Chapter 46: The Cost of Distraction
The city lights blinked like a thousand restless eyes as Naoya, Shun, and Haruki made their way through the crowded streets of downtown Tokyo. The air was thick with weekend energy—bright signage, rumbling cars, laughter spilling from alleyways. But the boys didn't laugh. Not really.
Naoya's jaw was tight as he led the group. His blazer was gone, replaced with a designer jacket that did little to hide the exhaustion around his eyes. Shun walked beside him with his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders slouched. Haruki trailed behind with his hood up and earbuds dangling, but no music played.
"So, we're really doing this?" Haruki finally muttered.
Naoya didn't stop walking. "We need to blow off steam."
"I thought you hated clubs," Shun said. "You said they were full of idiots."
"They are," Naoya replied. "But right now, I need loud music and no one asking me about school."
"Amen to that," Shun muttered.
Their footsteps echoed into the entrance of a high-end club tucked behind a row of restaurants. The bouncer looked up as they approached but, recognizing Naoya, gave a nod and waved them in. No questions asked.
They passed through dark velvet curtains and were immediately swept into the embrace of bass-heavy music and flashing lights. A hostess appeared almost instantly, smiling brightly.
"Tanigawa-sama, your usual private room?"
Naoya nodded.
"Right this way."
They were led upstairs, away from the main dance floor, to a glass-enclosed VIP room with a wide leather couch and a stocked minibar. Once the door closed behind them, the chaos of the club became a dull throb.
Shun flopped onto the couch, grabbing a bottle of soda spiked with something definitely not age-appropriate. "So," he exhaled, popping the cap. "How screwed are we?"
Naoya sat opposite, leaning back and stretching his legs. "Depends. If the principal gets busy, he might forget about today."
"You think Ms. Nakamura's gonna let it drop?" Haruki asked.
Naoya scoffed. "She played us. She wanted to be seen. That smile, that wink... she baited us, and we fell for it."
"She's not normal," Shun said, voice low. "Something's off about her."
"No shit," Haruki added. "She had that kid wrapped around her finger. He looked ready to take a bullet for her."
The room fell into quiet for a moment. Bottles clinked. The thrum of the club beneath them pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Then—
The door opened.
A woman stumbled in, giggling, a drink in hand. She was maybe in her twenties, too much makeup and too little balance. Her heels clicked unevenly as she wandered toward the couch.
"Oops! Wrong room?" she giggled. "Or maybe... right one?"
Shun sat up, eyeing her with amusement. "Looks like our night just got interesting."
She sauntered forward, her steps exaggerated and tipsy. "You boys look like you know how to have fun."
Naoya smirked, relaxing into his seat. "We do. Depends on the company."
She plopped down beside him, letting her hand graze his shoulder. "What's your name, handsome?"
"Naoya," he said, giving a slight shrug but not pulling away.
"I like that. Rolls off the tongue."
Shun leaned forward, grabbing a drink and grinning. "You planning to keep flirting or you gonna show us your best dance move first?"
The woman giggled. "Why not both?"
Haruki, for once, cracked a smile. "Guess we're not the only ones sneaking in underage."
"Oh honey," she said, her voice thick with mock innocence, "you want to talk rules or you want to break 'em?"
She twirled a lock of her hair and then leaned in closer. "I can be yours for the night. How much are you willing to pay?"
The air shifted.
Naoya stiffened. Shun's grin disappeared. Haruki froze.
"What?" Shun said, his voice cracking.
"You heard me," she purred. "You boys look like money."
The shift in her tone sent a chill down Naoya's spine. He sat upright slowly, all humor drained from his face.
"What did you say?" he asked, his voice sharp.
"I said," she leaned in with a provocative smile, "I can be yours for the night. How much are you willing to pay?"
The moment turned cold.
Naoya bolted up. "Get out."
"You don't want to have fun?" she asked, pouting. "I thought we were getting along."
Shun grabbed his jacket. "We need to go. Now."
Haruki was already at the door. "She's a pro. Authorities catch wind—"
"We're dead," Naoya finished.
They threw open the door and slipped into the hallway, but the woman wasn't done. She stepped into the doorway, eyes following them.
"HEY! Don't forget to pay!" she shouted.
The words echoed. People turned. Heads snapped toward the trio fleeing down the staircase.
"Hey, aren't those kids?!"
"What's going on?!"
