Horikita stormed ahead, her shoulders rigid. Ayanokoji followed at a steady, unreadable pace.
I lingered for just a moment, watching Chiyabashira close the door, her expression tight, as though she wasn't sure whether she'd unleashed a rival to the school… or something worse.
And perhaps, she was right to wonder.
The hallway felt suffocating. Ayanokoji and Horikita walked ahead in silence, but I slowed, stopped, then turned back.
The guidance room door gave a soft creak as I stepped inside again.
Chiyabashira-sensei looked up from her clipboard, irritation flashing across her face. "Didn't I dismiss you?"
"You did," I said simply, closing the door behind me. The click of the lock was deliberate. "But I'm not finished with you."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're playing a dangerous game, Johan."
"No," I replied, moving closer, slow enough to make her feel every step. "I'm just curious. You paraded my scores in front of them. A perfect 100 on the entrance exam. A perfect zero on the short test. You wanted them to see me as… what? An anomaly? A threat?"
Her hand tightened on the clipboard. "They needed to understand the kind of students in Class D. You are not normal."
"Normal," I echoed with a faint smile. "Is that what you want in this school? Puppets who solve your little quizzes, march to your rules, chase after Class A like dogs after scraps?"
She bristled. "Watch your tongue. Students like you—"
"—terrify you," I cut in, my voice lowering. I was close now, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to hold my gaze. "That's the truth, isn't it? The 100 didn't scare you. But the zero? The choice to fail when I could've excelled? That's what unsettles you. Because you don't understand it."
For the first time, her composure cracked. Her jaw tightened, breath sharp. "You think this school won't crush you if you defy it? You're mistaken."
I leaned forward, my words brushing past her ear like a whisper. "You mistake me for someone who can be crushed."
She froze, the clipboard trembling just slightly in her hands.
I straightened, smiling faintly — calm, controlled, like I'd just tested the strength of a cage and found the bars weaker than expected.
"You should be careful, Sensei," I murmured. "If you keep showing the others where to look… they might see more than you want them to"
I didn't leave. Not yet. Her silence was bait, and I wanted to see what she'd do if I pulled the mask away.
Chiyabashira set the clipboard down with a sharp clack, as if daring me to keep speaking. "You think you're clever, Johan. But you're still just a student. One word from me, and you'll disappear from this school."
I chuckled, low and humorless. "Expulsion, is it? You toss that threat around so freely. But what then? What happens when word gets out that you expelled the student with a perfect entrance score? What will your school look like when people start asking why?"
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You overestimate yourself. This academy was built to control talent like yours. You aren't the first genius to walk through these doors."
"And yet," I leaned on her desk, close enough to invade her space, "you've already singled me out. Brought my name up. Put me on display. That wasn't control, Sensei. That was a mistake."
Her lips tightened, but she didn't back away. Instead, she leaned forward to meet me, her voice like a blade. "No, Johan. That was a warning. I've seen students like you before — brilliant, arrogant, convinced they're untouchable. Do you know what happened to them?"
"Tell me," I said softly.
"They broke. Every single one. This school doesn't tolerate wild cards."
I smiled. Not amused — but sharp, cutting. "Then I'll be the exception."
The silence stretched. Her hand clenched the edge of the desk, knuckles white, but her gaze never faltered.
Finally, she said, "If you really want to play this game… I'll crush you without hesitation. That perfect score won't save you. Neither will that little act with the zero. You're in my class, Johan. And as long as you are, your fate is mine to decide."
I let the words hang in the air, then straightened, giving her space back — but not victory. "We'll see," I murmured.
And with that, I turned toward the door, the faintest trace of her glare burning into my back.
I stopped before the door, hand resting on the frame. Not leaving. Not yet.
"You're trembling, Sensei."
Her voice shot out, clipped, defensive. "What did you say?"
I turned slowly, letting the faintest smirk tug at my lips. "Your hand. It shook when you gripped the desk. For all your talk of control, you're afraid. Not of me, perhaps, but of what I represent."
Chiyabashira straightened, her heels clicking as she crossed the room, each step sharp as a hammer. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm not afraid of some child who thinks reading people makes him special."
I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. "Reading people? Is that what you think this is? No… it's much simpler. I see you. Beneath the steel, beneath the authority. A teacher trapped in a system just as much as the rest of us. You pretend to wield power, but really—" I leaned forward again, voice dropping to a whisper. "You're just another pawn."
Her jaw clenched, but I caught it: the flicker in her eyes. A nerve struck.
"Watch your mouth, Johan."
"Why?" I asked softly, almost kindly. "Because I might be right? Because I might've guessed that you didn't choose to be the homeroom teacher of Class D… you were placed here. Demoted. Punished, maybe. By the same system you now serve."
Her silence was confirmation enough.
For the first time, she faltered.
I smiled — the kind of smile that unsettled, that made the air in the room feel colder. "You see, Sensei, we're not so different. Both of us thrown where we don't belong. The difference is… I don't intend to stay here."
Her voice was low, dangerous, like the crack of a whip. "If you think you can manipulate me, you're mistaken. Step out of line again, and I'll bury you."
I met her gaze, unflinching. "Then try. But if you bury me, I'll drag you down into the grave with me."
The room went still, the tension taut as a razor's edge.
Her mask slipped for just an instant — and that was all the invitation I needed.
"You carry yourself like an executioner," I said softly, eyes fixed on her. "But your punishment doesn't come from strength. It comes from bitterness."
She glared. "Enough."
"Bitterness," I continued, my voice cutting through hers like a scalpel, "from being discarded. Someone with your… talents doesn't end up in Class D by choice. You were shuffled here because the school no longer trusts you. Or maybe because you failed something — or someone. Isn't that right, Sensei?"
Her nails tapped against the clipboard she held. A tiny, betraying rhythm. I could almost hear her heartbeat in the silence.
"You're a student. You know nothing."
"Nothing?" I leaned back casually against the wall, folding my arms. "I know that a person who's truly in control doesn't lash out with threats of expulsion every five minutes. That's desperation. I know that you hate this assignment. Every word you spit at us reeks of self-loathing. And I know—" I narrowed my eyes, my smile sharpening— "that you envy us."
Her lips parted slightly. Not denial. Not anger. Just… the briefest flash of vulnerability.
"Yes. Envy," I pressed. "Because unlike you, we still have time to rewrite the script. You don't. You've already been branded. This 'Class D teacher,' forgotten in the shadows of the other instructors. No wonder you mock us—you see yourself."
