Chapter 43: Something about Ms. Nakamura
The late morning air outside Seikou High was thick with humidity, as the weather began pressing its weight against the city. The sky had a washed-out look, pale and empty, but inside the school gates, three figures strolled in like they owned the pavement.
Naoya was in front, naturally—blazer slung over one shoulder, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, tie undone with deliberate carelessness. He chewed gum with the kind of confidence only someone born into privilege could manage. To his left, Shun trailed behind, hands deep in his pockets, eyes half-lidded with a smirk that hinted at sleep deprivation or mischief. Haruki walked last, headphones slung around his neck, his dark hoodie half-zipped over his uniform.
Naoya's laugh cut through the morning stillness. "Another thrilling day at prison, boys. Shall we try to make it interesting again?"
"Depends," Shun said, yawning. "You planning on charming our beautiful sub again, or was that yesterday's game?"
Naoya grinned, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. "Depends if she wears that navy skirt again."
Shun barked a laugh. "You're incorrigible."
Haruki didn't speak, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He wasn't as into the games as the others—preferred watching more than playing—but he stayed close. Part of him thought they were dumb. Another part liked the energy. He'd grown up with these two. That counted for something.
Students parted for them in the halls. Not out of admiration, but caution. Naoya had that presence—charismatic, biting, unpredictable. He didn't lead by force. He led because no one dared question him.
Shun, the brute strength of the trio, enjoyed the chaos. Naoya's ideas, Shun's teeth.
And Haruki—well, he kept close. The quiet one. Not the spark, not the flame, but always there in the smoke.
The three slipped into their homeroom minutes before the bell, as if arriving late was a fashion statement.
"Guess who I saw this morning?" Naoya said, flopping into his seat with a dramatic sigh, one arm draped over the backrest like he was lounging at a café. "The rich brat from Class 3C—the one with the mommy-funded hair extensions. Looked like a soggy poodle."
Shun raised an eyebrow, biting back a laugh. "And? She finally figure out fake Gucci doesn't buy her real respect?"
Naoya snorted. "She was bawling in the courtyard. Full-on meltdown. Something about being called out by a teacher. Bet you anything it was our darling Miss Nakamura."
"No way," Shun grinned. "Miss Nakamura? Nah, she looks like she recycles emotions with her lesson plans."
Naoya smirked. "Exactly. It's the quiet ones. You think she cold reads student trauma for breakfast?"
"Either that or she's secretly got knives hidden in her pencil case."
They both laughed, immature and loud, nudging each other like middle schoolers who never really grew up. Their tone wasn't malicious—it was the kind of shallow teasing that floated on their own ego, bouncing off the walls of their self-created bubble.
Haruki, from the next row, rolled his eyes but said nothing. The banter was exhausting, but predictable. It always was with these two.
Before the bell rang, the classroom door creaked open. Miho stepped in, clutching his bag like it might dissolve in his hands. His steps were small, hesitant, his eyes darting to the floor.
Naoya's head snapped up, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Ahh, Miho! Thank god you're here. I was starting to miss my personal servant."
Shun leaned back in his chair, already amused. "Where've you been, man? Breakfast didn't magically appear on my desk this morning. What gives?"
Haruki raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He watched Miho carefully—curious, maybe, but unmoved.
Miho froze for a heartbeat, shoulders tense. "S-sorry," he mumbled. "I just got here."
Naoya stood slowly, his eyes narrowing but his voice cheerful. Too cheerful. "Well, lucky us. You've got time before class starts. Do us a favor, will you? Couple of meat buns from the canteen. And coffee—black. You remember how I like it, right?"
Shun added with a smirk, "Grab something sweet for me. Not that dry crap from yesterday. And don't take forever."
Miho opened his mouth as if to say something—maybe to refuse—but the words caught in his throat. He nodded quickly, ducking his head.
As he turned to leave, Naoya called after him, "Oh—and if you're late, we'll make sure Miss Nakamura knows it was your fault. Wouldn't want your golden streak ruined, would we?"
The door shut behind Miho with a soft click.
Ten minutes later, Miho returned, a small plastic bag in hand. His posture was still timid, but his eyes flicked once—barely noticeably—toward the corner of the room where Hana stood, quietly arranging materials on the desk. Her calm gaze met his for just a moment, not long enough to draw attention, but enough to anchor him.
He walked toward Naoya's desk and placed the items down carefully, trying to ignore the smirk stretching across Shun's face.
"Finally," Shun muttered, reaching for the sweet bun. "Took you long enough."
Naoya took his coffee, inspecting it with exaggerated scrutiny. "Still warm. Huh. You got lucky today, Miho."
Miho's hands balled into fists at his sides.
Naoya noticed. "What's with the tension? You got something to say?"
Miho hesitated. Then, softly but clearly, he said, "Why do you need me to do this for you?"
The table went still. Shun looked up sharply. Haruki blinked.
Naoya's grin faltered. "What did you say?"
Miho's breath trembled, but he didn't look away this time. "Why do you always make me do this? You can get your own food."
The silence in the classroom tightened.
Shun stood halfway up from his chair, his smirk gone. His chair scraped against the floor with a harsh screech, pulling the attention of a few nearby students. "You talking back now? Getting brave because Miss Sub is watching?"
Naoya's expression shifted from amusement to something colder, more dangerous. He set his coffee down slowly, deliberately, as if restraining himself. "You forget your place, Miho? You think a couple of pity glances make you someone important? You think you're special now?"
Miho took a shaky breath, every part of him screaming to step back, to apologize, to disappear—but he didn't. He took a single, grounded step forward. His hands were trembling, yes, but clenched tight at his sides.
"I'm not your servant," he whispered at first—then louder, clearer: "I'm not your servant. Get your own food."
