Kirisu Mafuyu kept staring at Hayashi Maki because she'd accidentally overheard him call her "Mafuyu-chan" the day before.
She was angry.
She was his teacher—how could he call her "Mafuyu-chan"? That was far too disrespectful!
And having ideas about one's teacher was wrong!
After class, Kirisu said coolly, "Hayashi Maki, come to the office with me."
"Eh? Me?"
Hayashi Maki looked baffled, but followed her anyway.
In the office, he kept his eyes (mostly) forward while taking in Kirisu Mafuyu's striking cherry-pink hair; the fitted blazer, pencil skirt, and black stockings—
Tch. She was gorgeous.
"Ahem, Hayashi Maki, what exactly are you looking at?"
Seeing his eyes shining as he raked her up and down, Kirisu flushed and put on a stern face.
"I'm looking at you, sensei. You called me in—who else should I look at?"
He spoke righteously and kept right on appraising her: the small, rosy mouth; fair skin; that exquisitely cute face. Why did she have to be his teacher? Still… teacher wasn't impossible, was it?
Kirisu choked on his brazenness, but couldn't refute him. "Ahem. I called you in to ask about your club's recent situation."
"As the faculty advisor, it's my responsibility to check in."
She quickly changed the subject.
"Oh, that. Right now we're doing most activities off campus; on campus we've begun prepping our creative work," Hayashi Maki said, face earnest—while his gaze lingered on her long, black-stockinged legs. He wondered how her lap pillow would compare to Utaha-senpai's.
"You've started creating already? Light novels or a game?" Kirisu's interest piqued despite herself.
Hayashi Maki smiled, took out his phone, and opened the author dashboard. "My light novel's been officially released. I'm already a fairly well-known LN author. I plan to make a game based on it."
"Eh—so you've already debuted? And… sold a million copies? That's amazing!"
Kirisu blurted it out; her look toward him softened. After all, who could dislike a talented, handsome student?
"Heh, it's alright. I'm still working hard."
"Don't be modest. Debuting at your age, and selling that many—you're well ahead of most of the school."
She sighed. She, a former figure skater, had given up her dream and become a history teacher. She admired those who stuck to their dreams and made something of them. And this one was her student—that warmed her.
Just as she was feeling pleased, she noticed his heated gaze and jolted.
"Ahem. Hayashi Maki, I'm aware of some of your family background, but as a student you still need to respect your teacher. You have to give up any thoughts you shouldn't be having, understood?"
Hayashi Maki looked blank. What "thoughts" was she talking about?
"Uh… I don't quite understand. What thoughts do I have to give up?"
"D-do I really have to say it out loud?"
Kirisu's cheeks reddened; her fists tightened unconsciously.
"Of course. If you don't say it, how am I supposed to know?"
He spread his hands as if it were obvious. "So, please tell me: what is the purpose behind calling me here, Kirisu-sensei?"
How could she bring herself to spell it out? "Ahem, perhaps I misunderstood—pretend I didn't say anything. Alright, head back to class."
She feigned calm and shooed him out. She was afraid speaking too bluntly might hurt him—and if he fell apart because of it, she'd feel terribly guilty.
Hayashi Maki still had no idea what she'd been imagining, but seeing her flushed, adorable face, he couldn't resist a cheeky line. "In that case, I'll head back. But I won't give up, Mafuyu-sensei!"
He guessed she assumed he liked her and had been warning him off. Think about it: what "inappropriate thoughts" could a student have about a teacher other than that?
After he left, Kirisu groaned and flopped onto her desk. "Kirisu Mafuyu, what on earth did you just say to your student?"
And he'd even said he wouldn't give up? She was already regretting it. She shouldn't have brought it up at all. And he never called her "Kirisu-sensei"—he'd said "Mafuyu-sensei." Too obvious.
Walking back to class, Hayashi Maki didn't dwell on it. He was going to contract Kirisu Mafuyu eventually. Cross a world just to hand such a beautiful teacher to someone else? If she appeared in his sights, then she could only be his.
Down the corridor, a small figure with blonde twin-tails whooshed past him.
"Stop right there, you middle-school brat—hey!"
A familiar, vexed voice followed.
"Bleh, fake Mori-sama! You think you can catch me, wielder of the Mighty Mjolnir Maul? You're twenty thousand years too early, death~!'"
The little blonde looked back, stuck out her tongue, and made a face. It drove Nibutani Shinka up the wall.
"Grr—stop! Ah—Maki-kun! Please, grab that little shrimp for me!"
Seeing Hayashi Maki, Shinka's eyes lit up; she pleaded with him.
"Hah! Fake Mori-sama needs commoners to help, death? Haha—but I'm so far away, how can he help you, death? E-Eh?! What's happening?! Dekomori's body… isn't listening, death!"
Just as she was crowing, the girl felt a pull from behind and flew backward, out of control. Before she could react, a hand had her by the scruff. She struggled a few times, then sagged, eyes welling up.
"Dekomori's escape… failed, death! Weird—what happened, death?"
Staring at the girl with the strange verbal tic, Shinka smiled wickedly. "Caught you at last, middle-school shrimp. Hand over your Maken right now, or else!"
But the girl crossed her arms in defiance, dangling in Hayashi Maki's grip. "No way, death! That's the sacred gospel Mori-sama left to Dekomori—I won't give it to a fake Mori-sama like you!"
"Argh—I told you, stop saying 'Mori-sama'! You rotten little—"
Triggered by the black-history title, Shinka was losing it. Hayashi Maki, meanwhile, studied the petite girl with interest.
"Dekomori Sanae? Wielder of the Mighty Mjolnir Maul?"
"That's right, death! And who are you? You can grab Dekomori—are you a lapdog of the Time Management Bureau, death?"
"Nope. I'm the Dark Flame Master, Dekomori-chan," Hayashi Maki replied with a grin.