"Shut your mouth." Her voice cracked. Just barely, but enough for me to hear.
I stepped closer, slow, deliberate. "You can't stand me, can you? Because I don't buy into your role. Because when you look at me, you realize… I'm not afraid of you. And worse—" I whispered now, the words like a blade to her throat, "you're afraid of me."
Her clipboard slammed against the desk, the sound ricocheting through the room. She took a sharp breath, regaining her composure — or trying to.
But I'd seen it. The fracture.
"Careful, Johan," she hissed. "Push too far, and you'll learn what it means to lose everything here."
I tilted my head, almost kindly. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you'll learn what it means to be seen for who you really are."
The silence stretched. The storm I'd stirred inside her was plain. And I knew… I'd won
I didn't move from where I stood. My words had landed — her clenched jaw, her rigid shoulders told me that much. But why stop there? A single fracture was only the beginning.
"You think you're clever, Sensei," I said, my voice low, almost conversational. "Dragging us into this room. Exposing our scores. Pretending it's all just part of the system. But you're not the one in control here. Do you want me to prove it to you?"
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"
I smiled faintly. "Let's start with my classmates, shall we? Sudou — a temper so fragile it cracks the moment anyone looks at him wrong. Push him far enough, and he'll self-destruct, dragging anyone nearby with him. Ike? A boy who masks cowardice with bravado. Tell him he's worthless enough times, and he'll believe it. Hirata? Everyone calls him a leader, but he clings to that role because he's terrified of being alone. Break his image, and the class collapses."
Chiyabashira's grip on her clipboard tightened, knuckles whitening.
"And then…" I let the words hang, my gaze shifting toward the door as if picturing her. "…Horikita Suzune. Brilliant, proud, desperate for approval she'll never truly receive. All it takes is the right word, the right look, and her pride will turn into a prison. You've seen it already, haven't you? That fear in her eyes every time her brother's name is spoken."
Her lips trembled — not much, but enough for me to notice.
"You're threatening them," she muttered.
"Threatening?" I chuckled softly. "No. Merely observing. If I chose to, I could dismantle every one of them — without lifting a finger. That's the kind of control you wish you had, isn't it, Sensei? The kind you lost long ago."
Her silence was answer enough.
I leaned forward slightly, my voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her. "So let me make this very clear. You can threaten me with expulsion. You can bark about rules and punishment. But remember this — your students are nothing but strings waiting to be pulled. And I…" My smile widened ever so slightly. "…I know how to play them all."
For the first time, she looked away.
She thought she could hide it. That stern glare, that teacher's authority. But people like her… they always leave openings.
"You look nervous, Sensei." My words came out soft, almost sympathetic, though we both knew what they were. A scalpel.
"I'm not," she replied quickly, too quickly.
I tilted my head. "Is that what you tell yourself? Because from where I stand, I see a woman clinging to her role like a mask. Always barking about the school's rules, always reminding us about expulsion, as if repeating the same lines will make them true. Why? What are you afraid of?"
Her grip on the clipboard tightened again. Good.
"Maybe it's because you know deep down you don't have power. You're just a mouthpiece, aren't you? A cog in the machine. You deliver threats because it's all you can do. Without the school propping you up, who are you, really?"
I let the silence stretch, savoring the flicker of unease in her eyes. Then I leaned closer, lowering my voice as though sharing a secret.
"You drink, don't you?"
She flinched. Barely. But it was there.
"Not much, I'd imagine. Just enough to dull that gnawing sense of failure at the end of the day. A glass too many, alone, reminding yourself you're still relevant. Am I wrong?"
Her lips parted, but no words came.
"Or maybe it isn't the bottle. Maybe it's something else. Regret, perhaps? All those bright students you've seen come and go, while you stayed here, chained to a desk, never advancing. You talk about producing superior people — but tell me, Sensei…" I smiled thinly. "…how does it feel to know you'll never be one of them?"
The air in the guidance room turned suffocating, thick with the weight of her silence. I could see it in her posture now — shoulders stiff, her eyes hard but restless, searching for a way to regain ground.
"Stop." Her voice cracked slightly, more force than conviction.
I didn't.
"You hide behind the rules, but I see you, Sae Chiyabashira. A woman terrified of being powerless. And that's your greatest weakness, isn't it? Not the students, not the school. It's you. You're afraid that one day, someone will look at you and see exactly what I see right now."
I straightened, calm, collected, my smile faint but sharp. "And if I can see it… I can use it."
"Enough!"
Chiyabashira's voice cracked like a whip, her clipboard slamming down on the desk with a sharp crack. Her eyes blazed, her jaw tight, every inch of her body quivering with rage.
"You think you've figured me out? You're just a child — a brat who doesn't understand the burden of responsibility. You know nothing about me, about this school, about the pressure I face every single day! I'm not afraid of you, Johan. I've dealt with far worse than a smug, arrogant boy trying to get under my skin."
Her voice rose, raw and uncontrolled, echoing off the walls of the guidance room. Her hand trembled against the desk, nails digging into the wood. She was losing it.
I smiled softly. Perfect.
"You should have kept your composure, Sensei." My tone was calm, silk against her fury. "Because now you've proven my point for me."
She froze, teeth clenched.
"You talk about burdens, about responsibility… but listen to yourself. Look at yourself. Shaking. Snapping at a student because he struck a nerve. You call us immature delinquents, yet you lose control faster than any of us. That clipboard—" I gestured to where it still quivered against the desk from the impact. "—wasn't for me. That was for you. To remind yourself you're still in charge."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her breathing betrayed her, shallow and quick.
"Worse than me? No, Sensei. You've never dealt with worse. If you had, you'd know better than to let me see this side of you." I took a deliberate step closer, voice dropping low, intimate. "And now I know it all: your mask is thin, your patience thinner, and all it takes is a whisper in the right ear — a mention of what I've seen here today — and your reputation with both students and faculty cracks wide open. How long before the wolves smell blood?"
Her eyes widened ever so slightly, the fire faltering just for a moment.
"You're terrified of being irrelevant, Chiyabashira. But irrelevance isn't the danger." My smile sharpened, almost kind, almost cruel. "The danger is being exposed."
The room went dead quiet. She couldn't lash out again without proving me right all over. And that silence? That silence was mine.
I didn't let the silence linger for long. A predator doesn't give prey time to breathe.