The air in the classroom seemed to thicken. Even the hum of idle chatter from other students had died out. All eyes were locked on them.
Naoya's jaw tightened. Shun moved quickly, shoving his chair aside with a loud clatter. He stalked forward, his shoulders tense, eyes hard. "Say that again. I dare you."
Miho flinched but didn't step back. His lips pressed into a thin line, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Naoya rose too, slower, more calculated. He adjusted his cuffs, voice low and cutting. "You've got a mouth today. Must be nice thinking you're protected. Let's see how long that lasts."
Just as Shun stepped within striking distance, a new voice sliced through the silence like a wire pulled taut:
"Class is about to begin."
Hana didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. It was precise. Unshaken. Commanding in a way that made the room breathe again—and made Naoya freeze mid-step.
Her gaze didn't blink. It held Naoya's like a mirror, emotionless and steady. Something in it didn't just say stop—it said I see you.
Naoya faltered, his weight shifting ever so slightly.
Shun muttered under his breath, something sharp and angry, but he turned back to his seat with a forceful shove.
"Tch. Lucky," he spat, glaring at Miho as he sat down.
Miho stood there for another second, shaking but still upright. He didn't look at them. He turned and walked to his seat. Not fast. Not small.
Just steady.
And across the room, Hana watched him—not with pride, not with pity—but with something steadier. A silent acknowledgment.
You're not invisible anymore.
—
The sun sat higher in the sky by lunchtime, casting long shadows across the courtyard where a group of boys had taken over the far basketball court. The rhythmic thump of sneakers against pavement mixed with the occasional clang of the rim. Shun tossed the ball lazily toward the hoop and missed.
Naoya, seated on the edge of the court bench with his uniform shirt untucked and sleeves rolled up, didn't even look at the shot. His eyes were still dark with simmering rage.
"Who the hell does he think he is?" he snapped, biting the straw of his sports drink until it crumpled. "That little servant's got some nerve today."
Shun caught the rebound and turned with a shrug. "Miho's been weird lately. Maybe he finally grew a backbone."
"Please," Naoya scoffed. "That wasn't a backbone. That was borrowed courage. He probably thinks because Nakamura gave him a nod, he can mouth off."
Haruki stood off to the side, arms crossed, not joining in the game but still part of the circle. He watched the way Naoya's jaw tensed.
Naoya suddenly stood, pacing. "No. No, we're not letting that slide. You saw the way he looked at me? Like he wasn't scared? Like we're equals?"
Shun raised an eyebrow. "So what? You want to make him cry again?"
Naoya snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Publicly. I want that mouse boy back in his cage. We're going to remind him where he stands."
"What's the plan?" Shun asked, already cracking his knuckles with a grin.
Naoya's smirk returned, cold and calculated. "We wait. We watch. Then we hit where it hurts. Humiliate him. Not just words this time—something bigger."
Haruki finally spoke. "You're talking about setting him up?"
Naoya turned to him, eyes gleaming. "I'm talking about restoring order. That kid forgot his place. It's time he remembered."
Shun tossed the basketball aside, his voice light but eager. "Guess lunchtime's about to get interesting tomorrow."
Naoya let out a dry laugh, but his mind was already spinning. "You know what else? Miho wasn't like this before she showed up. Miss Nakamura walks in, and suddenly he's got a spine? Coincidence?"
Shun rubbed the back of his neck. "You think she's feeding him ideas?"
"I think she's playing some weird teacher-savior game. And I think she's due for a little reminder too."
Shun grinned. "What, you gonna humiliate her too?"
Naoya raised a brow. "Maybe. Or just shake her a bit. Let her see what happens when you back the wrong dog."
Haruki didn't respond, but he frowned. Even he felt the shift.
Naoya added with a mocking laugh, "Or hey, maybe we have some fun with her too. Test just how calm and cool she really is."
"She probably thinks she's untouchable," Shun said. "With that whole ice queen vibe."
Naoya scoffed. "No one's untouchable."
They all laughed—loud, boyish, and juvenile. But beneath it, something mean twisted through the air.
And none of them noticed that across the quad, near the edge of the basketball court, two janitors swept lazily at the concrete beneath the bleachers. One leaned on his broom a little too precisely, sunglasses pushed low on the bridge of his nose. The other crouched by a trash bin, adjusting a perfectly clean liner while pretending to hum a tune.
Kenzo stood with a mop bucket, baseball cap tugged low, his posture casual but his eyes locked in observation. Every word the boys tossed at each other echoed in his mind, a web forming behind his still gaze.
Damian, dressed in the baggiest janitor uniform the school could spare, clutched a dustpan and muttered just loud enough for Kenzo to hear, "Wanna give 'em a scare? Just a little one? Maybe shake the basketball pole and say it was 'the wind'?"
"No," Kenzo murmured, voice flat. "We need them confident. Dumb and loud."
Damian grinned, eyes on Shun who had just slammed the ball against the backboard. "Well, they've got the 'dumb' part nailed."
Kenzo didn't reply. His eyes tracked every word Naoya spat, every twitch of his fingers, every time his tone dipped from annoyed to vicious.
He adjusted his cap slightly. "They're planning something. We need to know when and where."
Damian leaned in as he swept, lowering his voice. "And when they move?"
Kenzo's expression was unreadable. "We'll be ready."
He gave the mop bucket a nudge and straightened. "Let's go. Time to tell Hana and Audrey."
Damian let out a low whistle. "Man, Audrey's gonna roast them alive with her eyes alone."
Kenzo allowed himself the faintest smirk. "She'll see straight through the bravado. Hana, though… she won't wait. She'll act."
The two of them moved off the court, blending back into the flow of campus maintenance workers, invisible again. But behind them, the echo of Naoya's laughter still clung to the concrete like a storm waiting to break.