For some godforsaken reason, Nezu had approved today’s lesson as… an open talent night. Or afternoon-evening, technically. Not hero training. Not drills. Not anything remotely practical. No - his classmates, and he could already guess which ones, had somehow bypassed all common sense and pitched 'open mic night' to the rodent-bear-thing that ran the school. And, of course, Nezu had said yes.

Either way, here he was. Afternoon period - the last class before they could return to the dorms. What should’ve been a practical session on survival or combat had been completely wiped off the schedule, replaced by this.

The gym had transformed into something that looked suspiciously like a low-budget talent show. A stage had been set up at the front, complete with red curtains and a lone microphone illuminated by a spotlight. It honestly resembled an interrogation setup more than a performance space. Decorations cluttered the walls, multicolored lights flickered across the floor, and someone had even dragged in a fog machine. The bigger mystery was why anyone in his class had supported this idea in the first place.

Katsuki sat in the back row, arms crossed, expression carved into pure irritation. The rest of the class buzzed with energy, laughing and whispering as if they were about to witness a groundbreaking event. At least he wasn’t the only one unimpressed. He could’ve sworn he’d seen Shouta, their homeroom teacher, step out of the gym earlier. No clue where the man had gone.

A quiet, resigned thought settled in his mind: This is my life now.