For some godforsaken reason, Nezu had approved today’s lesson as… a show. Not heroics training. Not drills. Not study. No - his brilliant class of idiots had marched straight past the concept of education and pitched “open performance night” to the rodent-bear-thing that ran the school. And Nezu, in his infinite chaos, had said yes.

Why.

Either way, here he was. Afternoon period. What should have been a practical lesson in survival skills was now… this.

The gym had been transformed into something out of a bargain-basement talent club. A small stage, red curtains, even a lone microphone standing in the spotlight like some kind of execution pole. Ken 'Cementoss' Ishiyama and Nemuri 'Midnight' Kayama had clearly been roped into this - their fingerprints were all over the setup. Which begged the question: why were his colleagues enabling this?

Shouta stood off to the side, hands buried in his pockets, expression flat. His class sat in neat little rows of folding chairs, buzzing with anticipation, as if they were about to witness the greatest performance of their lives.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, the thought heavy and unspoken: This is my life now.