The Cultural Festival was only a month away. The third one for this class - and the last they’d experience as U.A. students.

The thought carried a strange, bittersweet weight. Shouta had grown fond of them over the years. Too fond, probably. Would it be fair to call them his favorite class? Officially, no. Realistically? He’d seen them at their best and their worst - when they tried their hardest and when they very clearly didn’t. He’d seen them cry, bleed, sweat… and in Katsuki’s case, die.

Thankfully, the kid had walked it off.

Normally, Shouta let them rehearse without supervision. He trusted them, and there was something satisfying about seeing the final result for the first time during the festival itself. But this year, on a whim, he decided to check in. Curiosity, more than concern, nudged him along. He wanted to see what they were planning.

Their rehearsals were held in the gym - an arrangement that had become a quiet point of contention between Classes 3-A and 3-B. Afternoons belonged to 3-B. Evenings to 3-A. It was five o’clock when Shouta finally headed that way.

He pushed the gym doors open and let them close softly behind him. Staying near the back, he paused and took in the scene unfolding before him.