"Your problem, Sensei, is that you think you're the shepherd." My voice was soft, almost conversational. "Guiding a flock of hopeless students, pushing them toward Class A like it's some noble mission. But you're not the shepherd."
I tilted my head, studying her trembling hands.
"You're one of the sheep. Just dressed differently."
Her eyes snapped up, glaring daggers, but there was no conviction behind it now — only desperation.
"You talk about responsibility, but responsibility is just another word for weakness. Every rule you cling to, every regulation you hide behind, is a chain. And chains can be pulled."
Her jaw worked, no words coming out.
"Let me guess," I continued smoothly. "You don't even believe in the system anymore, do you? You enforce it because it's your job, but inside? You're hollow. Burned out. That's why you drink too much coffee, why you hide behind sarcasm, why you spend more energy crushing Class D than lifting them."
Her mouth twitched — the smallest tell, but enough.
"There it is." I smiled, leaning in. "The truth. You resent this place as much as we do. Maybe more. You just don't have the courage to admit it."
Her breath hitched, a shaky exhale she tried to disguise.
I pressed harder, voice still calm, measured, the way one might soothe a frightened animal before tightening the noose.
"You hide behind authority, but authority is fragile. Students talk. Faculty gossips. Imagine what would spread if they knew how easy it was to break you. How quickly your mask slips. Would the school trust you with Class D then? Would they keep you around? Or would they throw you out with the rest of the failures?"
Her nails scraped audibly against the desk. She was at the breaking point.
I straightened, giving her a final, almost gentle smile.
"Face it, Chiyabashira-sensei. The only difference between you and us… is that we already know we're in Class D."
The silence that followed was suffocating. I could almost hear her heart pounding, straining against the walls she'd built around herself.
"Don't look at me like that," I whispered. "You knew this was coming. You've been waiting for someone to say it. Haven't you?"
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Just the faintest tremor.
"You're not strong, Sensei. You never were. You bark at students, wave expulsion around like a weapon, but it's all smoke. Deep down, you're terrified. Terrified that the school doesn't respect you. Terrified that your peers laugh at you behind your back. Terrified that one day they'll decide you're just as disposable as the students you condemn."
Her chair scraped backward as she lurched to her feet. "Enough!"
I didn't flinch. I only tilted my head, smiling softly, almost kindly. "There it is. The mask breaking."
She slammed her hand against the desk, her voice rising, desperate. "You think you understand me? You think you know what I've been through in this school?!"
"Yes." My voice cut her anger like glass. "I know you've been broken long before I stepped into this room. Every word, every nervous twitch, every time your hand shakes before you pour tea — it's all written across your body. You hate yourself for being stuck here. You hate this job. You hate the weakness you see in your students… because it reminds you of yourself."
Her eyes widened, tears threatening at the corners. She tried to glare, to muster authority, but the force behind it was gone.
"You…" her voice cracked. "You don't know what you're talking about."
I leaned forward, my tone almost gentle now, as if I were consoling her. "I know enough. You wear the title of teacher, but in reality? You're just another Class D student who grew old."
That did it. Her lips trembled, and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the sob that escaped anyway.
I watched her crumble, no satisfaction on my face — only that same calm, unreadable smile. Like I had simply revealed the truth she'd been too afraid to confront.
When she finally sank back into her chair, shoulders shaking, I straightened and quietly stepped toward the door.
"You see, Sensei," I murmured without turning back, "I don't have to destroy you. You've already done that yourself."
And then I left her in the silence, the weight of her own collapse pressing down harder than anything I could have said.
Her sob was soft, pathetic. I could have left, but what would be the point of leaving her broken without making sure she understood why she broke?
I turned back. "Already crying? I expected more from the great Chiyabashira Sae."
She flinched at her name. Her head snapped up, wet eyes burning. "You… you dare—"
"Yes. I dare. Because you've spent so long hiding behind authority that you've forgotten what it means to be powerless." I took a slow step closer, deliberate. "But now? You feel it. That same weakness you mock in your students. The same fear you instill in them. You're not above us, Sensei. You're exactly the same."
Her fists tightened, nails digging into her palms. "Shut up. Shut your mouth!"
"You tell your students that failure means expulsion. That they're disposable. Yet look at you." My voice softened, crueler for its quiet calm. "Do you know what the faculty says about you? That you're a convenient placeholder. That you were given Class D because no one else wanted it. A teacher fit for failures."
"Stop it!" Her voice cracked, but I pressed harder.
"They laugh at you, don't they? Hoshinomiya with her fake smiles and sweet perfume. Ichika with her perfect little bow. You know they look at you like trash. Like you don't belong here. And you agree with them, don't you?"
Her knees buckled as if the words were blades cutting her down.
I leaned down to meet her at eye level, smiling faintly. "So tell me, Sae. When was the last time you believed you were worth anything?"
Her lip quivered. "Y-you… you don't know me."
"I know enough. I know you drink alone at night, staring at empty lesson plans that will never change anything. I know you're haunted by the fact that your students—children—have more potential than you ever did. I know that's why you cling to threats of expulsion. Because without fear, you have nothing. And deep down, you know one thing is true."
I paused, whispering into the silence like a knife sliding between ribs.
"You're the biggest failure in this entire school."
Her breath hitched, and this time the sob tore free, raw and unrestrained. She grabbed the edge of the desk, trembling like she might collapse entirely.
I stood tall, hands in my pockets, watching her unravel. "And the cruelest part? You can't punish me for this. If you try, you only prove me right."
She stared at me, wide-eyed, desperate for words, for dignity — but none came.
I smiled. "Don't worry, Sensei. I won't tell anyone… yet."
Her shoulders shook, every breath uneven. She tried to hold her dignity, but dignity had already slipped through her fingers.
I stepped closer. "Look at you. Trembling like one of the very students you despise. Tell me, Sensei—how does it feel to finally be in Class D where you belong?"
Her eyes widened, horror flickering in them. I had hit the nerve.
"You… bastard…" she whispered, her voice breaking.
I crouched so we were face to face, my shadow swallowing hers. "Call me whatever you want. But you can't deny the truth. You've been pretending for so long that you're in control. That you're the judge. But tonight… you're just another subject of my evaluation."
She tried to stand taller, chin trembling. "I'm still your teacher. I could expel you—"
I laughed softly. "Expel me? No. You won't. Because if you do, you admit to everyone that I shattered you. You admit that I exposed your weakness. You'll be stripped bare in front of this entire school." I tilted my head. "And isn't that your greatest fear? Being seen for what you really are?"
