Chapter Text
The moment they step down from the boardwalk and into the lodging grounds proper, the atmosphere shifts.
Like stepping out of a small, self-contained world into another one entirely.
And the students immediately feel it.
The wind remains, of course. It never truly leaves this place. It moves between the buildings, slips beneath the raised walkways, and rattles the hanging wind chimes near the closest entrance until their soft metallic notes scatter through the courtyard like glass beads. The smell of salt and pine hangs heavy in the air, mixed with the faint bite of sun-warmed wood and recently cleaned equipment.
Ocean View Lodge sits closer to the dune ridge, its wooden exterior warm but reinforced, storm shutters folded back against the windows. Beyond its roofline, the ocean flashes in broken silver. Farther inland, partially shielded by wind-bent coastal pines, Pine Ridge Lodge stands at a slight angle, quieter-looking but no less sturdy. Between the two buildings stretches the central courtyard—benches, a gear-wash station, a circular stone firepit currently covered and unused, and a small vending machine that rattles faintly every time the wind shoves at its side.
Beyond that stands a larger open-air structure with a high roof and exposed beams, positioned between the two lodges like the center of the entire complex. Through the wide entrance, stacks of rescue equipment and a glowing weather monitor are visible beneath the shade. It looks less like a lodge and more like the operational heart of the camp.
And in front of it, several adults are already working.
Staff members in marine-orange safety vests and navy field jackets move across the courtyard with practiced efficiency. One checks the lock on an equipment shed. Another kneels beside a weatherproof power box with a tablet in hand. Two others adjust marker flags stacked near a rolling cart filled with coiled ropes, thermal blankets, flotation straps, and bright yellow rescue helmets. A small drone hovers overhead for several seconds before descending into a staff member's waiting hands.
A familiar sight, really. Staff making sure everything is exactly where it should be before guests arrive (in this case, them!). Final checks. Last adjustments. The kind of work nobody notices until it isn't done properly.
And naturally, most of the students slow down to look.
And by "look," I mean gape like they just unlocked a brand-new map.
"Whoa…" Yōsetsu breathes out, eyes widening as he watches one of the staff members secure a crate with two quick motions, "Okay, yeah. This is what professional looks like."
Hiryū nods beside him, posture relaxed but gaze attentive, "Indeed. The workflow is very clean. Everyone appears to know exactly where they are meant to be."
"That's what I'm saying." Jūzō leans slightly to one side, peering past a rolling cart stacked with ropes and helmets, "This looks legit. Like, really legit. Not school-event legit. Actual emergency-site legit."
Ibara hums softly, hands folded near the front of her uniform as her gaze moves across the courtyard, "There is care here. You can feel it. Nothing appears neglected."
"Yeah, no kidding!" Setsuna grins, hands on her hips, "I've seen beach resorts that looked less prepared than this place. And those places charged people ridiculous money just to sleep near water!"
A big, bold exclamation point pops onto Manga's face, "I haven't visited many resorts, but I believe you with my whole heart!"
Togaru grunts, arms folding, "Hmph. Not bad." His eyes flick toward the supply racks, then the weather monitor glowing inside the hall, "I expected it to be rougher, but… this'll do."
"This is way more than I expected." Denki murmurs, head turning slowly as he takes in the equipment, staff, and reinforced buildings, "Like, from the bus it looked cool, but up close? This place is serious."
"It is a disaster-response facility." Momo replies, eyes already cataloguing the rescue gear by type and placement, "Preparedness is the bare minimum. If anything, I would be more concerned if they weren't this organized."
Kyōka smiles faintly, one earphone jack twitching as metal clicks somewhere near the equipment shed, "Finally. A place with actual standards." Her eyes drift to the sound, "Yeah. This is going to be good."
Eijirō leans forward, practically glowing as he spots the rescue equipment stacked beneath the open hall, "Check out all that gear! Ropes, stretchers, helmets—man, we're definitely doing some hardcore rescue drills!"
Hanta grins beside him, "Just don't start drooling on the equipment. They'll think you're trying to tenderize it."
"I'm not gonna drool!" Eijirō protests, then pauses, "I'm just appreciating it with my eyes."
