Chapter Twenty-Five : Frogs, Rats, and Chicken
All in all, things had worked out pretty well. When Clay woke up the next morning, he endured back-to-back-to-back lectures from Thirteen, Midnight, and Aizawa. Each one delivered their reprimands in their own unique style, leaving Clay feeling like a kid caught raiding the cookie jar three times in a row. Thirteen with the 'I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed', Midnight with the 'Why on Earth did you think gripping the razor bat would help?', and Eraserhead with the 'Never talk to journalists for as long as you live'.
The rest of the day, however, was blissfully uneventful. Friday, the final day of his internship, passed quietly as well. Aside from the jagged crisscross of scars now etched into his palm, there were no lasting consequences from the injury. Of course, Midnight refused to hear a word about Clay attempting any kind of physical activity for the last throes of his internship.
"Do you realize how much trouble I'm in?" Midnight snapped at one point, arms crossed and glaring daggers. "Your friend Iida and some others went rogue to take down the Hero Killer, and instead of focusing on that, I have to explain why I let you hurt yourself! And why Thirteen and I shouldn't be punished!"
"Thought ya liked punishment," Clay muttered despite Skipper repeatedly slapping Clay's cheek with his tail to get him to stop what he was saying.
Midnight's glare could have melted steel. "Keep it up," she said, her voice dangerously sweet and deadly, "and I'll show you exactly how much I don't like it, and the clown with the razor bat will be the next worst thing that's happened to you this week."
The final day of the internship felt less like training and more like a day-long seminar on hostage negotiation tactics. Clay had to admit, it was actually pretty interesting—when Midnight wasn't peppering the discussion with innuendos clearly designed to make him uncomfortable.
Saturday, by contrast, was as relaxing as a day could get. The dorms were eerily quiet, with most students off visiting their families. Clay spent his time in relative peace, save for enduring a long phone call from his mother.
The rest of the day unfolded leisurely: tackling laundry, losing miserably at chess to Shoto (who barely seemed to notice he was winning, and dodged every one of Clay's attempts to ask about his internship), and occasionally checking in with Tsuyu, who was rushing to prepare her family home for Sunday evening. Her determination to have everything perfect made Clay grin—though he suspected the real whirlwind wasn't Tsuyu, but her siblings.
Sunday came around. The Asui family home was modest but cozy, nestled in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. The faint hum of cicadas filled the warm evening air as Clay stood on the front porch, his hat in one hand and a random bottle of rice wine he bought in the other. "Crazy the drinkin' age is eighteen here… First bottle of booze I've bought legally," he said, almost bragging to Skipper, who was perched on his shoulder with a dignified posture.
"Alright, buddy," Clay muttered under his breath. "First impressions are everything. You keep your teeth to yourself, and I'll make sure you get a bite of dessert."
The door opened before he could knock, revealing a boy no older than ten with wide, curious eyes and hair that mirrored Tsuyu's dark green hue. He stared up at Clay, his gaze flicking between the cowboy hat in his hand, the beard, and the rat.
"You're the cowboy," the boy said bluntly, folding his arms like a miniature authority figure. "Tsuyu said you're nice, but you look kinda scary."
Clay crouched slightly to meet the boy's gaze, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. "'Cause I'm tall and got a beard? Promise I'm real nice once you get to know me." He held out the rice wine like a peace offering. "These are for your ma. You must be Samidare, right?"
The boy hesitated before grabbing the bottle, his frown softening into a curious smile. "Yeah. Tsuyu said you've got rats that do tricks. Can I see?"
Before Clay could answer, Tsuyu's voice came from somewhere inside. "Samidare, don't keep him at the door. Let him in. Ribbit."
The boy rolled his one visible eye but stepped aside, gesturing for Clay to enter. The warmth of the Asui home wrapped around him immediately, the scent of something savory mingling with something undeniably familiar. The living room was simple but inviting, with neatly arranged furniture and family photos lining the walls.
Tsuyu appeared from the kitchen, her calm demeanor steady as always, though Clay could see a flicker of excitement in her eyes. She was dressed casually, a simple mint-green dress and a dark green silken band around her waist. "Hi, Clay," she said, her wide eyes meeting his. "Come in. My parents are here too. Ribbit."
Clay hung up his hat on the coatrack, showing his usual formal attire of a tucked in flannel and a passably-clean pair of jeans. "Thanks for havin' me, Tsu."