Her mouth opened, but no sound came.
"I could tell Class D. I could tell the faculty. I could even whisper it to Hoshinomiya—imagine her smirk when she hears how easily you broke."
"No…"
"Then stop me." I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a whisper that coiled into her ear. "Say something. Push back. Show me you're not the pathetic husk I see right now."
Her silence was deafening. Only her uneven breaths answered me.
I smiled, cold and deliberate. "That's what I thought. You've spent years tearing others down, but the truth is, you were built on sand. And with one push…" I tapped her forehead lightly, making her flinch. "…you collapse."
Her tears spilled freely now, unrestrained, her body shaking under the weight of words she couldn't counter.
I stood, towering over her. "Remember this feeling, Sae. Because from this point on, you'll see me everywhere—in every classroom, in every glance your students give you. And you'll wonder if today is the day I decide to tell them all what you really are."
She looked up at me, stricken, but still too weak to answer.
"Now," I said, my voice once again calm, detached, terrifyingly gentle. "Tell me, Sensei. What are you willing to do to make sure I stay quiet?"
She was shaking, but not broken enough. Not yet. I could still see the faint spark of resistance in her eyes. That had to go.
"You think this ends with you?" I said, my tone sharp and cutting. "You think your weakness is the only one I've noticed?"
Her breath hitched.
I began pacing slowly around her, like a predator circling prey. "Class D. The class you mock, the one you think is beneath you. Do you want me to tell you what I see?"
She didn't respond. Her silence was answer enough.
"Sudou—quick to anger, desperate for validation. He'd crumble if I whispered that his teammates secretly laugh at his stupidity."
I leaned closer, voice low, each word a knife. "Ike—terrified of being alone. All it would take is one rumor, one push, and he'd cling to anyone, even someone who despises him."
Her lips parted, trembling. I didn't stop.
"Kikuchi—the girl who tries to blend into the background. I could pluck her out, shine a spotlight on her, and she'd beg for the shadows back. And Hirata…" I smiled, cruel and deliberate. "The golden boy who holds everything together. If I whispered the right lie, even his saintly mask would shatter. And with him gone, the class collapses."
Her tears rolled freely now. But I wanted her broken, not just crying.
"And you, Sae," I said finally, stopping right before her, meeting her trembling gaze. "You call them delinquents. Failures. Trash. But you're just like them. Weak. Insecure. A fraud clinging to authority because without it, you're nothing."
"Stop…" she choked out, voice raw.
"Why should I stop?" I asked, stepping closer until my breath brushed her ear. "This is who you are. No amount of posturing, no sharp tongue, no clipboard will hide it. I've seen through you. And now I own you."
Her body shook, her fists clenched but powerless.
I pressed the final blade in. "So tell me, Sensei… if you want me to keep quiet, if you want me to keep their weaknesses buried, if you want me to protect your pathetic little image…"
I tilted her chin up with one finger, forcing her to look at me.
"…what will you give me?"
She stared at me, broken, trapped, every escape route sealed.
"Enough!"
Her voice cracked like a whip, echoing through the empty guidance room. Her hand shot out, grabbing me by the collar and shoving me back against the wall. Her eyes were wild, her breath ragged.
"You think you can toy with me?!" she snarled. "You're just a student. Nothing more. You don't get to dictate terms to me."
Her grip was strong—years of discipline behind it. But her hand trembled, betraying her. I didn't resist. I leaned into her grasp, smiling.
"There it is," I whispered. "The rage. The desperation. The fear that someone finally sees you for what you are."
Her eyes widened at my calmness. I tilted my head slightly, the collar biting into my neck under her fingers. "Do you feel strong right now, Sae? Does manhandling me make you forget how powerless you are in the bigger picture?"
"Shut your mouth!" she hissed, shaking me.
But she'd already lost the moment. Her outburst, her trembling voice, the way her nails dug in but couldn't follow through—it was proof. Proof she wasn't in control anymore.
I leaned forward, so close my words slipped straight into her ear. "This is what makes you weak. Not the students, not Class D. You. You can't control yourself. A single push, and your mask falls apart."
Her breathing grew shallow, erratic. I lowered my voice to a razor's edge.
"Imagine if your students saw this. The great Chiyabashira-sensei, grabbing at one of them like a cornered animal. Do you think they'd respect you then?"
Her grip faltered.
I straightened my collar, brushing her hand aside with deliberate slowness. "You've already lost, Sae. Every word, every glare, every shout—you've given me more to work with."
I smiled thinly. "Now, should we continue tearing away your layers… or would you prefer I start with theirs?"
Her entire frame went stiff, as if I'd just threatened the only thing she had left.
Her silence told me everything. The rigid posture, the clenched jaw, the desperate need to not look shaken.
"You wear authority like armor," I murmured, stepping closer. "But armor isn't grown, it's forged. Hammered, piece by piece. That means once… you were bare. Once, you were weak."
Her eyes flicked toward me—sharp, defensive.
"Who taught you to build this mask, Sae?" I pressed, my tone soft, almost sympathetic. "Was it a father who never looked at you unless you were perfect? A mother who broke you down until you learned to break others first?"
"Don't—" Her voice cracked, trembling against the weight of memory.
I ignored it, continuing like a scalpel digging deeper. "Or was it here, in this very system? You must've seen the cruelty of it long before you became part of it. A girl shoved down, told she wasn't good enough. So you clawed your way up, and when you finally had power, you made yourself into the thing you hated most."
Her lips parted, as though to retort—but nothing came out.
I leaned in, lowering my voice to an intimate whisper. "Tell me, Sae… when was the first time you realized the world didn't see you? That no matter how hard you fought, you'd always be disposable? That's when this mask was born, wasn't it?"
Her hand twitched at her side. I saw her body betray her—the faintest flinch. A ghost from her past rising up in front of her.
"You push students because you think breaking them will make you stronger," I said. "But it's just projection. Every punishment you deal out, every sarcastic barb, every cruel smile—you're talking to the girl you used to be. The one who wasn't enough."
"Stop it."
Her voice was raw, pleading now. Not the commanding tone of a teacher, but the crackling of someone cornered by their own reflection.
I tilted my head, smiling faintly. "Why should I stop, Sae? When the truth is so much more fascinating than your lies."