"That sounds worse somehow."
Katsuki clicks his tongue, unimpressed on the surface, but his crimson eyes are already dragging across every visible exit, equipment rack, power box, and open pathway, "Tch. At least they're not half-assing it."
Shōto nods once, gaze shifting toward the dune ridge, "The wind exposure is stronger here than it was near the buses."
"Right?" Ochaco presses one hand against her hair again, frowning as the breeze tugs another strand loose, "I swear it keeps aiming for me."
Tsuyu watches her struggle with her usual blank calm, "It probably likes you, ribbit."
Ochaco pauses, hand still buried in her hair, "I don't know how I feel about being liked by weather."
Denki points at her with sudden confidence, "That's how it starts. First the wind likes you, then next thing you know, you're in a dramatic rivalry with the ocean!"
Kyōka deadpans, "Please don't give the weather a character arc."
Shōto looks toward the sea again, "The ocean would win."
Ochaco's cheeks puff out, "Why are you all siding with nature against me?"
Tsuyu taps one finger lightly against her chin, "Nature is very persuasive."
Before anyone can respond, a low, steady voice carries across the courtyard.
"Eraser Head. Vlad King."
The staff members part naturally as a man steps forward from near the open hall doors.
He is tall—taller than most adults present, though not in a bulky way. His build is long-limbed and wiry, the kind of body shaped by years of moving against wind, water, and uneven ground rather than weight rooms. His skin is a deep weathered brown, roughened by salt and sun, but what immediately marks him as a Mutant is the sleek, dark plumage running from the sides of his neck down along his shoulders and forearms.
The feathers are not decorative. They lie smooth and layered, charcoal-black at first glance but flashing deep green-blue whenever the light catches them. His arms are human in structure, but his fingers are longer than average, joined by thin webbing between the knuckles. His nails are blunt, dark, and slightly curved, made more for gripping wet stone than scratching. His feet, visible through the open design of his reinforced coastal boots, are broader than normal beneath the protective gear, built for balance on slick ground.
His face is narrow and sharp-featured, with a slightly hooked nose that almost gives the impression of a beak without fully becoming one. His eyes are the most striking part—pale gray with black, bead-like pupils, ringed by a translucent second eyelid that flicks sideways once against the wind. Not unsettling. Just undeniably inhuman.
A coastal bird.
No, Izuku realizes after a second.
"A cormorant."
The man carries himself like one too. Still when he needs to be. Watchful even when relaxed. Every movement economical, every glance measuring distance, wind direction, footing, and people.
Fumikage pretends not to be interested as he glances at the man from the corner of his eye.
His attire matches the environment perfectly: a fitted navy waterproof field jacket with marine-orange shoulder panels, Arahama Coastal Athletics Park's emblem stitched over the left breast, and a clipped coordinator badge hanging from a reinforced lanyard. His pants are dark, flexible, and tucked into grip-soled boots designed for wet planks and loose gravel. A compact radio rests at his shoulder. A rolled map tube hangs at his back. Around one wrist is a tide-monitor band with a tiny screen glowing faintly beneath a protective cover.
The name printed on his badge reads:
Takumi Narabayashi — Chief Coastal Coordinator
Shōta stops first.
Sekijirō follows a step later, his posture firm but respectful.
Behind them, both classes gather into loose lines again without being ordered twice. The earlier chatter softens into murmurs, then fades almost entirely as the coordinator approaches.
Takumi Narabayashi stops at a polite distance and bows.
"Welcome to Arahama Coastal Athletics Park." He greets them with a measured bow, his deep voice carrying easily through the wind without needing to rise, "We appreciate U.A. entrusting its students to our facility. My staff and I will do what we can to support your training safely and efficiently."
Shōta returns the bow with minimal movement, but proper respect, "Thank you for having us. We appreciate the cooperation."
Sekijirō bows as well, deeper and more openly formal, "We'll be in your care. Our students can be energetic, but they know how to listen when it matters."
"Usually." Shōta adds dryly.
A few students stiffen.
Sekijirō's mouth twitches like he's trying not to laugh, "Yes. Usually."