Tsuyu gave a faint smile, stepping aside to let Clay fully into the living room. Samidare trailed behind, holding the bottle of rice wine like it was some kind of treasure. Clay caught sight of Satsuki, Tsuyu's younger sister, peeking around the corner. She giggled softly before disappearing from view, her curiosity evident despite her shyness. Skipper gave a polite squeak from his perch on Clay's shoulder, his whiskers twitching as he took in the new surroundings.
When Clay got a view of the dining room, he couldn't help but burst into laughter. Spread across the table were several red-and-white buckets of the Colonel's finest fried chicken, complete with mashed potatoes, gravy, and biscuits.
"Hah!" he exclaimed, his grin stretching wide as he took in the scene. His eyes landed on a frog-like woman with an elegant, composed air about her—Tsuyu's mother.
"Ah, sorry. Clayton Derreks Ma'am," he said, extending a hand.
Tsuyu's mother smiled warmly, her expression calm and composed. She wiped her hands on a neatly folded kitchen towel before taking Clay's hand in a firm but gentle shake. "Beru Asui," she introduced herself, her voice carrying the same serene tone that her daughter often used. "It's lovely to meet you, Mr. Derreks. Thank you for coming."
"Please, ma'am," Clay said, his grin softening. "Just Clay'll do. Mr. Derreks is my Pa's name, God rest his soul."
Beru chuckled softly, releasing his hand. "I can't take credit for this. Tsuyu said you're an American, and my husband thought we should honor that with a proper meal. He insisted on getting something familiar to you. Ribbit."
Clay found it a little odd hearing someone other than Tsuyu letting out a ribbit, but really, what else could he expect? He was about to ask where Tsuyu's father was, when he heard a low, rumbling croak from the hallway. A wide shouldered man that resembled a bullfrog stood there, his black tie tight against his neck and his white shirt pristine. "Clay, is it?" he asked, giving Clay a look that he knew all too well. Someone trying to look tough for a fight.
"Yes sir," he said, extending a hand while keeping his eyes firmly on the bullfrog-like man in front of him.
"Ganma," came the low, throaty croak in reply as he clasped Clay's hand.
The handshake told Clay everything he needed to know. Ganma was as protective as a father ought to be, and the unspoken masculine language of their grip conveyed volumes. The silent language of all men.
Ganma tightened his hold, his broad fingers firm and unyielding. Clay responded in kind, their grips locked in a silent exchange. I can sense the tension between us, so here's how strong I am. Tsu is important to me, and I am fully capable of protecting her.
It wasn't hostile, but it wasn't casual either—just two men quietly measuring each other's resolve and making their intentions known.
The room seemed to hold its breath as the handshake lingered. Ganma's dark eyes bore into Clay's, searching for something beyond the surface. Clay didn't flinch, his gaze steady but respectful. He tightened his grip just enough to convey his sincerity without veering into arrogance. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the faint creak of the floorboards as Beru re-entered the room.
"I see we've skipped straight to the arm wrestling," Beru teased lightly, setting down a tray of iced tea on the table.
Ganma let out another low croak, his lips twitching into a faint, begrudging smile. He released Clay's hand with a nod. "Good grip," he said simply, his deep voice rumbling through the room. "A man ought to have a strong handshake."
Clay chuckled, flexing his fingers discreetly. "Yours ain't half bad either."
Ganma's wide mouth quirked into something resembling approval as he stepped aside to let Clay fully into the dining room. "Tsuyu tells me you're good to her," he said, his tone casual but with an unmistakable weight. "That's all I need to know for now."
"Yes, sir," Clay replied, keeping his tone light but firm. "She's real special to me. I'll always do my best by her."
Tsuyu appeared behind Ganma, her calm gaze flicking between the two men. "Father, ribbit," she said, her tone carrying just enough of an edge to nudge him out of his protective stance. "Let him breathe."
"It's going to get cold," Beru said, her hands on her hips, the only part of her expression betraying any real emotion.
Clay nodded, stepping forward to pull out a seat for Tsuyu. He waited patiently for her to sit before settling into his own chair. The quiet in the room wasn't uncomfortable—Clay's silence and his lack of making things worse helped immensely.
The sudden shift of weight on his shoulder caught his attention. He reacted just in time to catch Skipper mid-leap, the little rat aiming straight for the table.
"Can't take you anywhere," Clay muttered with a chuckle, gently setting Skipper back on his shoulder. Turning to Beru, he added with a touch of sheepishness, "Do y'all mind if he hangs out here? I know not everyone's a fan of rats like I am."