Her voice broke, but then—like a whip—she snapped back.
"Enough!" Chiyabashira roared, slamming her clipboard against the desk so hard the sound rang through the room. Her eyes blazed, her chest heaving. "You think you know me? You don't know anything! You're just a child playing with shadows you can't even comprehend!"
She was standing now, shoulders tense, veins visible at her temple. For a moment, the mask shattered completely. The woman behind it—the fragile, furious creature she buried—was screaming through the cracks.
I only smiled. Calm. Controlled.
"There it is," I whispered. "The real Sae. The one who still hasn't healed."
"Shut up!" she barked, but her voice wavered.
"Why are you so angry?" I asked gently, tilting my head. "Because I'm wrong? Or because I'm right—and you can't bear to admit it?"
Her fist clenched. She looked like she wanted to strike me, and yet… she couldn't. Not because of school rules, but because some part of her knew: violence would mean surrender.
"You push so hard to be feared," I continued, stepping closer, lowering my voice until it was almost a whisper. "But fear isn't respect. Fear is a shield. You want these students to think you're untouchable, but you've never stopped being that girl who was told she wasn't enough. That's why you despise weakness. That's why you despise failure. Because you see yourself in it."
Her breathing was uneven now, ragged. Rage was still there, but it was laced with something else—shame.
"You can scream at me. Threaten me. Pretend you're in control." My eyes locked with hers, unflinching. "But the moment you lashed out, Sae… you already lost."
For a heartbeat, she stood tall. Shoulders squared. Jaw clenched. Eyes burning with the fury of someone who refused to bend.
Then it crumbled.
Her hand slipped from the desk, the clipboard clattering to the floor. The sound echoed like the death knell of her defenses. Her knees gave slightly, and she dropped back into her chair as if her body had suddenly remembered the weight it carried.
"No… no…" she whispered, her voice breaking. Her face twisted—not with rage now, but something rawer, older. Her hands trembled as she tried to grip the edges of her desk, but even that small act betrayed her weakness. "You… you don't know what it was like. What I had to… to become."
Tears welled in her eyes, the kind she must have buried for years under layers of steel and venom. She turned her face slightly away from me, ashamed, but the shaking in her voice betrayed everything.
I stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling prey that had finally stopped fighting.
"You fought so hard to build this armor," I murmured. "But it was always brittle. One push, and here you are. Not Sae the teacher, not Sae the demon. Just a woman who's terrified she'll never escape the shadow of her own failures."
"Stop…" she whispered, but the word was empty. Not a command—just a plea.
I leaned closer, my tone soft but merciless.
"You wanted control. You wanted strength. But all I see… is someone desperate not to be alone with herself."
And at that, the first tear fell, sliding down her cheek.
Her tears should have been the end. Most people would stop there—out of pity, or mercy. But I wasn't most people.
I leaned in, crouching slightly so my eyes locked with hers. The faint shimmer of tears caught in her lashes, trembling as though waiting for permission to fall.
"Do you think I'll stop just because you're crying?" My voice was calm, almost kind, but every syllable was a blade. "That's the problem with you, Sae. You think weakness earns sympathy. But weakness… is just another crack to be exploited."
Her fingers tightened on the desk, nails digging into the wood. "Y-you don't understand…" she whispered, though the defiance in her tone was already fraying.
"Oh, but I do." I tilted my head slightly, my smile thin and precise. "Every harsh word you spit at your students, every sneer, every time you pretend you're above them—it isn't strength. It's fear. You're terrified they'll see what I see now. That you're not untouchable. That you're just… ordinary."
Her breath hitched, sharp and uneven. I could almost hear the memories clawing at her, memories she'd buried so deep she probably believed they'd stay hidden forever.
"You talk about discipline. About rules. About this school molding us into the 'superior.' But the truth?" I lowered my voice to a whisper so close she had no choice but to hear it. "You couldn't even save yourself."
That one landed. Her body jolted as if struck, her mask shattering further.
She tried to lash out again, but the words stumbled out broken, raw.
"Shut up! You don't know what I went through—you don't—"
I cut her off with a whisper sharper than a scream.
"I don't need to know. I only need to see the cracks. And right now, Sae…" I leaned back slightly, watching her crumble with a detached fascination. "…you're nothing but cracks."
Her hands left the desk, clutching at her own arms like she was trying to hold herself together. But it was far too late. The collapse was already complete—she was unraveling right before me.
Her shoulders shook violently, her breath ragged. She thought silence would protect her—that if she said nothing, the storm would pass. But silence only gave me more room to dig.
"You carry yourself like someone untouchable, Sae," I murmured, my tone soft enough to be mistaken for comfort. "But people like you don't build walls without reason. Tell me… who broke you before you ever set foot in this school?"
Her eyes snapped up, wide and bloodshot. The tremor in her lips betrayed the fact that I'd hit close to home.
"Stop it…" she hissed.
I tilted my head, feigning curiosity. "A family that never believed in you? Parents who looked at you and only ever saw someone else's shadow? Or maybe a past student who showed you your own weakness, someone you couldn't control?"
Her nails raked down her arm, leaving faint red marks as though the pain might distract her from mine.
I leaned closer, lowering my voice into her ear.
"You were overlooked, weren't you? No matter how hard you worked, someone else was always better. Smarter. Brighter. You wanted to prove them wrong—to prove yourself. And when you couldn't, you decided to make your entire class carry your humiliation instead."
Her whole body jolted at the word humiliation. A shaky breath escaped her, uneven, almost a sob.
"Don't—don't talk like you know me—"
"I don't need to know you." My voice was a scalpel now, steady and deliberate. "I only need to see the way your eyes burn when Horikita questions you, the way you cling to rules to feel powerful, the way you snap at children like Sudou because deep down you're still that same little girl who was… ignored."
Her composure shattered. The tears finally broke free, trailing down her cheeks unchecked. She slumped against the desk, fists trembling as though she might strike me, yet too hollowed out to try.
"Tell me, Sae," I whispered, watching her unravel, "how long have you been carrying that shame? How many years has it been gnawing at you in the dark, until you turned it into this… twisted mask of authority?"
Silence. The kind that screamed louder than words.
And then, in the faintest, most broken voice, she whispered:
"…Since high school."
Her words trembled in the air like a dying flame: Since high school.
I let the silence linger just long enough for it to suffocate her before I cut back in.
"High school," I repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. "So it started there. Tell me, Sae—what happened?"
