The lunch rush hit harder than the morning wave.
By noon, their line stretched past two other booths, and Ryuu found himself in a rhythm he hadn't expected—taking orders while Mina cooked, passing plates to Ochaco for her floating displays, occasionally stepping in with a hand on her shoulder when the crowd wanted something extra spectacular.
It was exhausting but it also felt great.
"Last one!" Tsuyu called from the payment station, handing change to an elderly couple who'd been patient enough to wait through the entire rush.
Mina slumped over the grill dramatically. "I'm never cooking again. My arms are going to fall off."
"You said that after breakfast," Ochaco pointed out, carefully stacking empty plates.
"And I meant it more then."
Ryuu checked his phone. 12:47 PM. They'd been going non-stop for nearly four hours, with only that brief morning break.
"We should take another break," he suggested. "Before the afternoon crowd starts."
"Seconded," Ochaco said immediately, already untying her apron. "My legs are dead."
"Thirded," Mina added. "Is that a word? I'm making it a word."
Tsuyu was already putting up the "Back Soon!" sign, her movements efficient as always. "There's a spot under the trees near the performance stage. Quieter than the fountain area, ribbit."
They gathered their things—water bottles, the lunches they'd packed that morning, exhausted smiles...and headed away from the main festival thoroughfare. The crowd thinned as they walked, festival noise fading to a pleasant background hum.
The spot Tsuyu had mentioned was perfect. Several large trees created a natural canopy, dappled sunlight filtering through leaves.
The grass was soft, recently maintained for the festival. They could see the performance stage from here, currently empty but set up for this afternoon's showcase.
Ryuu dropped onto the grass with a grateful sigh. Mina immediately claimed her usual position against his shoulder, her pink skin warm from standing near the hot grill all morning. Ochaco settled across from them, stretching her legs out with a satisfied groan.
Tsuyu was the last to sit, cross-legged between Ryuu and Ochaco, already distributing the snacks she'd prepared. Onigiri, fruit, some kind of vegetable chips that looked homemade.
"You made all this?" Mina asked, accepting a rice ball.
"Habit from taking care of my siblings, ribbit. Always easier to prepare extra."
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Just existing together, enjoying the success of their morning and the simple pleasure of rest.
Ryuu noticed Tsuyu watching him with those large, unblinking eyes. Not staring exactly, just... observing. It was her way of living I guess....direct but not uncomfortable.
"You look tired," she said finally.
"Little bit," he admitted. "Using my quirk on and off all morning takes it out of me more than I expected. Still not fully recovered from the burnout."
"You should pace yourself better, ribbit."
"I know. I just didn't want to let Ochaco down when people wanted the big displays."
"I would've been fine," Ochaco protested, though her expression was grateful. "But thank you. For pushing yourself even when you probably shouldn't have."
Mina shifted against his shoulder. "That's very him, isn't it? Always putting everyone else first."
"Someone has to," Ryuu said with a shrug.
"No," Tsuyu said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Someone chooses to. There's a difference, ribbit."
The observation was simple but profound. Ryuu had never quite thought about it that way—that his tendency to support others was a choice, not an obligation.
"My siblings need looking after," Tsuyu continued, still watching him. "But I chose to help raise them. Could have let others handle it. But family takes care of family." She paused. "You do the same thing. Choose to carry weight you don't have to."
"Is that bad?" Ryuu asked.
"No. Just means you need people who'll do the same for you sometimes, ribbit."
Mina squeezed his arm. "We're working on that."
They fell quiet again.
Festival sounds drifted over...children laughing, music from various booths, the general buzz of happy crowds.
Ochaco and Mina eventually started discussing afternoon plans, something about checking out the combat demonstration later. Their voices created a pleasant backdrop, familiar and warm.
Tsuyu shifted slightly, moving from her cross-legged position to sit with her legs tucked to one side. The movement brought her closer to Ryuu, though he suspected it wasn't entirely accidental.
"That little girl this morning," she said quietly, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "The one afraid of heroes."
"What about her?"
"You looked sad when she said heroes were scary. Not just sympathetic, ribbit. Sad."
Ryuu glanced at her. Those large eyes were still observing, still seeing more than most people bothered to look for.
"I guess I was," he admitted. "We train so hard to help people, to save them. But sometimes we forget that being saved can be traumatic too. Especially for kids."
"You think about things like that a lot, don't you? The complicated parts of heroism."
"Someone should."
Tsuyu nodded slowly. "Your quirk makes you feel what others feel. Must be hard sometimes, carrying all that."
It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact delivered with her characteristic directness. And somehow, that made it easier to acknowledge.