Beru tilted her head slightly, her wide eyes studying Skipper with a mix of curiosity and caution. "He's... smaller than I thought he'd be," she said at last, plating some fried chicken with the grace of royalty. "As long as he doesn't get my tablecloth dirty."
Clay chuckled, scratching behind Skipper's ears. "You heard the lady. Mind your manners, and you'll get dessert later." Skipper chittered softly, his tiny nose twitching as if to confirm his understanding before jumping to the table, landing soft enough to make the plate only shift a little.
Tsuyu, gracefully spooning some mashed potatoes to her plate, glanced up at Clay, then her parents, her expression serene but with a glimmer of humor in her wide eyes. "He's more polite than some people, ribbit," she said, her tone dry but fond. "He's grown on me."
"He doesn't let a lotta people hold him," Clay said, clearly bragging about Tsuyu to her own parents and siblings.
Samidare, who had been quietly observing from his seat, finally spoke up. "Does he know tricks? Can he fetch? Does he do flips?"
Skipper perked up at the attention, his whiskers twitching. Clay grinned, plating only when the others had finished. "Oh, he's got a whole bag of tricks," he said, glancing to Skipper who was hungerly looking to the bucket of chicken. "But let's save the show for after dinner. Don't want him knockin' over someone's drink."
Ganma let out a low croak of approval. "Smart man," he said, examining the bottle of rice wine and pouring him and his wife a glass. "How much did you pay for the wine?"
"Father…" Tsuyu croaked.
Clay scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Well, I'm not really sure if it's a lot, but the fella at the shop said it was real nice stuff. Cost me about seven thousand yen. Is that, uh… reasonable?"
Ganma paused mid-sip, his eyes narrowing slightly before glancing toward Beru. She gave an elegant, approving nod as she lifted her own glass.
"It's a thoughtful gift," Beru said warmly, her tone carrying a hint of surprise. "Very generous of you, Clay. Thank you."
Ganma croaked softly, his tone a mix of gratitude and amusement. "You're either very kind or just stupid. Either way, we appreciate it."
"Father…"
Clay couldn't help but give a lopsided smirk and a slight nod. As Beru cast Ganma a sideways glance, Clay instantly knew what the man was doing—testing for a temper. It was a reasonable thing to do, especially if his only exposure to American culture was what was seen on television. If he had seen almost any western movie, the ones that Clay seemed to come straight out of, Gamna would only be left to assume that Clay was in the habit of breaking bottles over people's heads.
Reaching for the pitcher of iced tea, Clay maintained his composure, pouring himself a glass with practiced ease. It wasn't hard to act unphased; it certainly wasn't the first time someone had implied he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.
Still, as the cool tea filled his glass, he found himself quietly admiring Ganma. The man was falling on his sword, playing the antagonist to draw Clay out and get to know him better. Smart, Clay thought, hiding his appreciation behind another sip of tea.
Samidare, emboldened by the exchange, grinned at Clay. "Seven thousand yen… How many tricks is that worth from Skipper?"
"Enough to put on a whole circus," Clay replied with a laugh, winking at the boy. "But like I said—after dinner."
As the meal continued, Skipper finally got his chance to nibble on a small piece of chicken that Clay discreetly set on the edge of his plate. The little rat held the morsel in his tiny paws, nibbling delicately. His whiskers twitched with delight, and his tiny squeaks were almost contented sighs.
Satsuki, who had been quiet for most of the meal, suddenly spoke up, her tone light but curious. "He eats like a little old man."
Clay gave the little girl a small smile. "He's 'bout as old as I am," he said, rubbing a finger on the back of his best friend's head.
"He's so polite about it," Tsuyu added, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "Ribbit. Much cleaner than some people I know," she said, casting a look to her younger brother, who was wiping some mashed potato off his shirt.
Clay noticed that Beru was pouring herself another glass of wine, her demeanor calm and collected. "Clayton, aren't you going to have some?" she asked, her voice soft but curious.
"No thank you, ma'am," Clay replied, offering her a polite smile before casting a brief glance at Ganma. "I'm fine with the iced tea, thank you."
Ganma, meanwhile, dabbed a napkin across his thumb, wiping away a bit of grease as he looked pointedly at Clay. "So, fried chicken and iced tea—is that the standard southern meal?" His tone was casual, but the edge of curiosity was unmistakable. "Doesn't seem all that healthy to me."
Something clicked in Clay's mind then. The choice of food wasn't random. Ganma had deliberately picked it, not as a gesture of hospitality, but as another way to poke at him—testing from a different angle.