She shook her head violently, strands of hair whipping across her face. "That's none of your concern."
"Oh, but it is. You've built your entire persona on it. You stand in front of children every day, wearing that brittle armor, pretending to be strong. But it's rotting underneath. Tell me."
She slammed her fist on the desk, the sound sharp and desperate. "I said STOP!"
I didn't flinch. Instead, I leaned in, lowering my voice into something cold and relentless.
"Was it a teacher? Someone who crushed you under their heel? Or maybe it was your classmates—did they laugh at you? Did they see right through the mask you tried so hard to maintain? That would explain why you lash out at weakness now. You hate seeing yourself reflected back in them."
Her eyes widened, panic seeping in. She opened her mouth to refute me, but only a choked breath came out.
"Or," I pressed further, my tone almost kind, "was there someone who was better? Always one step ahead, no matter how hard you clawed your way up? Someone who made you realize that no matter how much effort you poured in… you'd never be enough?"
That hit. Her whole body stiffened, as if the very memory had clawed its way out of the grave.
"Shut up…" she whispered. Her voice cracked.
I tilted my head, smiling faintly. "Ah. So there was someone. A rival? A friend? Someone you admired? Or…" I paused, letting the blade sink in, "…someone you loved?"
Her knees buckled. She stumbled back against the desk, gripping its edge like a lifeline. Her face was pale, streaked with tears, eyes wild and lost.
"I—I don't want to remember," she spat, her voice trembling between rage and despair.
"That's the thing about memories," I murmured, stepping closer. "They don't care what you want. They never leave. They rot, and they fester, and the harder you try to bury them, the more power they hold over you. I'm not creating your pain, Sae… I'm just showing you where it's always been."
Her legs gave out, and she collapsed into the chair, her breath shallow, ragged. The strong, composed teacher of Class D had vanished. What sat before me was just a broken woman staring at the ghosts of her past.
"Now then," I whispered, crouching so my eyes met hers, "why don't you tell me the name of the person who did this to you?"
Her breaths came shallow, uneven, each one caught on the edge of panic. I stayed there, crouched at her side, watching her unravel with the calm patience of someone who already knew the outcome.
"Tell me," I whispered again. "The name. Say it."
Her hands clutched her temples, nails digging into her scalp as if she could claw the memory away. "No… I can't—"
"You can," I pressed, voice low and merciless. "Because the truth is already gnawing at you. You've carried it for years, haven't you? Every time you look at these students, every time you enforce these ridiculous rules, you're not talking to them—you're talking to your past self. And to them."
She shook her head violently, tears dripping onto the desk. "Stop it—stop it, damn you!"
"Say it," I urged, leaning closer until my lips were inches from her ear. "Give it a name. Free yourself, or let it own you forever."
For a moment, I thought she'd keep resisting. Then her voice cracked apart like shattered glass.
"…It was Kanzaki."
The name tumbled out in a broken whisper, as though dragged from the depths of her lungs. "Haruto Kanzaki… He—he was always better. Always ahead. No matter what I did… no matter how hard I tried…" Her words dissolved into sobs. "He never even looked back at me."
There it was. The scar that had festered all these years. Not some faceless tormentor, not a cruel world—just one boy who had eclipsed her entirely.
I let the silence expand, savoring it. The mighty Chiyabashira Sae, reduced to trembling in her own guidance office, confessing her ghost to me.
At last, I spoke.
"So, that's the weight you carry. That's why you drag students into this miserable system—to prove you're not her anymore. The girl left behind by Haruto Kanzaki."
Her face twisted, torn between rage and despair, but she couldn't deny it. The truth was out, and it wouldn't be shoved back into the dark.
I smiled faintly, rising to my feet.
"Thank you, Sae. That was all I needed to know."
Her shoulders shook with every broken breath. She looked pitiful like this—shattered, exposed, her authority in ruins. But destruction alone wasn't enough. What good was a broken doll unless you remade it in your image?
I crouched again, but this time my voice softened, silk threaded with iron.
"Enough. That Kanzaki boy? He doesn't matter anymore. He's gone. Forgotten. And yet you still let him chain you here, in this room, in this school."
Her eyes, swollen with tears, darted up to mine. Confusion flickered through the despair, as though she couldn't understand why I hadn't left her lying in her collapse.
I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But you don't have to keep drowning. You've spent your whole career trying to prove you're not that weak girl, haven't you? Always barking, always lashing out… but it's just armor. And armor cracks."
She trembled, lips parting, but no words came.
I leaned closer, the faintest smile tugging at my mouth.
"I can help you. I can do what you couldn't. I can take Class D—your class, the class everyone laughs at—and drag them all the way to Class A. Not with Hirata's idealism, not with Horikita's pride, not even with Ayanokouji's… little games. Me."
Her breath caught, the first spark of something other than despair flickering in her gaze. Hope, maybe. Or desperation.
"You…" Her voice was hoarse. "You really believe you can—"
"Not believe." I cut her off gently. "Know."
I let the words settle, my hand resting lightly on her shoulder—not forceful, not cruel, but steady, grounding. The opposite of how I'd broken her.
"But you'll need to trust me, Sae. Not the system, not your colleagues, not even yourself. Me. You give me your backing, and I'll turn your greatest humiliation into your greatest triumph."
Her nails dug into the wood of her desk, trembling still—but not from weakness this time. From the possibility that I could be right.
"You could… really bring Class D to Class A?"
I smiled, a calm, dangerous smile.
"Not could. I will. But only if you're willing to rely on me."
Her silence dragged on, but the battle was already won. I could see it—the struggle behind her eyes, the part of her that wanted to reject me crushed under the weight of her collapse.
I leaned in closer, lowering my voice until it was a whisper only she could hear.
"Say it. Out loud. You need me."
Her jaw clenched, pride flaring for one last dying spark. But the tears on her cheeks betrayed her. She tried to look away, but I caught her chin between my fingers, tilting her face back toward mine.
"Don't waste time pretending. Not after you've already shown me how breakable you are. You can't do this alone, Sae. You never could."
Her lips trembled. "…I…"
"Say it." My tone sharpened, quiet but cutting. "Or else keep rotting at the bottom with Class D. You'll never reach Class A. You'll never prove them wrong. You'll never escape your past. But if you let me—if you give me that one word—I'll carry you. I'll drag your entire class to the top, and I'll drag you with me."
