The gates opened at exactly nine o'clock.
Ryuu watched from behind the takoyaki booth as the first wave of civilians flooded onto campus—families with excited children, teenagers with phones already out, elderly couples moving at their own pace.
"First customers incoming!" Mina called from the cooking station, her pink hands already moving on the grills which were heating up, batter prepped, octopus diced and ready.
Beside him, Ochaco bounced on her toes, nervous energy radiating off her in waves. "Okay. Okay, we practiced this. Float the food, make it look cool, don't drop anything on anyone's head—"
"You'll be great," Ryuu said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Through the contact, his Resonance hummed to life at about eighty percent capacity—still recovering from the burnout, but functional at least.
He felt her anxiety spike, then settle as his quirk's presence grounded her.
"Right. Great. I can do great." She took a breath, then grinned. "Let's show these people what UA students can do!"
The first family approached their booth—a mother, father, and a boy who looked maybe seven years old.
The kid's eyes were wide, taking in everything with the unfiltered wonder only children could manage.
"Welcome to UA's takoyaki booth!" Ochaco's voice came out bright and warm, her earlier nervousness transforming into genuine enthusiasm. "Would you like to see something special?"
The boy nodded eagerly. His parents smiled, clearly indulging their son's excitement.
Mina slid the first batch of perfectly golden takoyaki onto a plate. Six spherical pieces, still steaming, garnished with bonito flakes that danced in the heat. She passed it to Ochaco with a wink.
"Watch this," Ochaco said, her fingers touching the plate's edge.
Zero Gravity activated.
The plate lifted gently from her hands, floating at eye level with the child. But it didn't stop there. One by one, the takoyaki balls lifted from the plate, forming a slow orbit around the boy's head like tiny planets circling a sun.
The kid gasped, reaching out instinctively.
"You can catch one," Ochaco encouraged, guiding the floating food with subtle finger movements.
Ryuu kept his hand on her shoulder, feeling his Resonance flow into her quirk factor. The amplification wasn't dramatic...maybe two and a half times her normal output—but it was enough.
Her control became better overtime. Each takoyaki moved with impossible precision, never wobbling, never threatening to fall.
The boy's hand closed around one of the floating spheres. He brought it to his mouth, took a bite, and his entire face lit up.
"It's amazing!" he exclaimed through a full mouth, bouncing on his toes.
His mother laughed, pulling out her phone to record as the remaining takoyaki floated down to the plate one by one, landing in a perfect stack. "That was incredible! Honey, get a picture with the students!"
The father was already reaching for his wallet. "How much for six more orders?"
"Coming right up!" Mina called, already preparing the next batch.
As the family moved aside, carefully carrying their floating display, three more groups had lined up behind them. Word was spreading fast—the takoyaki booth had the best show.
Through his Resonance, Ryuu felt Ochaco's anxiety melt into pure joy. This was working. They were making people happy.
"Okay, I'm ready for the next one," Ochaco said, her confidence growing with each successful display.
Ryuu released her shoulder, his quirk fading. "You don't need me for every customer. Save your energy."
"But the amplification makes it so much easie—"
"And you're already incredible without it," he pointed out. "Use it for the big displays. The rest, you can handle yourself."
She looked at him, something warm flickering in her brown eyes. "You really think so?"
"I know so."
The morning rush built like a wave. What started as a steady trickle became a flood as word spread through the festival grounds. By ten o'clock, they had a line stretching twenty feet from the booth.
Mina worked the grill with focused intensity, her acid quirk lending itself to surprising efficiency—a tiny drop on the cooking surface kept things from sticking without contaminating the food.
Tsuyu manned the payment station with her characteristic calm, making change and offering directions to other festival attractions with equal politeness.
Ochaco became the star of the show. Some displays she did solo, her natural talent shining through.
Others, when the crowd was particularly large or a child looked especially excited, Ryuu would step in with a hand on her shoulder and they'd create something spectacular together.
One teenage girl asked if Ochaco could make her and her boyfriend float. With Ryuu's amplification, Ochaco lifted both of them six feet off the ground, rotating them slowly while they laughed and took selfies.
An elderly man wanted to see how many takoyaki could orbit at once. With amplification, Ochaco managed seventeen—a personal record that had the crowd applauding.
A group of middle school students asked for autographs, treating them like celebrities.
Mina handled it with her usual exuberance, drawing little hearts next to her signature.
Tsuyu signed with a simple drawing of a frog. Ochaco's hand shook slightly as she wrote her name, still not quite used to being recognized.
Ryuu stayed in the background, content to be the support rather than the spotlight.
Around ten-thirty, during a brief lull in the rush, a small figure appeared at the edge of their booth.