Takumi's pale eyes sweep briefly over the gathered classes, calm and unreadable, before his small smile returns, "Then I look forward to seeing that for myself."
The students take the cue a half-second late, some cleanly, some with bags nearly sliding off their shoulders, but all sincere enough as they bow together.
"Thank you for having us!" Both classes echo.
The wind answers first, rattling the chimes near the entrance before the courtyard settles again.
Takumi raises his head, his pale eyes sweeping across the gathered students—a professional attention that feels like more than just a cursory look. He takes in details with an ease that suggests long practice. He does not stare at their faces for long. He checks posture. Foot placement. How they hold their bags. Who looks tired. Who keeps scanning the environment. Who looks too excited. Who looks too confident.
His gaze pauses briefly on Katsuki.
Then Shōto.
Then Izuku.
Not long enough to be obvious.
Just long enough for Izuku to notice.
"Hm."
The chief coordinator's expression barely shifts, but his pale eyes move across the gathered students with quiet precision.
"Quite a colorful group." He observes calmly, "Though I suppose that is only natural. U.A. students are rarely ordinary."
A few students exchange glances.
Sekijirō's smile stays firmly in place, though there is a faint protective edge beneath it, "They're good kids. Loud, occasionally reckless, and far too curious for their own safety, but good kids."
"Most of the time." Shōta adds flatly.
Several students immediately look away.
Takumi's small smile deepens by a fraction, "I meant no offense. If anything, it will make this summer livelier than our usual programs. Most of our visitors are emergency trainees, municipal staff, or local groups." His gaze drifts briefly toward Mina, Denki, Tetsutetsu, and Pony, "They tend to be… quieter."
"Then I apologize in advance." Shōta replies without hesitation.
"Hey…" Denki mutters weakly from the back.
Kyōka glances at him, "Don't act like he's wrong."
Sekijirō lets out a short, good-natured huff before facing Takumi again, "They'll behave. We'll make sure of it."
"I have no doubt." Takumi nods once, "That said, if you require anything—equipment support, local guidance, weather updates, or medical coordination—please inform my staff. Arahama is not an easy site for first-time visitors. We would rather assist early than respond late."
"We appreciate it." Shōta's eye moves briefly across the courtyard, noting the staff, exits, supply stations, and terrain beyond the buildings, "But we don't intend to interfere with your operations unless necessary."
"Understood." Takumi accepts that with another measured nod. Then his attention shifts toward the students, "In that case, if you permit it, I would like to give your students a few reminders before we proceed."
Sekijirō gestures toward the gathered classes, "By all means. They can always use another voice telling them not to do something stupid."
"That's rich coming from you, Vlad." Shōta murmurs.
Sekijirō grins, "My students listen beautifully."
From the Class 2-B side, Neito opens his mouth.
Itsuka's hand lands on his shoulder.
He closes it.
Takumi appears to notice, but chooses mercy. He steps forward half a pace, his field jacket shifting in the wind as his voice settles into something firmer.
"First," He begins, "I want to properly thank all of you."
The students still.
"I was among those who watched the live broadcast during the war against the Paranormal Liberation Front." His gray eyes remain steady, not worshipful, not pitying—just honest, "What I saw was extraordinary. Courage under pressure. Resolve beyond your years. A willingness to stand when many adults could barely breathe."
The courtyard grows quieter.
Even the wind seems to slip around the moment rather than through it.
"You helped keep this country standing." Takumi lowers his head slightly, "For that, you have my respect. And my gratitude."
Understandably, the reaction moves through them in uneven waves.
Some straighten with quiet pride. Others smile before they can stop themselves, small and bashful, as if the praise has caught them somewhere tender. A few glance down at their shoes, fingers tightening around bag straps or sleeves, still unused to being thanked for things that feel too heavy to place inside ordinary words.
Denki rubs the back of his neck with a crooked grin. Eijirō's eyes shine a little, though he quickly hides it behind a firm nod. Momo lowers her gaze with composed gratitude, while Itsuka's shoulders ease as she accepts the words with a mature kind of warmth. Even Katsuki only clicks his tongue and looks away, but he does not snap.
For many of them, the gratitude feels good.
Awkward, yes.
Too large, definitely.
