. “You’re all unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, though there was a faint smirk on his face.
Kendo caught his eye from across the room, raising a brow in a don’t look at me, they’re your problem too kind of way. Before he could respond, a pillow bounced off his shoulder.
Sero was already grinning, holding another in his hands. “C’mon, Ojiro-kun! Don’t just sit there looking all responsible—pick a side.”
Without looking away, Ojiro caught the second pillow with his tail and tossed it right back into Sero’s chest. “You sure you want me in this? I don’t play halfway.”
That was all it took for the room to erupt. Pillows flew, makeshift barricades formed, and before long, it wasn’t just a pillow fight—quirks were in play, the two classes were shouting team names, and someone yelled “Rematch! Class A vs. Class B!” over the music.
The games and dares would come later—when the chaos shifted from competition to curiosity—but Ojiro could already tell this night wasn’t going to end quietly. And no way were the teachers ever going to hear the full story.