A little girl, maybe six years old, with dark hair in pigtails and a UA merchandise t-shirt that was clearly too big for her.
She stood at the corner of the stall, peeking around the edge like she was afraid to approach.
Ochaco noticed her first. "Hey there! Want to try some takoyaki?"
The girl shook her head quickly, taking a half-step back.
"It's okay," Ochaco said gently, crouching down to eye level. "You don't have to if you don't want to. But can I ask why you're hiding?"
The girl's voice was barely a whisper. "Heroes are scary."
The words hit Ryuu hard. He could see the genuine fear from such a small person.
It wasn't the kind of fear that came from watching horror movies or being scared of the dark. This was deeper. Learned.
Ochaco's expression softened immediately. She glanced back at Ryuu, a question in her eyes.
He nodded and moved closer, staying crouched low to be less imposing. "Can I ask what happened?" he asked the little girl gently.
She fidgeted with the hem of her oversized shirt. "There was a villain. Downtown. He had fire everywhere and the heroes were fighting and there was so much noise and—" Her voice cracked. "My mom got hurt. Just a little. But it was scary."
Behind them, Mina had stopped cooking. Tsuyu's large eyes were focused entirely on the small child.
"That must have been terrifying," Ochaco said, her voice full of genuine empathy. "I'm so sorry that happened to you."
"Mom says heroes are good," the girl continued, tears welling in her eyes. "But they're so loud and big and everything breaks when they fight..."
Ryuu understood immediately. To adults, heroes were protectors, saviors. But to a child caught in the crossfire of a hero-villain battle, the distinction between good guy and bad guy blurred into pure chaos and terror.
Ochaco reached into her pocket and pulled out a small plastic container—one of the takoyaki she'd been saving for her own lunch. "Can I show you something? I promise it's not scary. Just a little bit of my quirk."
The girl hesitated, then nodded.
Ochaco pressed her fingertips together, activating Zero Gravity on the takoyaki inside the container. She didn't open it, didn't make any sudden movements. Just let it float gently out of her palm, hovering in the air between them.
"This is my quirk," she said softly. "Zero Gravity. I can make things float. See? Nothing scary. Just... floating."
The girl's eyes widened, fear giving way to cautious wonder.
"Want to touch it?" Ochaco asked.
A tiny nod.
Ochaco guided the floating container closer. The girl reached out with one finger, poking the plastic. It bobbed gently in the air, completely harmless.
A small smile tugged at the corner of the girl's mouth.
"Being a hero isn't about being loud or scary," Ochaco continued, her voice gentle. "It's about helping people. Like this...helping you smile instead of being afraid."
She deactivated her quirk, catching the container smoothly. Then she opened it and offered the takoyaki. "Want to try? It's really good."
The girl took it with both hands, taking a careful bite. Her face scrunched up in thought, then relaxed into a genuine smile. "It's yummy!"
"I'm glad." Ochaco's expression was radiant. "And hey, not all heroes are scary. Some of us just want to make people happy."
The girl's mother appeared a moment later, relief washing over her face when she spotted her daughter. "Sweetie, I told you not to wander off—"
"It's okay," Ryuu said, standing up to address the mother. "She was curious about the booth. No trouble at all."
The mother's eyes landed on her daughter, who was happily finishing the takoyaki while watching Ochaco make another container float for demonstration.
The fear that had been on the small face moments ago was completely gone, replaced with childlike fascination.
"She's been... having nightmares," the mother admitted quietly. "After the downtown incident last month. We thought bringing her to the festival might help, but she's been scared of anyone in hero costumes."
"She's very brave for coming anyway," Ryuu said. "And I think she just learned something important...that heroes come in all sizes and styles. Not all of them have to be intimidating."
The mother's eyes glistened slightly. "Thank you. Really. This is the first time she's smiled around heroes since—" She couldn't finish.
"She's going to be okay," Ochaco said, standing up and dusting off her knees. "And hey, if she wants, we're here all day. She can come back anytime."
The little girl waved as her mother led her away, the oversized UA shirt now looking less like a source of fear and more like a badge of hope.
When they were gone, Ochaco let out a long breath.
"That's what it's about," she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. "Not the money or the rankings or any of that. Just... making one little girl less afraid."
"Yeah," Ryuu agreed. "That's exactly what it's about."
Mina appeared at Ochaco's shoulder, wrapping an arm around her. "You were perfect with her. Seriously."
"Ribbit. Very heroic," Tsuyu added, her usual stoic expression softening into something almost like pride.
"I just—" Ochaco's voice caught slightly. "I've always focused on becoming a hero to help my family financially. But that girl, she didn't need money. She needed kindness. And we gave her that."
"You gave her that," Ryuu corrected. "I was just watching."
