Tuesday Afternoon
The outdoor cooking area smelled like takoyaki batter.
Ochaco had already set up three industrial grills by the time Ryuu arrived.
Color-coded containers lined the prep tables. She'd drawn a floor plan on a whiteboard that looked professional enough to make a restaurant owner cry.
"You've done this before," Ryuu said.
"Family business." She tied her apron without looking. "Dad does festival setups sometimes. Mom handles logistics."
She handed him a clipboard. "Check inventory while I prep? Need to know what we're missing."
Ryuu started counting. Flour, dashi stock, eggs, octopus, green onions...
"Construction and festivals," he said while marking the checklist. "That's a lot."
"Construction pays bills. Festival work is side money." She measured dashi with precision. "Every bit helps."
The way she said it reminded Ryuu of making grocery lists stretch. Comparing unit prices. Knowing exactly how much money was in his wallet.
"My mom works double shifts at the hospital," he said. "I can make rice, eggs, and whatever vegetable was on sale seventeen different ways."
Ochaco's hands paused. Then she laughed. "Hehe, the 'Poor Student Cuisine' method! I'm an expert at 'stretch soup until Friday.'"
"Oh, the advanced technique."
*Author's Note: I'm going all out tonight (sugar soup)...can't wait to dig in.
"Mom's a master." Her smile was softer now. "She says feeding people well cares for their spirit, not just their body."
"That's a smart woman."
They worked in comfortable silence after that.
"Twenty kilos of flour short," Ryuu announced. "Three dozen eggs. Good on octopus, low on green onions."
"Perfect." Ochaco made notes. "I'll submit the form after this."
"Anything else?"
"Could you come back tomorrow? Early—6 AM. Test run before everyone's awake."
"I'll bring coffee."
"Lifesaver."
...
An hour later, Bakugo appeared with arms full of ingredients.
"OI! Round Face! Where do these go?"
"Station three! Thanks, Bakugo!"
He set everything down carefully. "UA's supplies are shit. Brought my own spices."
"That's actuall—"
"Don't make it weird." He pulled out expensive-looking seasonings. "Need your gravity quirk. Some extras put the cooker in the wrong spot."
"Say please!"
"PLEASE BEFORE I BLOW YOUR FACE OFF!"
"...I'll take it!"
Ryuu watched them bicker-cooperate while Ochaco floated the massive cooker across the space. Despite the yelling, they worked well together...Bakugo's precision meeting Ochaco's adaptability.
"Oi, Resonance."
Bakugo shoved a container at him. "Try this."
Inside was spicy chicken in dark sauce, smelling incredible.
Ryuu took a bite.
Heat balanced with savory depth, perfect texture, restaurant-quality even.
"This is really good."
"Tch. Obviously." But Bakugo looked pleased. "You've got that coordination quirk. During the attack, you were calling plays like a battlefield commander."
Ryuu blinked. 'Huh??'
"That's not just amplification," Bakugo continued, arms crossed. "That's tactical analysis. Managing multiple people, adjusting strategy real-time, identifying optimal combinations. You were seeing the whole field while your quirk was destroying you from the inside."
It wasn't a compliment...this was Bakugo. But it was acknowledgment. Recognition from someone who analyzed combat obsessively.
"When you're back to full power, don't waste it just making people stronger. Figure out tactical applications. Battlefield coordination, resource management, team composition." Bakugo grabbed his container. "Your quirk gives you information others don't have. Use it."
He left before Ryuu could respond.
'Another one of his talks'
Ochaco appeared at his elbow. "Did Bakugo just give you advice?"
"And compliment his cooking."
"Character growth is terrifying."
...
Wednesday Morning
Rain turned the practice fields into mud.
Ryuu found Tsuyu at the accessibility station, already assembling wheelchair ramp prototypes while rain drummed overhead.
"Ribbit. You're early."
"Couldn't sleep. Festival nerves."
She gestured to three ramp designs. "Standard recommendation is 1:12 slope. I want 1:15. Easier for manual wheelchairs."
Each prototype was carefully measured. Notes detailing weight capacity, weather resistance, installation time.
"This is thorough."
"My younger siblings sometimes use mobility aids." She said it simply. "You notice things when it affects people you love."
She handed him measuring tape and a level. "Help me check this corner. Two centimeters off."
They worked in silence—measuring, adjusting, testing angles. Tsuyu had a systematic approach that required few words. She knew what needed doing and did it efficiently.
It was oddly relaxing. No pressure to fill silence with conversation.
Eventually she asked, "How's your quirk recovery?"
"Maybe 65% now."
"The burnout was severe."
"Yeah."
"Ribbit. You pushed too hard."
"Had to. Everyone was in danger."
"And now you're in danger if you don't recover properly." Her eyes were serious. "Heroism includes knowing limits. Dead heroes don't save anyone."
Not a lecture. Just observation stated with the same matter-of-fact tone she used for everything else.
Ryuu thought about arguing but realized she was right. Another few seconds and Recovery Girl said the burnout might have been irreversible.
"I'm trying," he said finally.
"Good. Ribbit." She handed him another measuring tape. "Now help with this other corner. Also off."
That was it. No drama. Just facts and continued work.
"Your siblings are lucky," he said after a moment.
"They're annoying," Tsuyu replied, but her small smile was fond. "But they're my annoying siblings. Ribbit. Someone has to make sure they can navigate the world safely."
"That's heroic."
"It's practical. Heroism is just practical care applied consistently."
Ryuu paused, measuring tape in hand.
That might be the most insightful definition of heroism he'd ever heard. Not grand speeches about justice. Just... consistent, practical care.