But good.
After everything they lost, everything they saw, everything they had to survive, hearing someone say their efforts mattered still reaches somewhere deep. It does not erase the war. It does not make the nightmares gentler. But it gives the pain a shape that is not meaningless.
Izuku feels it too.
At first.
His chest warms at the sincerity in Takumi's voice, and his fingers loosen slightly around his bag strap.
Then the familiar weight follows.
Recognition.
Gratitude.
That enormous, shining label people keep placing over his shoulders like a medal, like a crown, like a debt he never asked anyone to name.
His smile does not disappear, but it thins.
Just for a second.
His eyes drop towards the gravel, catching on the faint scars crossing his knuckles. The noise around him dulls at the edges. Something cold brushes the back of his ribs, quiet and unwanted.
Not now.
He breathes in through his nose, tasting salt and wind, and gently pushes the thought away before it can form properly.
When he looks up again, his expression is calm.
Mostly.
Takumi continues, his tone still calm and firm, "However, please note that your deeds do not automatically grant you special treatment. Arahama is not a resort. It is not a private beach. It is not a place where strong legs and flashy Quirks automatically solve everything."
Several expressions tighten immediately.
Whatever comfort they found in the praise evaporates beneath the reminder that this is still a professional facility. They are not here as war heroes.
They are here as trainees.
Takumi lets the words sink in for a second before continuing, "This coastline is used for disaster-response conditioning, evacuation practice, tide-zone rescue, sand extraction, wind-exposure endurance, and night visibility drills." He pauses briefly, letting his gaze sweep across the students again, before continuing, "The terrain shifts. The weather changes quickly. The sand hides instability better than most people expect. The water may look calm from a distance, but the currents offshore are not forgiving."
His translucent eyelid flicks once more against the salt wind.
"My Quirk is Coastal Cormorant. It gives me a body adapted for sea cliffs, surf zones, and long-duration coastal work. Waterproof feathering, enhanced lung capacity, salt filtration, grip stability on wet terrain, and pressure sensitivity through my feet and hands." He explains calmly, raising one hand to display the webbing between his fingers, "Essentially, I am built for this environment. I can hold my own."
"That's really cool." Izuku's eyes brighten instantly, curiosity flaring like dry tinder as a dozen Quirk-related questions surge toward the front of his mind, only for sheer discipline to catch them by the throat and shove them back down, leaving behind nothing more than a slightly too-focused stare and a heroic effort to remain silent.
Takumi's lifted hand opens and closes smoothly, fingers flexing once before relaxing again.
"I can feel subtle vibration changes through planks, sand, and shallow water. Loose boards. Shifting ground. Incoming wave pressure. Footsteps where footsteps should not be." His gaze sharpens just a little, "It makes me very good at noticing when someone is somewhere they should not be."
A very specific silence drops over the students.
A few heads turn, slowly and almost instinctively, toward Minoru.
Minoru jolts, "Why is everyone looking at me!?"
Kyōka stares flatly, "Experience."
"I haven't even done anything!"
"Yet." Hanta adds.
Minoru clutches his bag to his chest, wounded, "The prejudice is so unreal!"
Shōta's remaining eye narrows.
Minoru immediately shrinks, "I-I will behave."
"See that you do." Shōta returns dryly.
Takumi lets the moment pass without indulging it too much, "Good. Then we'll get along."
A few students relax again, though not completely. The coordinator has that effect. He is not intimidating like Eraser Head, who can silence a room simply by looking tired in its general direction. He is not loud like Vlad King, whose presence fills space by default.
No. If one needs one term to describe him, it would be "shoreline." Yeah, "shoreline." Quiet until underestimated. Then merciless.
Behind him, the staff continues working.
A woman with short hair checks off items on a clipboard. A broad-shouldered man in a sun visor secures a stack of folded evacuation signs. Someone else tests the digital tide monitor mounted just inside the hall, its screen flickering through wind speed, tide level, humidity, and heat index readings.
And then, from the side of the hall, a stack of boxes moves.
…No, never mind.
Someone is carrying them.
A lean figure crosses the courtyard with both arms wrapped around a tall stack of supply boxes that should probably block most of their vision. The boxes are labeled in thick black print.
