Of course it rains the day Class 3-A has to say goodbye.

Iida adjusts his glasses for the third time in as many minutes, watching droplets race down the window. His belongings are packed in orderly fashion. Clothes folded and hero license secure.

Everything is in order. Everything except this.

He's rehearsed speeches for every occasion. Knew exactly what to say when accepting class representative. Had prepared remarks for graduation.

But standing here, watching you through the rain-streaked glass as you load your suitcase, every carefully constructed sentence crumbles.

This is... highly irregular. Confessions should be planned. Properly timed. Not blurted out in a storm on the last possible day.

But Iida has learned that some rules matter more than others. That sometimes doing the right thing means breaking your own protocol.

His brother's words echo: Being a hero isn't just about following the rules, Tenya. It's about knowing when to act.

His hand is on the door. His legs—built for speed, for heroism, for always moving forward—carry him into the rain before logic can intervene.

"Please wait!" His voice cuts through the downpour, formal even now.

You turn, and his heart rate accelerates beyond what's reasonable for a simple sprint.

He stops before you, rain streaming down his glasses, blurring your face into something dreamlike. He removes them, meeting your eyes directly.

"This is improper timing," he says, words tumbling faster than he intends.

"And I apologize for the lack of preparation. But I... I cannot let you to depart without expressing something I should have communicated long ago."