Clay chuckled, leaning back slightly. "It's no wonder we lost the war. Johnny Reb won't march without his biscuits and gravy."
There was a deep, rumbling sound from Ganma's throat that could've been a croak or an amused laugh. "Deflecting with humor?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
Clay knew he wasn't always the best at picking up on social cues, but at least he'd learned enough in his adult life to recognize when they existed. Ganma, however, seemed determined to steer the interaction toward a quiet conclusion—one where Clay had ostensibly lost.
It was a deliberate move, Clay realized. Ganma wanted to see how he handled himself when things didn't go his way. Testing not just his temper, but how he responded to subtle failure. It was like playing chess with Shoto, though not nearly as fun.
Clay nodded, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Fair enough, sir," he said, meeting Ganma's steady gaze with easy confidence, even if he had to act like he'd made a misstep. "But I reckon y'all went with chicken tonight 'cause it's practical, not just 'cause it's southern. Practical's good for meals where there's lots of talkin'. And, well, if you wanted to throw me out early, you wouldn't feel like you lost anythin'. But for what it's worth," he added, gesturing to the table, "y'all picked a fine spread. Thank you."
Tsuyu gave him a faintly approving glance, her calm gaze flicking briefly between her father and Clay. It was a subtle but clear acknowledgment of the exchange, one that made Ganma's mouth twitch in what might've been amusement, or perhaps approval.
Beru took a small sip of her wine, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. "It's a meal for bonding," she said softly, her tone smoothing the tension like a balm. "Clayton, I think you're fitting in quite well."
Samidare, ever the opportunist, leaned forward with a cheeky grin. "Fitting in enough to show us those Skipper tricks now?"
"Now hold on," Clay said with a laugh, holding up a hand. "Dessert first. That was the deal, wasn't it?"
"He's good at negotiating," Satsuki remarked, her wide eyes flicking between Clay and the others. "Almost like he's done this before."
Clay's mind briefly drifted to everything Midnight had to say about negotiation. It stressed him out almost as much as Ganma.
Clay's smile lingered as the meal continued, the quiet weight of Ganma's judgment gradually lifting. The Asui family, for all their quirks and tests, felt welcoming in a way Clay hadn't expected. Clay found a weird sense of comfort in Ganma's protectiveness. If Clay had a daughter, he'd be doing the same. And as he watched Skipper clean his whiskers after finishing his tiny piece of chicken, Clay couldn't help but think he'd passed the most important test of all. He'd proved he wasn't some psycho trying to traffic Tsuyu or something.
After the meal, they were served what Clay would later learn was Japanese cheesecake. Its light, fluffy texture surprised him—it was nothing like the dense, rich version he was used to back home.
By that point, the tension between Clay and Ganma had softened into an uneasy but mutual respect. The conversation flowed more naturally now, turning toward Clay's family and life in America, then Tsuyu's internship (which Clay found out rather quickly that hers was far better than his).
Ganma's questions were probing but genuine, and Clay found himself appreciating the older man's straightforwardness. It wasn't easy, but it felt honest.
After dessert, the kids could hardly contain their excitement any longer. Samidare practically vibrated in his seat, while Satsuki leaned forward, her wide eyes fixed on Skipper.
"Alright, alright," Clay said with a chuckle, pushing back his chair. "Guess I've teased y'all long enough."
He gently lifted Skipper from his shoulder, placing him on the cleared part of the table. The little rat perked up, his whiskers twitching as he looked at the expectant faces around him.
"Alright, buddy," Clay said, leaning close to Skipper. "Show 'em what you got."
With a soft squeak, Skipper stood on his hind legs, bowing dramatically before dropping back onto all fours. The kids gasped in delight as he scurried to a small spoon left on the table, flipping it over with his paws. He then spun in a circle and leaped over the utensil, landing gracefully.
"Whoa!" Samidare exclaimed, his voice full of awe. "He's like a ninja!"
"Better," Clay said with a grin, pulling a small piece of cheesecake from his plate and holding it up. "Watch this."
Skipper sat up, clapping his tiny paws together as if applauding himself, earning a round of giggles from the kids. He then jumped up, snatching the cheesecake piece mid-air before landing neatly back on the table.
"He's so cool!" Satsuki said, watching as Skipper nibbled on his treat with dainty precision.
The kids began clamoring for more tricks, but Clay held up a hand. "One more, then he's takin' a break. Don't wanna overwork the little guy."