THERMAL LINERS
FIELD TAPE
DRONE BATTERY CASES
MEDICAL REFILL — NONSTERILE
The person carrying them wears the standard temporary staff vest over a dark hoodie, the hood pulled up despite the heat. A black cap sits low beneath it. Oversized shades hide most of their face. A pale disposable mask covers the lower half. Fingerless work gloves grip the boxes from beneath with careful pressure.
The entire outfit screams one thing.
Suspicious.
Not dangerous, exactly.
Just… suspicious.
Even more suspicious is how well they move.
The wind shoves across the courtyard hard enough to make several students adjust their footing, but the assistant does not sway. The boxes tilt once—barely—and one boot slides half a step back, correcting the weight before anything can fall. They shift around a rolling cart, avoid a loose cable without looking down, turn their shoulder at the exact angle needed to slip past a staff member, then nudge an equipment crate back into alignment with the side of their foot.
All while still carrying the boxes.
Izuku eyes the assistant curiously, feeling a little impressed by their balance. Maybe it's something not worth writing home about, but it's still pretty impressive for them to carry those things with undoubtedly limited vision like that.
"Man. Even the assistants here is pretty darned professional." He notes, "Guess that's what happens when you deal with emergencies every day."
And the boxes look relatively heavy too! It's definitely more than what most people would dare carry on their own. Not bad for an assistant.
The hooded figure approaches the supply table near the hall entrance and lowers the stack in one smooth, controlled motion. There is no crash or clumsy thud—just a soft, precise placement, with each box settling evenly on the surface.
Takumi turns his head slightly, "Assistant."
The figure pauses.
"Battery cases go inside the hall. Medical refills to Station Two. Thermal liners to the beach cart."
A gloved hand rises in a quick thumbs-up.
No verbal answer.
Then the assistant gathers the top two boxes and turns away.
Denki leans toward Hanta, lowering his voice with the confidence of someone who has never once whispered correctly in his life, "Okay, be honest. I'm not the only one getting weird vibes from that staffer, right?"
Hanta keeps his eyes forward, mouth barely moving, "Nope. Definitely not just you."
Kyōka's earphone jack twitches from Denki's other side, "They're literally carrying boxes, idiots. That's not suspicious. That's called having a job."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Denki lifts both hands slightly, defensive but not convinced, "I'm not accusing them of anything. It's just… hoodie, cap, shades, mask, gloves? At a beach training camp? In this heat?" He squints after the assistant, "That's a whole character-select screen."
Kyōka gives him a flat look, "You're one sentence away from getting stabbed."
"With what?"
Her earphone jack rises.
Denki immediately looks forward, "Message received."
A few feet away, Minoru leans in with the grin of someone about to make everyone regret having ears, "Maybe they have a face only their mother can love. And they don't want us to see it."
Mashirao frowns lightly, "That's kind of rude."
"I'm just exploring possibilities!"
"You're being creepy." Tōru corrects.
Mina hums, tilting her head as the assistant disappears near the supply table, "Or maybe they're sensitive to sunlight. My cousin burns super easily, so she dresses like that whenever she goes outside."
"That's possible." Mashirao nods, still curious despite himself, "Or maybe they just don't like being stared at. Some people prefer covering up."
Kōji clutches his bag a little closer, voice soft, "Maybe they're shy. Talking to new people can be hard."
Hitoshi gives a small, tired nod, "Understandable, honestly."
Denki gestures vaguely, "Okay, those are all reasonable explanations, but you guys saw the way they moved, right? Like… no wobble. Smooth as butter. I trip over air carrying one bag."
"That's because you're you." Kyōka returns.
"Ouch."
Fumikage's gaze remains fixed ahead, his voice low and solemn beneath the wind, "Perhaps they are one marked by hardship. A quiet soul wrapped in cloth and shadow, carrying burdens no ordinary eye can measure."
Everyone near him pauses.
Eijirō slowly turns, "Bro."
Fumikage does not blink, "I stand by it."
Hanta rubs his mouth, fighting a laugh, "That was almost beautiful and completely unhelpful."
"It had atmosphere." Shōto notes from nearby.