The whispers multiplied. Phone cameras rose.
Panic overtook reason. The boys ran.
Out into the street. Past the line of waiting patrons. Past the security guard who yelled something they didn't hear.
Only when they reached a dark alley did they finally stop, panting and pale.
"Did anyone record that?" Haruki gasped, glancing over his shoulder.
"Just keep your head down," Naoya snapped. "We need to get off the main roads."
Shun pressed against the wall, trying to catch his breath. "No one saw our faces clearly, right?"
"Don't talk. Move," Naoya growled.
They ducked into another narrow side street, taking every turn like fugitives. No talk of setup. No conspiracies.
Just one instinct now: don't get caught.
Above them, a camera blinked from across the street.
Recording.
Waiting.
Finally, in the shadow of a closed ramen shop, they stopped again. Naoya bent over, hands on his knees, his breath ragged.
Then he exploded.
"This is insane!" he shouted, punching the wall hard enough to scrape his knuckles. "Everything's falling apart! First the classroom, then the principal—and now this?!"
Shun looked up, startled by the outburst.
Naoya turned on them. "Do you know what kind of headlines that would've made? Tanigawa heir caught in a sex scandal! They would've buried me!"
Haruki stayed silent, his gaze low.
Naoya slammed his fist again, not at the wall this time, but into the air. "We were just trying to teach that kid a lesson! Now everyone thinks we're criminals."
Shun stepped forward cautiously. "Naoya... maybe we need to lay low for a bit."
Naoya whirled on him. "I don't lay low. I fix things. I erase problems."
The fury drained from him as quickly as it had surged. He collapsed against the wall, chest heaving. "We have to be smarter. No more mistakes."
—
The next morning, as the classroom buzzed before homeroom, Naoya stood at the front with Shun and Haruki flanking him like guards. The usual chatter faded as his voice sliced through the room.
"Listen up," Naoya said, arms crossed. "When the sub walks in—Nakamura—I want everyone to boo. Not just whisper. I want the entire room to let her know she's not welcome."
Some of the students exchanged uneasy glances.
"And when she starts teaching," Shun added, stepping forward, "I don't care what you do—sleep, draw, scroll on your phone—just don't listen. Make it clear we don't respect her."
"Anyone who doesn't play along," Naoya said coldly, "will have to deal with me after school."
The tension was palpable. A few students looked down at their desks. One even nodded with a nervous swallow.
Haruki, leaning on a chair, glanced at Naoya with a furrowed brow. "Do we really have to go this far?"
Naoya dropped into his seat with a scowl. "Ever since she showed up, everything's gone to hell. The classroom, the principal's office, the club—my life's been one giant mess."
Shun let out a dry laugh. "So your genius plan is classroom mutiny?"
Naoya threw him a glare but smirked faintly. "Hey, if she feels unwelcome enough, maybe she'll quit. At least I can dream."
Haruki shook his head, lips curling into a wry grin. "Next you'll be suggesting we start a petition."
"Not a bad idea," Shun added sarcastically. "'Down with the Substitute!' We could get matching shirts."
Naoya rolled his eyes. "Just stick to the plan, clowns. Boo, ignore, disrupt. Make her feel like she never belonged."
Haruki, still staring out the window, muttered under his breath, "And we're the ones failing literature."
Before the bell rang, Naoya nudged Shun, and the two of them casually made their way to Miho's desk at the back corner. Miho glanced up, immediately stiffening.
"Got a special task for you," Naoya said, voice low but cutting. He rested a hand on Miho's desk, looming. "When Nakamura starts teaching—math or whatever—she'll probably ask someone to come to the board. Volunteer."
Miho blinked. "M-me?"
Shun grinned, arms folded. "Yeah. You. Volunteer. Get up there like a good little student."
Naoya leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "And instead of solving the equation, I want you to tell her off. Loud. Make a scene. Curse if you want. The more awkward, the better."
Miho swallowed hard, his face pale. "I-I don't think I can—"
"Did I ask if you could?" Naoya snapped, the edge of his voice sharp enough to cut.
Shun's grin widened, but there was no humor behind it. "Come on, Miho. You've been so quiet lately—thought you'd want to prove you're not just a mouse in a corner. Just one little scene. Shake things up, yeah?"
Miho looked down at his trembling hands. He didn't respond.