Her eyes widened, fear and longing twisting together. The fight in her broke.
"…I need you."
The words came out small, almost pitiful.
I let go of her chin, brushing my thumb across the trail of tears instead. My smile was faint, calm, assured—the kind of smile that told her she'd made the only choice possible.
"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
She shuddered, closing her eyes as though surrendering hurt less if she didn't have to watch herself do it.
I straightened, stepping back just slightly, but leaving her with no doubt.
"From now on, you won't move without me. You'll guide the class with my hand behind yours. And when Class D rises… everyone will think it's your victory. But you and I will know the truth."
Her shoulders slumped, relief and exhaustion breaking over her.
"Yes…" she whispered.
"Good girl. Then our work begins."
I didn't leave. Not yet. She thought the deal was sealed with those three words, but she didn't understand—not fully. I stepped back toward her, letting the silence stretch until she raised her eyes to me again, fragile but caught.
"You think saying 'I need you' is enough?" I asked softly. "No. That's just the first step."
She flinched, her voice uneven. "…What more do you want from me?"
I crouched slightly so that my eyes met hers at level. She couldn't hide behind the authority of her position here—alone in this room, she was just a woman stripped bare of her armor.
"I want honesty. You hide behind your title, your power, your sarcasm. But in truth, you're terrified. Terrified of failing, of being forgotten, of… being left behind. Isn't that right, Sae?"
Her lips parted, but no words came. I saw it in her expression—the denial forming, breaking, dying before it could be spoken.
I pressed.
"Your whole life, you've built walls to keep people out. Students, colleagues, even friends. Because if they never get close, they can't see the cracks. But I see them, Sae. I see everything you're so desperate to bury."
Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked away.
I leaned closer, my voice barely above a whisper.
"And yet… I don't turn away. I don't despise you for it. I accept you. Weakness and all. That's why you'll rely on me. Because I'll hold what you can't."
For a long moment, there was only silence—her shallow breaths, the tremor of her shoulders. Then, finally, she whispered, "…What do you want me to do?"
I smiled faintly, tilting my head as though the answer was simple.
"Trust me. Completely. When I tell you to move, you move. When I tell you to hold back, you wait. You don't second-guess, you don't resist. You give me your faith… and in return, I'll make sure you never have to feel this powerless again."
Her fingers clenched into the fabric of her skirt. Her pride screamed against it, but her eyes… her eyes pleaded for release. Slowly, she nodded.
"…I understand."
I let the silence confirm the pact, then gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
"Good. Then you're mine now, Sae. And together… we'll turn this pathetic Class D into Class A."
Her body shuddered again, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't.
Her nod hung in the air, fragile and absolute. But I didn't let her breathe relief. That would've been mercy. Instead, I leaned in closer—so close she could feel the warmth of my breath brush her ear.
"You're mine now," I repeated softly. Then, after a pause, I added with deliberate weight, "…in more ways than one."
Her shoulders stiffened. She turned, glaring at me as though to salvage the scraps of her dignity. "Stop… saying things like that."
I tilted my head, feigning innocence. "Like what? You think I'm teasing you?" My lips curved faintly, playful, predatory. "Sae, you don't seem to understand. Flirting… manipulation… control. They're all just words. What matters is how you feel right now."
Her face betrayed her: a flush rising across her cheeks, a sharp breath she tried to disguise as composure.
I caught it instantly, pressing further.
"You say you hate it… yet you didn't pull away. You could have walked out. You could've pushed me aside. But you didn't. Why is that?"
She faltered. "…Because you—because this is part of your game. That's all."
I chuckled under my breath. "Maybe. Or maybe you enjoy being seen. Having someone strip away the armor and speak to you, not the teacher, not the authority figure… just Sae." I let her name linger on my tongue, deliberately softer, almost intimate.
Her lips parted, but no words came.
I brushed my hand along the edge of her desk, my movements slow, deliberate, as I leaned just close enough to let the air between us hum with tension.
"Trust me, Sae. You'll find that depending on me… can be intoxicating. Even addictive."
Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. I saw the battle in her—anger, pride, confusion… and something else flickering beneath, something she didn't want to name.
"You're a dangerous boy," she whispered finally.
Her whisper still lingered in the air—dangerous boy.
I didn't step back. Instead, I moved closer, slow enough that she could have stopped me if she wanted. My hand brushed against hers where it rested on the desk. A faint touch, feather-light, but deliberate.
She flinched. Not enough to pull away—just enough to betray herself.
"You're trembling," I said, my voice calm, almost soothing. My thumb grazed over the back of her hand, barely a stroke. "That doesn't feel like hatred to me."
"D-Don't—" she started, but her voice cracked.
I leaned in until my lips hovered near her ear, lowering my tone to a whisper meant only for her. "Do you want me to stop?"
Silence. Her breathing quickened. The faintest quiver ran through her fingers beneath mine.
"Say it," I urged, tilting my head so that my hair brushed her temple, invading her space in a way that felt both suffocating and intimate. "Tell me to stop. Convince me you don't want this."
Her lips parted, but no words came.
That was all the answer I needed.
I let my fingers slip from her hand only to trail, ghostlike, along her wrist, up her arm. Slow. Intimate. Claiming her pulse as it raced beneath my touch. "You see? Your body betrays you. You crave this… maybe not me, not yet—but the loss of control. The freedom in it."
Her eyes darted to mine, wide, furious, vulnerable all at once. I met her gaze unflinching, smiling faintly, as though I had already won.
"You can resist all you want, Sae," I murmured, my forehead nearly brushing hers now. "But I promise you this—one day soon, you'll stop resisting… and start leaning on me. And when that happens, you'll wonder why you ever fought it at all."
Her breath hitched again, shallow, uneven. Her eyes darted to the side, anywhere but at me, but I didn't let her escape. My hand cupped her chin and tilted her face back toward mine, firm but not cruel.
"Look at me," I whispered.
Her lips parted slightly, the faintest tremor in her jaw. I could feel her resistance collapsing like a house of cards, her pride screaming at her to shove me away, but her body refusing to move.
"You spend every day hiding behind that iron mask," I continued softly, my thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. "A strict teacher. An unshakable authority. But right now… you're just a woman who doesn't want to be alone.
Her eyes widened—because I had struck the truth. The mask shattered.
"N-no… I—" she started, her voice a fragile protest.
I leaned in closer, close enough that my words were a breath against her lips. "Then prove me wrong. Push me away. Tell me you don't want this."