Momo sighs, "Do not encourage him, Todoroki-san."
Shōta does not turn around.
He does not need to.
"Stop speculating about staff members who are doing their jobs."
The entire cluster straightens on instinct.
"Yes, sir." Several of them answer at once.
Denki's shoulders creep up toward his ears, "He heard all of that?"
"He always hears all of that." Hanta mutters.
Kyōka's earphone jack flicks once, "And yet, somehow, you keep testing it."
The assistant, already several meters away, gives no indication of hearing any of it.
Which somehow makes them look even more suspicious than before.
Takumi clears his throat once, reclaiming the students' attention without needing to raise his voice, "She is one of our temporary athletic park assistants. She started three days ago. Quiet, as you may have noticed, but reliable."
A few students blink.
Denki's eyebrows lift slightly, "She?"
Kyōka nudges him with her elbow before he can say anything else.
"Temporary?" Sekijirō repeats, brow lifting with mild interest rather than suspicion.
"Seasonal intake." Takumi answers smoothly, "Summer programs require additional hands. Cleaning, equipment movement, signage, supply rotation, basic logistics. She has been assigned mostly to supply work."
Shōta's gaze shifts toward the assistant for half a second, then back to Takumi.
"Any issue?"
"None." Takumi replies without hesitation, "Background cleared through the municipality. Punctual. Efficient. Does not waste motion." His eyes follow the assistant for a moment as she adjusts the boxes against the wind without breaking stride, "Frankly, her work quality has been better than some full-time staff."
"That good?" Sekijirō hums, arms folding, "Three days in?"
"She learns quickly." The answer is calm.
Takumi's gaze returns to the students. It passes over Katsuki, then Shōto, then settles on Izuku for the smallest fraction longer than necessary.
Not a stare.
Not quite.
Just a brief pause, quiet and unreadable, like something about the boy's posture has placed an old thought back in his hands.
Then it is gone.
"If she causes any trouble, I will take responsibility." Takumi continues, tone unchanged, "But I do not expect that to be necessary."
"Hm." Shōta's expression gives away nothing, "Efficient workers are useful."
"They are." Takumi agrees.
The assistant reaches the hall doors, shifts the boxes once, and slips inside without looking back.
Only then does Denki lean a little closer to Hanta again, quieter this time.
"Okay. Still weird, right?"
Hanta keeps his face forward, "Still weird."
"Last warning." Shōta's voice cuts in.
Both boys snap straight.
"Yes, sir."
Izuku continues to watch for just one more second. He can't quite pinpoint it, but there's something… off about the assistant's movements. Not in a suspicious way. Just… different.
The correction against the wind.
The footwork.
The silence.
The way every motion seems casual only after already being calculated.
Again, an insignificant thing in the broad scope of things. Not worth mentioning, really.
But once his mind notices it, it won't let go.
"Midoriya."
Izuku straightens so fast his bag jumps against his shoulder, "Y-Yes, sir!"
Shōta's eye rests on him, "You can analyze the staff later. Briefing first."
A few quiet snickers ripple behind him.
Izuku's face warms, "R-Right. Sorry."
Ochaco smiles faintly beside him, amused but kind, "You were doing the thing again."
"I wasn't doing the thing."
"You were absolutely doing the thing."
"I was just observing."
"That's the thing."
He opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it with a small defeated nod, "Fair."
Takumi watches the exchange with the faintest trace of amusement before stepping slightly aside and gesturing toward the open hall.
"Those are the points I wished to give." Takumi lets his gaze pass over both classes one last time, calm and professional, "Does anyone have questions before we proceed?"
A few students glance at one another, but no hands rise.
Sekijirō gives an approving nod, "No questions from us. Clear, direct, and very helpful."
"We appreciate your time." Shōta inclines his head slightly, the motion small but respectful, "And the warning."
Takumi returns the nod, "Then please proceed. If I remember the arrangement correctly, I will guide your students to their assigned rooms."
"Indeed." Sekijirō folds his arms, his expression firm but pleasant, "While you handle that, Eraser Head and I will take a brief look around the facilities. Nothing excessive. Just making sure everything matches what was provided to U.A. High."
