Night swallowed the city before the verdict came.The official statement was bureaucratic poetry:
"Field Dialogue remains under observation. No disciplinary action recommended. Future instruction requires advisory review."
In translation: We lost without admitting it.
Nezu texted a single emoji—🐭 raising a glass.Aizawa sent two words: Still standing.
Renya walked out the back door into drizzle.Reporters shouted questions; he ignored them.On the steps, Airi waited, umbrella tilted, shoes wet.
"You didn't get expelled from civilization," she said."Not yet," he replied.She handed him a cup from the café. "Tea. On the house of everyone."
He took it, sipped, and almost smiled. "Tastes like survival."
Across town, Chairlines glowed under streetlights.Someone had painted new words on the asphalt between them: SIT TO BEGIN.
Overturn saw the phrase trending and tried one last broadcast.A dim room, a cracked lens, his voice trembling with forced authority.
"You're all slaves to patience! You're drowning in kindness!"
But no one stayed to watch.People were busy—sitting, helping, living.His channel went dark within the hour.Some ideas die when ignored politely.
At U.A., Renya met with Nezu, Aizawa, and Imai for the post-trial review.Nezu clicked a remote; the screen filled with charts—search trends, enrollment requests, meme statistics."You've accidentally founded a civic movement," he said.
"I was trying to retire," Renya said.
Imai smirked. "You can't retire from language."
Aizawa folded his arms. "So what now?"
Renya looked at the map of Chairlines spreading like constellations."Now," he said, "we teach the city to teach itself. After that, we get out of the way."
Nezu's whiskers twitched. "And Overturn?"
Renya poured the last of the tea into a paper cup. "He'll find another mirror. Or a chair. Maybe both."
That evening, Quiet Rooms hosted a celebration that didn't call itself one.No speeches, no banners—just chairs, tea, and a single note taped to the window:
FIELD DIALOGUE IS NOT A LAW.IT'S A COURTESY WE'RE LEARNING TO KEEP.
People came and left quietly.Some brought flowers.Some left apologies folded like origami.Airi fell asleep behind the counter.Aki covered her with a coat that smelled of rain and ink.
Renya stood outside, watching the reflection of the room on the glass.Behind him, the city hummed—not perfect, not peaceful, but practicing.
He whispered, half-to himself,"Doctrine falls when people remember they can sit."
Then he turned away, hands in pockets, and walked into a night that no longer needed sermons.