"I'm stealing that quote."
"Feel free. Ribbit. I stole it from my mother."
They finished the accessibility checks as rain continued to fall, creating a gray curtain around their covered workspace. By the time they were done, every ramp was perfectly measured, every calculation triple-checked.
"Thanks for helping," she said as they packed up tools. "Most people find this boring."
"It's not boring. It's important."
"Ribbit. Those can both be true."
...
Wednesday Afternoon
The performance stage was cable chaos.
"Need help?"
"Does it LOOK like I need help?" Jirou gestured at tangled wires. "Kaminari walked through earlier. Everything went haywire."
"He has that effect."
"It's a CURSE." She yanked a cable free, creating three new tangles. "Fuck."
Ryuu crouched down, separating cables by color and type.
"What's the plan? One system or multiple zones?"
"Multiple." She pointed at a detailed sketch. "Stage speakers, ambient sound, backup system for when something explodes. Because something always explodes."
"That's smart."
"Don't sound surprised."
"I'm not! I just meant—"
"I know." Her expression softened slightly. "Sorry. I get defensive about technical stuff. People assume I only know music."
"Music is pretty technical though."
"Try telling that to people who think guitar is just 'strumming strings.'"
They worked in comfortable silence for thirty minutes. Jirou had good instincts but got impatient with tedious details.
Ryuu could relate—coordination came naturally to him, but the actual mechanical setup required patience he didn't always have.
"You're not bad at this," she admitted grudgingly.
"Cables aren't that different from people. They all need proper connections or everything falls apart."
"Cables don't have feelings though."
"Neither do people before coffee."
She snorted—actual laughter that transformed her usually guarded expression. "Okay, that's fair."
...
An hour later, they'd set up the main system and most of the backup. Jirou plugged in her guitar to test audio levels.
"Want to hear something?"
"Sure."
She played a melody—soft at first, almost hesitant, then building in complexity and confidence. It was melancholy but hopeful, like searching for something you weren't sure existed but desperately wanted to find.
When the last note faded, Ryuu found himself nodding slowly.
"That was incredible. The way you layered the harmonics at the end there."
Jirou looked up, genuine surprise crossing her face. "You noticed that?"
"Hard not to. The whole thing built toward it."
"Most people just say it sounds 'nice.'" She set down her guitar. "They don't actually listen."
"Their loss."
She smiled. "Yeah. Their loss." Her earphone jacks twitched slightly. "Thanks for the cable help."
"Thanks for the music."
She nodded and went back to adjusting speaker angles, but there was something lighter about her movements now. Less guarded.
'Music people are weird,' Ryuu thought with amusement. 'Say one thing about harmonics and suddenly you're friends.'
But somehow that made it easier. No complicated social rules. Just honest appreciation for someone's craft.
...
Later that evening...
The sun was setting by the time Ryuu finished helping with the last of the setup.
His body ached from a full day of physical work, but it was the good kind of tired. The kind that came from accomplishing something tangible. The festival grounds were taking shape, piece by piece, and he'd been part of making it happen.
"Ryuu!" Mina's voice called from across the courtyard. "Stop working and come eat!"
She and Momo had claimed a picnic table near the dorms, takeout containers spread across the surface. Looked like they'd raided the convenience store.
"You've been running around all day," Momo said as he sat down. "You need to eat properly."
"And rest," Mina added, pushing a bento toward him. "Your quirk's still recovering. Don't overdo it."
"I'm fine."
"You're always fine," Momo said dryly. "Until you're not."
Fair point.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, watching other students drift by. The campus had a peaceful feeling to it...the calm satisfaction of hard work paying off.
"You've been spending a lot of time with the others," Momo broke the silence first. Just stating a fact.
"It's just festival prep," Ryuu said. "And also in lots of committees apparently."
"Mm-hmm." Mina's eyes sparkled with mischief. "And how's that going?"
"...Fine?"
"Ochaco seems nice," Momo continued. "Very practical. Good work ethic."
"Tsuyu's very straightforward," Mina added. "I like that about her. No games."
"And Jirou's talented," Momo finished. "Her music is quite impressive."
Ryuu looked between them suspiciously. "What are you two doing?"
"Nothing!" they said in perfect unison.
"We're just observing," Momo said innocently.
"Making conversation," Mina agreed.
"You're terrible liars."
"We're excellent liars," Mina protested. "You're just good at reading people."
"My quirk's barely working right now."
"I don't need a quirk to see through you two."
They laughed, and the tension broke. This was good. Easy. Just three people who cared about each other, enjoying a quiet evening before the chaos of the festival.
"Seriously though," Mina said after a moment, her voice softer. "We're glad you're connecting with people. Making friends. Building bonds."
"That's what makes you stronger," Momo added. "Not just your quirk. The connections themselves."
Ryuu looked at them—really looked. Mina with her perpetual optimism and fierce loyalty. Momo with her brilliant mind and hidden vulnerability. Two people who'd chosen to love him despite everything.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For understanding. For not making this complicated."
"Oh, it's definitely complicated," Mina said with a grin. "But complicated doesn't mean bad."
"Just means we have to communicate," Momo agreed. "Be honest. Trust each other."
"Which we do," Mina finished.
They stayed at that table until the stars came out, talking about nothing and everything. Plans for tomorrow. Worries about the festival. Hopes for the future.
Eventually they headed back to the dorms together, tired but content.
Tomorrow would be the final day of preparation. Then the festival. Then... whatever came next.
But for now, this was enough.
----
Author's Note: sorry again for the late upload...the exam is looking lwk tuff.