Tōhō Getsukai pulled the activity room door shut, his brisk footsteps echoing lightly down the hallway.
From the other side of the wood, a faint, distressed meow leaked out, immediately followed by a girl’s gritted whisper: “Spill.
Who is your accomplice?”
He didn’t bother looking back, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.
Stressing out a cat?
How very like her.
At the corner of the staircase, the fluorescent indicator of a vending machine flickered in the dimming afternoon light.
Tōhō fished a few coins from his pocket.
Just as his fingers brushed the coin slot, a shadow shifted in his peripheral vision.
A figure leaned casually against the plaster wall.
White lab coat.
Dark shirt with the top two buttons left undone.
An unlit cigarette dangled loosely between her lips, and a plastic drugstore bag swung from her wrist.
Shizuka Hiratsuka.
She lingered in the shadows, her posture relaxed, but her sharp eyes were locked dead onto him.
“Tōhō.”
“Hiratsuka-sensei.”
Silence stretched.
Shizuka plucked the cigarette from her lips.
Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling tiles, and when she finally spoke, her voice was a low, strained mutter.
“That face cream you recommended last time.”
“The Curél Night Repair?”
“Yeah…
it’s actually quite good.”
The words were dragged out of her, every syllable a bitter war against her own pride.
Tōhō blinked.
‘Oh.’ The older, perpetually single female teacher had actually sought him out to offer a genuine thank you.
That was massive progress.
She definitely deserved a little praise.
“You’re very welcome.
Sensei, your foundational skin quality is already excellent, so whatever you apply—”
“Alright, alright, I get it,” Shizuka cut in, clearing her throat loudly.
She hurriedly swapped the drugstore bag to her other hand.
The motion was far too jerky, causing the cardboard box of face cream inside to smack against her hip with a dull thud.
She stared straight ahead, pretending the clumsy fumble never happened.
Then, the atmosphere shifted.
Her aura spiked.
Shizuka pushed off the wall, crossed her arms beneath her chest, and tilted her chin up to scrutinize him with absolute condescension.
‘Guidance Teacher Mode: Activated.’
“Let’s talk business.
How is your progress with Yukinoshita?”
Tōhō’s thumb paused over the coin slot.
“It’s alright, I suppose.”
“Be specific.”
“…Barely at the level where we can hold a conversation?”
Shizuka stared at him for five agonizing seconds.
Then, the corner of her mouth curled up.
“Tōhō, how long have you been a member of the Service Club?”
“A little over a week.”
“And how many times have you actually attended in that week?”
“…Twice.”
“How long do you stay each time?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes.” Shizuka tilted her head, her eyes narrowing.
“You go twice a week, for twenty minutes a session.
Add that up, and it doesn’t even equal a single P.E.
class.
And you have the nerve to tell me you can ‘barely’ talk to each other?”
Tōhō offered a noncommittal hum.
“I told you to go help Yukinoshita, not to punch a timecard.” Shizuka took a half-step forward, raising the hand clutching the drugstore bag to point it at him like a weapon.
“Do you honestly think I’m blind to your little tricks?
Half the girls in this school are lining up around the block just to breathe the same air as you.
Am I supposed to believe you can only ‘barely talk’ to her?”
She leaned in, dropping her voice to a dangerous register as she twirled the unlit cigarette between her fingers.
“I think you aren’t putting in a single ounce of real effort.
When it comes to Yukinoshita, you are just slacking off.”
Every word was a bullseye.
Internally, Tōhō awarded his teacher a solid nine out of ten for her sharp intuition, deducting one point just so she wouldn’t get a big head about it.
“Sensei, haste makes waste—”
“Don’t give me that runaround.” Shizuka threw up a hand to cut him off.
“Do you know what the most irritating part of all this is?
It’s not that you can’t do it.
It’s that you absolutely can, but you just aren’t in any hurry.”
A wicked, thoroughly villainous smirk stretched across her face.
It was the exact kind of expression reserved for an anime final boss, complete with an imaginary dark purple filter and an ominous background track.
“Then I suppose I’ll just have to try another method.” Shizuka raised a single finger, waving it tauntingly in the air.
“I’ll just go have a direct chat with Yukinoshita.”
“Tell her what, exactly?”
“I’ll tell her that her newest club member’s attitude toward her precious Service Club is entirely unhurried, overly relaxed, and strictly optional.”
Tōhō finally lowered his hand from the vending machine.
“I’ll just say it straight to her face: Yukinoshita, Tōhō thinks you just aren’t interesting enough to warrant any more of his time.”
“Sensei, you’re twisting my words.”
“The end result is exactly the same.” Shizuka tilted her head, her smirk deepening into something truly diabolical.
“Care to guess how Yukinoshita will react when she hears that?
Will your perfectly composed ‘big sister’ persona survive the fallout?”