"You were here," Ochaco said, meeting his eyes. "That matters too."
The moment stretched between them, something unspoken but significant passing through the connection. Then another customer approached, and the spell broke as they returned to work.
But something had shifted in Ochaco.
Heroism was about the little girl who smiled.
The morning rush continued until nearly eleven-thirty, when the crowds finally thinned as people dispersed to explore other festival attractions.
Mina flopped onto a bench behind the booth, groaning dramatically. "My feet hate me. I can feel them plotting revenge."
"We need a break," Tsuyu said practically, counting the morning's earnings. "We've made more than our projected quota for the entire day, ribbit."
"Seriously?" Ochaco's eyes widened. "But we've only been open for two and a half hours!"
"People really like floating food," Ryuu observed with a smile. "And your personality. You made it fun instead of just a transaction."
Ochaco blushed, looking down at her hands. "I just wanted everyone to enjoy themselves."
"Mission accomplished," Mina said, already pulling out her phone to text someone. "I'm telling Momo we're taking a thirty-minute break. She's probably having a heart attack trying to coordinate everything."
"Probably?" Tsuyu's deadpan delivery got a laugh from everyone.
They put up a small "Back Soon!" sign and headed toward the grassy area near the fountain, where several other students were already taking breaks. The midday sun was warm but not oppressive, and the sound of festival activities created a pleasant ambient noise.
Ryuu found a shaded spot and sat down, letting the tension drain from his shoulders. His Resonance had been active on and off all morning, and while it wasn't strained, he could feel the mild exhaustion that came from extended use.
Mina immediately claimed the spot next to him, leaning against his shoulder without hesitation. Tsuyu settled cross-legged on his other side, already pulling out a water bottle and some snacks she'd prepared. Ochaco sat across from them, her legs stretched out in front of her.
For a few minutes, nobody spoke. They just existed in companionable silence, enjoying the success of their morning and the simple pleasure of rest.
Then Ochaco said, "Thank you, Ryuu."
He looked up. "For what?"
"For the amplification. For being patient when I was nervous. For—" She gestured vaguely. "For being there. It made everything easier."
"You did all the hard work," he pointed out. "I just gave you a boost when you needed it."
"That's what support heroes do, ribbit," Tsuyu observed. "They make others shine brighter."
"And you're really good at it," Mina added, her voice slightly muffled against his shoulder. "At making people feel capable. It's not just the quirk boost—it's you."
Ryuu felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I'm just doing what comes naturally."
"Exactly," Ochaco said, and something in her tone made him look at her more closely.
Her hand rested on the grass between them, fingers spread against the green blades.
Ryuu's hand was next to his hip, similarly positioned.
As they talked about the morning's success, the memorable customers, and plans for the afternoon shift, their hands gradually moved closer. Not intentionally, just the natural drift that happened when people were comfortable with each other.
Their fingers brushed.
The contact was brief, accidental, barely enough to register. But Ryuu's Resonance flared to life for just a moment, and he felt it—the full depth of Ochaco's emotional state.
What he felt was joy...pure joy, and underneath it all, the growing warmth she felt toward him specifically.
She felt it too. Through the connection, her emotions reflected back, and she got a glimpse of what he carried—the protective instinct toward all of them, the quiet satisfaction in seeing her succeed, the genuine care he felt.
Their eyes met again. Neither pulled their hand away immediately.
Then Mina shifted, breaking the moment. "We should probably head back soon. The lunch rush is going to be intense."
"Right," Ochaco said, pulling her hand back but maintaining eye contact with Ryuu for a beat longer. "Yeah. Lunch rush."
They stood, stretching and preparing to return to the booth. But as they walked back across the grass, Ochaco fell into step beside Ryuu, their shoulders almost touching.
"Jirou's performance is this afternoon," she said conversationally. "Are you going to watch?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Ryuu replied. "She's been working really hard on her music."
"She has," Ochaco agreed. Then, quieter: "It's nice. Having people who care about each other like this. Like a family."
"Yeah," Ryuu said, understanding exactly what she meant. "It really is."
They reached the takoyaki booth just as new customers were beginning to gather. The lunch rush was about to start, and they had work to do.
But as Ryuu took his position behind Ochaco, ready to amplify when needed, he couldn't stop thinking about that brief moment of connection. The way her hand had felt against his. The depth of emotion he'd sensed in that fraction of a second.
Something was growing between them. Slow and natural, building on a foundation of shared purpose and genuine care.
And judging by the small smile on Ochaco's face as she greeted the first lunch customer, she felt it too.
But it had also been about something else...the quiet realization that the bonds forming between them all were becoming something more than just friendship.
And that was okay.
That was more than okay.
That was exactly how it was supposed to be.
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