He whispered something to Skipper, who immediately ran to a napkin and started rolling it into a makeshift ball. With a quick toss of his tiny head, he launched it toward Samidare, who caught it with a laugh.
Meanwhile, in the living room, the adults had migrated to the couch and chairs, leaving the kids to entertain themselves with Skipper, who seemed to love being the center of attention. Ganma leaned back in his seat, his posture more relaxed now as he sipped his tea.
"So," Beru began, her voice calm but curious, "what are your plans, Clayton? Once you've completed your training, do you intend to stay in Japan?"
Clay paused, glancing at Tsuyu, who was quietly observing the interaction with her usual composed demeanor. He let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair.
"Honestly, ma'am, I don't know yet," he admitted. "Part of me feels like I should go back to the States—give back to the community that raised me. But Japan's… well, it's startin' to feel like home, too. Never really had friends like these until about now."
"I'd rather you stay in Japan. Ribbit," Tsuyu said softly, her wide eyes fixed on the steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands.
Clay blinked, caught off guard by her directness. For a moment, he wasn't sure how to respond. The future—his future—had always felt like a vague, shifting thing. No one had ever made it clear how much commitment being a hero (or being Tsuyu's significant other) would require, let alone what his long-term plans might look like.
"Don't know if there'll be much for a hero to do here after the League's taken care of," he said finally, his tone thoughtful, though uncertainty lingered beneath it. Of course, it wasn't about the League of Villains or any other group of unsavory characters. It was about Clay's mother, Riley, and Tsuyu. There wasn't a realistic scenario where he could have both at once for a meaningful period of time. If I could figure that out, then Tsu's known for even longer… And we haven't even been together for half a year yet…
The sound of laughter from the next room broke the tension. Samidare and Satsuki's excited voices carried over as Skipper squeaked triumphantly, apparently completing another round of their obstacle course.
"Well," Clay said with a small chuckle, "sounds like someone's havin' the time of his life in there."
Tsuyu's lips curved into a faint smile, her earlier intensity giving way to something softer. "They like him, ribbit," she said simply, her gaze flicking toward the doorway.
"I'd hope so," Clay replied, leaning back in his chair. "He's earned his dinner tonight."
Ganma let out a low, rumbling croak, his deep voice laced with faint amusement. "He's a good little entertainer. Keeps the kids busy. Maybe I should get one."
"Father, you'd only scare it off. Ribbit," Tsuyu said, her tone calm but teasing.
Clay grinned, taking another sip of his iced tea. He already tried a bit of the hot tea that Tsuyu was drinking, and he decided he didn't much care for it. "Skipper's a one-of-a-kind kind of rat, sir. Don't think he'd take too kindly to bein' replaced in the spotlight."
The soft clink of Beru setting her teacup on its saucer drew their attention. "You've done well with him, Clayton," she said with a nod toward the laughter filtering in from the other room. "Not many people would put that kind of trust in such a small creature. It speaks to your patience—and your heart."
Clay felt his ears heat up at the compliment, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, ma'am, he's been with me a long time. For as long as I've had a Quirk… I was two or three years old I think. Ain't much different from trustin' a dog. Just smaller, furrier, and smarter than most dogs I've met."
Clay glanced at the clock on the wall before turning toward his hosts. "Should probably head back so we can be there bright and early for 'Ol Sunshine," he said, his eyes flicking toward Tsuyu with a small smirk.
"'Ol Sunshine?" Beru repeated, her brow furrowing in mild confusion.
"He's talking about Sensei Aizawa," Tsuyu clarified, finishing the last of her tea. She stood gracefully, collecting the other cups and saucers from the table.
"I don't understand… I thought he was grumpy," Beru said, tilting her head slightly as she nodded in thanks while Tsuyu cleared her dishes.
Clay chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "Oh, he's grumpy, alright. But deep down, he's got a soft spot. Calls it 'tough love,' I reckon. Still, gotta give him credit where it's due. He's sharp as a tack, and he don't take no nonsense. Sunshine's just my way of remindin' myself not to take his bark too personally."
Ganma let out a low croak that might have been a laugh. "Aizawa seems to be doing well by you. You speak of him with respect, even through your jokes."
"Yes, sir," Clay said earnestly, his grin softening. "He's tough, but fair. Doesn't let us cut corners, and he expects us to give our all every time. He'll crack our heads open if we're not well-rested tomorrow."
Tsuyu disappeared in the hallway just as Samidare poked his head around the corner, his wide eyes sparkling with excitement. "Clay! You're leaving already?"