The silence between us stretched, unbearably tight.
And then—she broke.
Her shoulders sagged, the fight gone, her eyes closing as if surrendering relieved her of a burden she'd carried for too long.
Her forehead touched mine first, tentative, fragile, before she exhaled and let herself lean into me. The scent of her hair filled my lungs, the warmth of her body pressing into mine.
"…Damn you," she whispered, the words a curse but her tone laced with something softer—acceptance.
I smiled, victorious but not cruel, my hand sliding from her chin to cradle her cheek. "That's better. No need to fight what you already wanted."
Her lips brushed mine then, faint, trembling—an unspoken admission that she had surrendered, that I had won.
Her lips brushed mine, trembling, hesitant—like she was still testing the waters of her own downfall. But hesitation couldn't last. Not with me.
I closed the gap, claiming her mouth fully, swallowing the last shred of protest she'd tried to muster. Her gasp melted into the kiss, sharp and helpless, before her hands clutched at my shirt like a drowning woman desperate for air.
There it was. The surrender.
Her mask, her rules, her discipline—all of it burned away under the heat of the moment.
I pressed her back against the wall, my body pinning hers, every movement deliberate, unrelenting. She didn't resist. She pulled me closer. The woman who only hours ago barked orders like a drill sergeant now trembled against me, hungry and desperate, her lips parting to let me deeper.
"Do you feel it now?" I whispered against her mouth, my hand sliding along her waist, gripping her firmly. "The truth you've tried to bury?"
Her only answer was a choked moan, her nails digging into my shoulders, her body arching into mine.
Every lash-out she'd thrown at me earlier was gone—no more venom, no more defenses. Just heat, need, and surrender.
"Johan…" she breathed, and the way my name fell from her lips—hoarse, broken—told me she wasn't my teacher anymore. Not here. Not now. She was mine.
I smirked, tilting her chin up again, pressing her harder into the wall, lips finding hers with renewed intensity.
"You don't have to pretend anymore," I murmured against her skin. "Not with me. You belong right here."
And this time—she didn't deny it. She pulled me closer, fully consumed.
"You don't have to stand alone anymore," I murmured, my breath grazing her ear. "Rely on me. If you give yourself over, I'll drag Class D to the top with you at my side."
Her lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out—only a shaky exhale. I could feel the heat of it against my skin. For a moment, her eyes burned with defiance, but then… it faltered. The fight bled out of her shoulders, leaving only something rawer, something more dangerous.
When I tilted her chin up, she didn't resist. My thumb brushed along her jaw, the smallest touch, but it made her tremble. I could see it—the battle raging inside her, between pride and surrender.
"You…" Her voice cracked. "…you'll ruin me."
"Maybe," I whispered, leaning close enough that my lips nearly grazed hers. "Or maybe I'll save you. Tell me, Sae—do you really care which?"
Her hands, which had been clenched tightly at her sides, finally moved. Not to push me away. But to grip my sleeve—tight, desperate, pulling me closer.
That was all I needed. I claimed her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that left no room for doubt, deepening until her breath broke against mine. She melted beneath it, the last of her restraint dissolving, leaving her caught between resistance and craving.
When the kiss broke, silence filled the guidance room. Heavy, suffocating silence.
Her breath was uneven, her face flushed in a way I had never seen before. Chiyabashira-sensei—cold, calculating, untouchable—looked utterly undone.
She pressed a trembling hand against my chest, as though to push me back. But her palm lingered there, not moving, not resisting. Just feeling the steady rhythm of my heartbeat.
"I… I shouldn't have let that happen," she whispered, her voice husky with a mix of shame and something else she couldn't hide.
I caught her wrist gently before she could pull away, lowering it just slightly but not letting go. "You didn't let it happen. You wanted it."
Her eyes flickered up at me—sharp, wounded, searching for denial—but none came.
"I can't… rely on a student like this," she said, forcing a brittle laugh. "It's absurd. I'm your teacher."
I stepped closer again, closing the distance she was trying to build. "And yet, you already are relying on me. You knew it the moment you stopped fighting back."
Her lips trembled. She looked away, but I caught her chin, turning her face back toward mine. She didn't resist this time—just closed her eyes briefly, as though surrendering to the weight of it all.
"You'll bring Class D up… to Class A?" she asked, her voice quieter than I'd ever heard it.
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "But only if you stay by me."
Her breath caught, the words sinking in deeper than she wanted them to. For the first time, she wasn't Chiyabashira the teacher, or the demon-faced authority figure. She was just a woman—shaken, vulnerable, clinging to the possibility I was offering her.
Slowly, carefully, she nodded.
When she tried to step past me, I moved aside, letting her go. But her shoulder brushed mine, and I felt the way she lingered for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Even when she finally pulled away, she didn't look victorious. She looked… claimed.
And she knew it.
——
The late afternoon light washed the campus in fading gold, but my thoughts were sharper, darker. Each step toward the dormitory was measured, deliberate, as if I were pacing out the boundaries of a stage where every actor was already mine.
Chiyabashira.
A teacher, bound by duty, pride, and authority. She believed herself untouchable, until I reached into the cracks she kept hidden and widened them with ease. Now she carries herself the same, but I know better. She is already leaning on me in ways she cannot admit to herself. Authority toppled from the inside. She is sealed, mine to command when the moment comes.
Horikita.
Different — brittle, proud, isolated. She hides behind her intellect and ambition, but the weight of being the sister of Horikita Manabu gnaws at her. She's not yet broken. No — with her, the game is subtler, slower. I don't just want her obedience; I want her pride shattered, rebuilt in my design. She must come to realize that her climb to Class A is impossible without me. She must surrender, not out of fear, but because she sees no other path.
Two women. One with power, the other with potential. Both already orbiting closer to me than they realize.
And Ayanokōji? He watches, silent, unreadable. He pretends indifference, but I see the weight in his eyes when Chiyabashira's words veer toward him. He is not harmless. But he, too, will learn that silence cannot shield him from me forever.
I looked up at the dormitory. Another day was done, but the pieces were still in motion. Soon, they would stop struggling. Soon, they would understand—
the only place left for them was by my side
———
This was a long one
I don't know if it's ever explained who the teacher loves. I've only read up to Year two and I'm in the beginning of that right now. If I'm wrong, let me know and I might go and fix that or scrap this I guess.
Also tell me how you guys like the story so far