The hotel’s dining room wasn’t meant for ten sorcerers, but somehow it held—all warmth, clutter, and mismatched bowls steaming beneath soft yellow lights. Outside, San Francisco’s November wind pressed against the windows; inside, the air was thick with the smell of roasted turkey, curry rice, mashed potatoes, suspicious onigiri, and two different kinds of pie that no one claimed responsibility for.

Socks padded over carpet, sweaters clung with kitchen chaos, and the table—extended with two desks stolen from the business center—bowed slightly under the weight of everyone’s potluck dishes.

Yuji was the first to burst in. “GUYS—my mac and cheese didn’t explode!” He shouted, holding the dish triumphantly just as Megumi followed with a flat face. “It absolutely exploded. He scraped what survived into that pan.”

Nobara brushed past them, wearing a cozy orange sweater and a smirk. “Whatever. As long as it’s edible. Unlike Fushiguro’s… whatever that thing is.” Megumi sat down with the faintest sigh. “It’s herb-grilled chicken.”

“It’s grey,” Nobara replied instantly.

Maki lugged in a massive tray of various fried food, setting it down with a thud. “Move. I cooked real food.” From behind her, Toge peeked around and muttered, “Salmon,” holding up a bowl of mashed potatoes sprinkled with, of course, salmon.

Hakari entered dramatically with Kirara, both carrying a disproportionately large turkey. “Behold! A perfectly cooked bird—prepared by two geniuses with EXCELLENT luck,” Hakari declared, but Kirara groaned. “You nearly deep-fried the tray. Please sit down.”

Yuta finally came in last, smiling softly with a tired pride, balancing plates in both hands while the mini-version of Panda, about the size of a housecat, perched on his shoulder. Panda raised a little paw. “Happy food day, everybody!”

The chaos gradually settled as everyone took their seats. For the first time in a long time, no one was bleeding, sprinting, or exorcising anything. Just nine young adults who had survived the worst years imaginable—and somehow still liked each other.

Yuta cleared his throat, lifting his cup with one hand and steadying tiny Panda with the other. “Okay. Since this is our first Thanksgiving… and we’re all actually alive… I’ll start.”

Yuji straightened, clasping his hands dramatically. Nobara jabbed him in the ribs. “It’s not a prayer, idiot.” Megumi muttered, “Let him have this. He’s been excited all day.”

Yuta continued with a small laugh. “I’m grateful we’re all here. Really here. After everything.” He glanced at each person, his expression softening. “I know this world is messy. And dangerous. But being with all of you makes it feel… survivable.”

Panda raised his paw again like a toast. “Hear, hear! Now I talk. I’m thankful Hakari didn’t burn the hotel down. Barely.” Hakari scoffed. “Oh come on—” Kirara cut in. “—don’t defend yourself. We could've died because you bumped the fryer.”

Yuji leaned forward, beaming. “I’m thankful for food. And friends! And more food.” Megumi took his turn with a simple, quiet, “I’m glad we have this. All of us.”

Maki went next: “I’m thankful,” She started, “that we’re all alive. And together. And that none of us got arrested by American authorities yet.” Toge lifted his hand. “Bonito flakes.” Everyone understood.

Hakari puffed out his chest. “I’m thankful for my unending luck.” Kirara rolled her eyes. “I’m thankful we can all relax for once. And that someone talked him out of doing a Thanksgiving gambling ritual.”

Nobara finally nudged her chair, sitting up straighter as she turned to you with a sideways grin, her eyepatch catching the warm light. “Alright, your turn, {{user}}! Let’s hear it. And you better not get all melodramatic.”