Naoya straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his blazer. "You better not choke. It's just words. Easy."
With one last look, they turned and made their way back to the front.
Their banter faded into silence as the bell finally rang. Students quickly shuffled into their seats, a strange, rehearsed quiet falling over the room. The anticipation wasn't excitement—it was the weight of expectation, forced and brittle.
The classroom door opened.
Ms. Nakamura stepped in, her calm demeanor and collected steps a contrast to the thick, buzzing tension in the air. She placed her teaching materials gently on the desk and turned to face the class, her expression serene but observant.
"Good morning, everyone," she greeted, her voice steady and kind.
Silence.
A silence that wasn't simply quiet—it was pointed. Rehearsed. Heavy with intent.
She blinked once, the lack of response drawing a faint furrow between her brows. Normally, a few students would mumble back, maybe even smile. But today—nothing. Not a breath, not a shuffle. Just a row of rigid spines and averted gazes.
Her eyes swept the room, measured and slow, landing briefly on Miho. His shoulders flinched as if struck, and he immediately turned his face to the side, avoiding her gaze like it burned.
She said nothing. But her pause lingered a fraction too long.
Instead of reacting, Ms. Nakamura turned to the blackboard and began writing the day's topic in smooth, practiced strokes.
The chalk tapped softly as she outlined the subject. Behind her, students feigned disinterest with unnatural precision. Phones were slipped out in slow motion beneath desks. One boy exaggerated a yawn before laying his head down. A girl tapped idly at her pencil, eyes locked on the window.
A quiet rebellion, not of volume, but absence.
Ms. Nakamura paused at the board, her hand lingering mid-stroke. Her brow creased ever so slightly. The lack of participation wasn't simply unusual—it was coordinated. Her eyes briefly flicked to her reflection in the glass panel of the door, as if trying to confirm she was still herself.
Still, she continued. Her posture remained straight, her movements exact. Whatever unease she felt, she buried it beneath her composed exterior.
She explained the first mathematical formula with calm clarity, as if nothing were amiss. Her voice steady and even, her chalk looping over numbers and symbols. As she turned to address the room, the sound of digital beeping rang out from the front row.
Naoya and Shun were slouched in their seats, phones out, fingers tapping rapidly. Their games made chiptune pings and explosion sounds that cut through the classroom's silence like knives.
Ms. Nakamura turned slightly. "Gentlemen," she said with a soft smile, "let's save the games for after class, shall we?"
Naoya didn't even glance up. "I'm multitasking."
Shun chuckled and leaned over his desk. "I'm about to beat my high score. Don't wait up."
A few students giggled nervously, watching for Ms. Nakamura's reaction. She didn't frown. Didn't scold. She simply offered another calm smile and turned back to the board.
"Well, let's see if we can reach a new high score in understanding quadratic equations," she said lightly, continuing the lesson as if nothing had happened.
She turned back to the class and gestured toward the equation now written across the board.
"Would anyone like to solve this one? It's a good challenge—something to wake up the brain."
The class remained quiet. But in the back, a few snickers bubbled from the direction of Naoya and Shun, their eyes locked on Miho.
Miho's breath caught. His heart pounded in his ears.
"Anyone?" Ms. Nakamura prompted again, this time with hopeful brightness. Her gaze swept the room and lingered—just briefly—on Miho.
He swallowed hard, then slowly raised his hand.
A few students turned. Even Ms. Nakamura seemed slightly surprised, though she quickly covered it with a small, encouraging smile.
"Miho, thank you. Please come up."
He stood stiffly, each step to the front feeling like a climb up a cliff. His hands trembled slightly as he took the chalk from her.
Ms. Nakamura stepped aside. "Whenever you're ready."
Miho stared at the equation. The numbers blurred. His mind raced.
And then—
"Why don't you solve it yourself?!" Miho suddenly shouted.
Gasps rippled across the room.
"Maybe you like hearing yourself talk, but none of us care what you're saying!"
Ms. Nakamura blinked, caught entirely off guard.
Miho's voice cracked with a mix of fear and fury. "You think you can just walk in here and pretend like you belong? Like you're some hero? You're not!"
Silence.
Even Naoya looked stunned—for a moment.
And then the bell, distant and shrill, rang.
But no one moved.
The scene froze.
Ms. Nakamura's expression remained unreadable.
And Miho stood there, panting, eyes wide with what he'd just said.