"Afraid so, little man," Clay replied, standing and stretching. "Classes start up again tomorrow, and we have a train to catch."
Tsuyu returned to the living room, carrying a bag in one hand and the sleek, futuristic briefcase Clay knew contained her hero costume. Before she could react, Clay swooped in, effortlessly slinging the bag over his shoulder while grabbing the briefcase.
He couldn't help but sneak a glance at Ganma, catching the briefest flicker of surprise on the older man's face. Yeah, that's right, pops, Clay thought with a touch of smugness. They don't make gentlemen like me anymore. But then, Riley's voice poked through again. Humility, Clay.
"C'mon, Skip," Clay called, his voice easy as he turned toward the door. "We're headin' out."
Skipper gave a little squeak and scurried up to his usual perch on Clay's shoulder. But as the Asui family gathered by the door to say goodbye, he seemed to sense something special about the moment. With a surprisingly agile leap, the rat landed on Tsuyu's shoulder instead, his whiskers twitching as he gave her a polite nuzzle.
Tsuyu blinked at him, her wide eyes briefly betraying her surprise before softening with warmth. "Ribbit," she murmured, reaching up to gently scratch behind his ears.
Samidare and Satsuki crowded closer, both giggling at the sight of Skipper making himself comfortable on their sister's shoulder. "He likes you more than Clay!" Samidare teased.
"Looks like Clay will need a new rat!" Satsuki added with a smirk.
Clay shook his head, chuckling. "Traitor," he muttered good-naturedly at Skipper. "You're makin' me look bad."
Beru stepped forward, her calm, collected demeanor radiating warmth as she clasped her hands lightly in front of her. "Safe travels, both of you. It was lovely having you here, Clayton. Take care of each other."
"Yes, ma'am," Clay said with a nod. "Thanks again for dinner—and for puttin' up with me."
Ganma croaked softly, stepping forward to offer another handshake. He didn't seem to mind Clay awkwardly putting down Tsuyu's costume case to free up his hand. His grip was firm, but this time it lacked the earlier edge. "You're alright, kid," he said simply. "Don't let me hear about you slacking off."
Clay grinned, nodding his head a little. "Not a chance, sir."
As the goodbyes wrapped up, Tsuyu reached up to Clay's head, with his hat from where he'd put it on the coat rack. With a quiet precision that felt inherently her, she placed it neatly back on his head, her fingers lingering for a moment to adjust the brim. "Much better. Ribbit."
Clay opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Skipper leapt from Tsuyu's shoulder to perch on the brim of his hat, his tiny form silhouetted against the porch light. The effect was almost comical, and the kids burst into laughter.
"Now you look like a real cowboy," Samidare said between giggles.
Clay snorted, tilting his head carefully to keep Skipper balanced. "Guess I'll take that as a compliment."
With one final round of thanks and farewells, Clay and Tsuyu set off down the quiet street, the faint hum of cicadas accompanying their footsteps.
"You sure you're okay carrying all that?" Tsuyu asked, glancing at the breifcase and bag slung over Clay's shoulder.
"'Course," Clay replied easily, his tone light. "Gives me somethin' to do while you set the pace."
Tsuyu glanced up at him, her calm expression softening just slightly. "Thank you for coming tonight, Clay. Ribbit."
"Thanks for havin' me," he replied, glancing at her with a grin. "Your family's somethin' else, Tsu. Good folks. Good people."
"They like you," Tsuyu said simply, her voice carrying the kind of quiet certainty that left no room for doubt. "You got father to shake your hand twice. That's the equivalent of him calling you his son."
Clay's grin widened as they approached the train station, the warm glow of its lights spilling into the street. "I'll count that as a win," he said, his tone warm.
As they stepped onto the platform, waiting for their train back to U.A., Clay couldn't help but glance at Tsuyu, the weight of the evening settling in his chest—not heavy, but grounding, like roots anchoring him to the here and now.
"Y'know, Tsu," he said, his voice quieter now, "I think tonight was one of the best nights I've had in a long time."
Tsuyu turned her wide eyes to him, her expression steady but touched with the faintest smile. "Me too, ribbit."
Their train pulled into the station, the faint rush of air brushing past them as the doors slid open. As they stepped inside, Skipper gave a squeak of approval from his perch, the tiny sound carrying a surprising amount of contentment. If Tsuyu meeting Clay's mother could go half as well, then most of Clay's earthly problems would be over. At least until they had to sit down and talk about where their relationship would go after graduating U.A.