"Yeah," Ryuu said. "Sometimes it is."
"But you do it anyway."
"Don't really have a choice."
"You always have a choice, ribbit." Tsuyu reached over, her hand finding his where it rested on the grass. The contact was deliberate, gentle. "You choose to help. To connect. To carry things for people who can't carry them alone."
Her touch activated his Resonance. He felt her emotional state clearly—steady calm, deep understanding, and something else. Respect, maybe. Or recognition. Like she saw parts of him most people missed and appreciated them anyway.
"You're very grounded," he said, the observation coming without conscious thought. "Like an anchor. Steady even when everything else is chaos."
"Someone has to be." A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Just like someone has to care the way you do. We balance each other, ribbit."
She didn't pull her hand away immediately. Neither did he. They just sat there, connected, while Mina and Ochaco's conversation continued nearby.
"Thank you," Ryuu said finally. "For seeing that. For understanding."
"Thank you for being worth understanding." Tsuyu squeezed his hand once, then released it. Her expression hadn't changed, still that calm stoicism she wore like armor. But something in her eyes was softer. "You look happy today. It's good to see."
"I am happy," he realized. "Despite being exhausted and my quirk acting up and everything else. I'm really happy."
"Good. Hold onto that feeling, ribbit." She turned her attention back to the group. "Mina, Ochaco. We should head back soon. Afternoon shift starts in fifteen minutes."
"Already?" Mina groaned but was already gathering her things. "Time moves too fast on good days."
They stood, stretching and brushing grass from their clothes. The break had been brief but restorative—enough to face whatever the afternoon brought.
As they walked back toward the takoyaki booth, Tsuyu fell into step beside Ryuu. Her hand brushed against his once, briefly. Probably accidental.
But the small smile on her face suggested otherwise.
"Jirou's performance is at two o'clock, ribbit," she said conversationally. "You should make sure to watch. She's been nervous about it all week."
"Planning on it," Ryuu confirmed. "Wouldn't miss it."
"Good. She'll appreciate having familiar faces in the crowd." Tsuyu's large eyes blinked once. "We all will, ribbit."
They reached the booth to find a small crowd already forming. The afternoon wave was beginning, and they had work to do.
But as Ryuu took his position, ready for whatever came next, he felt lighter than he had all day. The brief moment with Tsuyu—her direct understanding, her steady presence, the way she saw him clearly and accepted what she saw—had settled something he hadn't known was unsettled.
Mina caught his eye from the grill and winked. She'd noticed the moment, understood it, and approved. That was just who she was—supportive of connections that mattered, even when they didn't directly involve her.
Ochaco was already greeting customers with renewed energy, her earlier revelation about heroism still glowing in her expression.
And Tsuyu manned the payment station with her usual efficiency, occasionally glancing his way with that small, knowing smile.
The afternoon stretched ahead—more customers to serve, Jirou's performance to watch, the evening wind-down to navigate. But right now, in this moment, surrounded by people who understood him and cared anyway, Ryuu felt exactly where he was supposed to be.
The festival continued around them, and they dove back into work with practiced ease.
By 1:45 PM, the afternoon rush had finally slowed enough for them to consider another break.
"Go," Mina said, shooing Ryuu away from the booth. "Jirou's performance is in fifteen minutes. You should get a good spot."
"We can handle things here, ribbit," Tsuyu added. "Go support our friend."
Ochaco was already untying her apron. "I'm coming too. I want to hear what she's been working on."
"Me three!" Mina declared, already turning off one of the grills. "Tsuyu, can you—"
"I'll watch the booth alone for thirty minutes, ribbit. Go."
They didn't need to be told twice. The three of them headed toward the performance stage, joining the crowd already gathering. The area was filling up fast—students, civilians, even some pro heroes who'd stopped by to support their former school.
"Should we try to get close?" Ochaco asked, standing on her toes to see over the crowd.
"Let's stay back here," Ryuu suggested. "Give her space to perform without feeling pressured."
They found a spot with a decent view, close enough to see but not so close that Jirou would be distracted. The stage was set up simply—microphone stands, amplifiers, a small platform for instruments.
And there, off to the side, Ryuu spotted her. Jirou stood behind the stage curtain, guitar case in hand, looking more nervous than he'd ever seen her.
"She looks terrified," Mina whispered.
"She'll be fine once she starts playing," Ochaco said confidently. "Music is where she's most comfortable."
Ryuu hoped they were right. Because from here, watching Jirou's hands shake slightly as she opened her guitar case, he couldn't help but worry.
This performance mattered to her. More than most people probably realized.
And he had a feeling they were about to find out exactly why.