Tōhō actually considered it for two seconds.
A vivid scene automatically rendered in his mind: Yukinoshita Yukino sitting perfectly straight in the Service Club room, arms crossed.
She would look up at him with that flawless, porcelain face, her pristine black hair cascading over her shoulders, and activate her signature sarcastic mode.
‘Even someone as cute as me couldn’t compel you to use your full strength.
I am truly sorry for being such a disappointment, Tōhō.’
…Damn it!
That was way too cute!
What was he supposed to do if he was actually starting to look forward to it?
Unable to hold the facade, Tōhō’s lips curved upward.
Far from panicking, a bright, genuine laugh escaped him.
“Sensei.”
“What?”
“By all means.
Go ahead and tell her.”
Shizuka froze.
This was completely off-script.
When a person’s bluff was called, they were supposed to show a crack in their armor, or at least sweat a little.
Yet this absurdly pretty silver-haired boy was just laughing?
And smiling with such—
Tōhō took a step forward.
It was a light, almost weightless step.
But that single motion instantly collapsed the distance between them to less than half an arm’s length.
Shizuka’s wicked smirk shattered.
Silvery strands of long hair slipped over his shoulder, the soft tips brushing lightly against the knuckles of the hand holding her drugstore bag.
The fresh, bright scent of his citrus shampoo immediately tangled with the faint, bitter aroma of tobacco clinging to her shirt collar.
Two entirely opposite elements collided in the narrow space, sparking an indescribable, suffocating chemical reaction.
Instinct took over.
Shizuka scrambled a half-step back.
Her shoulder blades slammed hard into the vending machine.
The heavy metal chassis hummed and vibrated against her spine, the plastic bottles inside rattling loudly in protest.
She had nowhere left to run.
The mature, authoritative woman who had been aggressively applying pressure mere seconds ago was now thoroughly pinned.
Her back was pressed flat against the cold metal panel, her lips parted in shock.
The unlit cigarette slipped from her mouth.
It hit the linoleum floor with a soft tap and rolled lazily in a half-circle.
Tōhō lowered his gaze, tracing the path of the fallen cigarette for a brief second, before slowly lifting his eyes back to hers.
Shizuka wrenched her face away, utterly terrified of making eye contact.
It wasn’t fear of danger, but fear of the sheer proximity.
No matter how many times she saw him, whenever the prettiest ‘boy’ in Sobu High School invaded her personal space like this, the visual impact was a physical strike to the chest.
“Hiratsuka-sensei.”
The gentle, girlish voice brushed against her ear, every syllable airy and sweet.
Shizuka’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the plastic handles of her shopping bag.
“You…
step back a little.”
“Sensei, you were standing much closer to me just a moment ago.”
“That’s completely different!
I was—”
“Threatening me?”
The words died in Shizuka’s throat.
Tōhō tilted his head, a soft, amused light in his eyes.
“Sensei, that little trick of yours might work wonders on Yukinoshita.
But on me?”
His gaze drifted past her shoulder, landing deliberately on the drugstore bag she was trying to hide.
He let the silence hang for a single, agonizing beat.
“Because someone who would go out of her way to thank me, and even carry her new face cream around just to do it…”
Shizuka desperately shoved the bag completely behind her back.
Too late.
Tōhō smiled.
It carried zero aggression, yet possessed maximum lethality.
“…Isn’t really suited for playing the villain, is she?”
A furious, violent blush ignited at the base of Shizuka’s neck, rapidly crawling up her skin until her entire face was burning.
She wanted to snap back.
She had a hundred different retorts locked and loaded in her brain.
She was the most eloquent, sharp-tongued educator at Sobu High.
She handled delinquents, contrarians, and absolute menaces on a daily basis without ever losing a verbal spar.
But right now, her brain was reduced to static.
It wasn’t that his logic was flawless.
It was the angle.
The suffocating distance.
That impossibly beautiful face blocking every single one of her escape routes.
The dignified, fearsome student affairs director, Shizuka Hiratsuka, a mature woman in her early thirties, was blushing uncontrollably in front of her own student.
Tōhō didn’t press his advantage.
He gracefully took a step back, allowing the stagnant air to circulate between them once more.
Shizuka finally choked out the breath that had been trapped in her lungs.
“Tōhō…
you’re changing the subject.”
“Not at all.
I’m being entirely serious.”
Tōhō let his eyes sweep over her flustered form, his expression softening.
“Hiratsuka-sensei.”
His voice dropped to its lowest, gentlest register, so soft it sounded exactly like someone coaxing a stubborn child.
“Instead of stressing over the Service Club’s progress, why don’t you take that face cream out of the bag first?”
He offered a warm, flawless smile.
“I’ll teach you exactly how to apply it, okay?”
[Akarin’s Note:
Enjoying the story?