"We don't doubt your staff." Shōta's eye moves across the courtyard again, noting the hall entrance, supply stations, camera angles, and routes between the lodges, "But after last year, assuming everything is fine without checking would be… careless."
"Completely understood." Takumi's expression remains steady. If anything, there is approval in the way he nods, "Arahama welcomes caution. Please call for me or any senior staff member if you require assistance."
"Will do." Sekijirō's grin returns, broad and good-natured, "In the meantime, congratulations. You have two full classes of hero students to manage."
A faint smile touches Takumi's face, "Then I will do my best not to underestimate the assignment."
He turns toward the students, posture straightening just enough to draw their attention.
"This way, please. We will begin with Class 2-A."
From the back, Neito exhales through his nose, "Of course we are."
Itsuka's elbow finds his side without her even looking, "Play nice."
"I was just watching how things usually go." Neito mutters, rubbing his ribs where she had elbowed him.
Nirengeki lifts a hand in an easy little wave, his smile relaxed, "We'll wait here. Enjoy your special first-class orientation, Class 2-A."
Neito goes still.
Then his face shifts.
The grin appears slowly, theatrical and awful.
"First-class? First-class!?" He echoes, one hand rising to his chest, "How generous! Truly, how moving! Please, by all means, let Class 2-A proceed first! Who are we to stand in the way of tradition!? It would be rude to interrupt their sacred privilege!"
Several 2-A students immediately snicker.
Hanta leans toward Denki, "There it is."
Denki nods solemnly, "Nature is healing."
Itsuka does not look at Neito.
She simply elbows him again.
With terrifying precision.
"Ow—!"
"Play. Nice." Her voice remains perfectly calm.
Neito opens his mouth, clearly preparing another speech.
Itsuka's smile turns pleasant.
He closes it.
"Good choice." She pats his shoulder once, hard enough to make him wince, "Growth looks great on you."
Takumi does not react much beyond a faint lift of his brow. Perhaps he is already used to school groups. Perhaps he has seen worse. Perhaps, in his line of work, one dramatic blond boy making theatrical complaints barely counts as a disturbance.
"This way, please." Takumi gestures toward the entrance of Ocean View Lodge, "Class 2-B will receive the same orientation shortly. We separate the tours to avoid hallway crowding, misplaced luggage, and unnecessary collisions."
"Efficient." Momo notes softly, approval clear in her voice, "Especially with forty students carrying travel bags."
"Less chance of someone tripping over twenty duffels and becoming a cautionary tale." Kyōka adds dryly.
Denki glances down at his own duffel, suddenly offended by its existence, "…That sounds aimed at me."
"It is a broad warning." Takumi replies without missing a beat, "But if you feel personally addressed, please act accordingly."
Hanta coughs into his fist, shoulders shaking, "Wow. Direct hit."
"I didn't even do anything yet!" Denki protests.
Kyōka gives him a sideways look, "That's usually when the warning matters most."
Denki opens his mouth, pauses, then slowly deflates, "…Fair."
Takumi's expression remains perfectly composed, though the faintest trace of amusement touches his eyes, "Good. Then we are already making progress."
Denki straightens with awkward dignity, "Y-Yes, sir."
Kyōka lets out an unladylike snort, but her smile gives away her amusement.
Denki looks at her with the wounded expression of someone who knows that he walked right into that one but cannot really argue against it.
Shōta's mouth twitches, barely.
Then Class 2-A reaches the entrance.
The lodge door slides open with a low wooden groan, and a warmer current of air rolls out to meet them—faintly scented with clean tatami, sun-dried wood, and the lingering salt that seems to cling to everything in Arahama no matter how tightly the windows are shut. One by one, Class 2-A steps inside, their voices lowering without being told, as if the building itself asks them to leave the courtyard noise behind for just a moment.
Behind them, the wind moves through the lodging grounds again, rattling the chimes, brushing past the covered firepit, and slipping towards the open hall where the hooded assistant has vanished from sight. Izuku glances back only once before the door begins to close, his curiosity still flickering quietly in the back of his mind. Then the ocean disappears behind wood and glass.
And their first real step into Arahama begins.