Thousands of Years Ago
(?'s POV)
The world had ended. Or at least, it did for him
They were celebrating their victory, they had just defeated Gecko Moria, just defeated another Warlord of the Sea
And then, that man appeared and everything turned to shit
Eaten by a silence so deep it felt like a physical weight on Luffy's eardrums.
The air was dead, tasting of ozone and something else, something he didn't dare to smell, but he needed to breath.
And so, his nose filled with the smell of blood. The blood of his friends. Of his Nakama
His crew was scattered around him like broken toys discarded by a careless baby
His eyes, wide with a horror he'd never known, scanned the devastation, each face a fresh punch to his gut.
Zoro was on his knees, his form not falling forward just by his sheer will.
His swords, his pride, were broken into pieces right in front of him. No, not even pieces remained
Where the legendary Wado Ichimonji had been was nothing but a faint shimmer in the air, only an empty handle with nothing else, just being held on a hand that refused to let go. His other two swords just as empty, thrown to his sides. His muscular arms were bent into shapes that made even Luffy's own rubbery flesh ache. And a big hole on where his heart should be, oozing blood al around him.
Sanji lay in a crater. One leg was bend to the side, revealing its shattered bone and torn fabric, bent backwards in a way that was utterly wrong. The other leg was torn from his body, laying in a bloody heap right beside him
Nami was curled in a fetal position around the shattered remains of her Clima-Tact. The delicate instruments were now just glittering junk. Her orange hair was splayed around her head with hints of blood all around it. Her eyes, oh, her eyes were open and empty, frozen mid-sob. From her forehead, a hole the shape of a coin that moved to the other side of her head.
Usopp was a statue of pure terror. He hadn't even managed to raise his slingshot. It was splintered into pieced right in from of him, stabbing the wood into his chest and face. He was slumped against a shattered tree, his long nose almost touching his knees, his whole body locked in an arc towards the ground. His goggles were cracked, and behind them, his eyes were wide with a fear
Chopper was a small, furry heap in his Brain Point. He was fine one moment, and the next he started SCREAMING, his little hooves clutching his head as he started sweating and crying. He was the first one to fall. His whole body trembled even before HE arrived. Like his instincts told him that something was coming, and there was no escape. Then, like a way to save its own life from suffering, his body just shut down. Nobody knew what to do.
Franky's cyborg form was bend all over, his metal carcass showing from all direction. His proud chest plate was sheared in two, revealing sparking, dead wires. One of his powerful arms was completely severed, lying several feet away, fingers still curled into a fist. His blue hair was riped off his head and throw no far from him
Brook…he looked like a jigsaw puzzle. His bones were broken into pieces, laying around in the ground. His skull was placed neatly a few feet from his ribcage. His limbs were lined up beside his torso. The worst part was the faint, trembling vibration of his jaw bone, a silent, endless scream from a soul that could not die, could not move, signifying that even after being so utterly broken, he was still alive in the pieces that were his bones
The Marine that caused all of this stood in the midst of it all. An Admiral, according to Robin. His white coat was pristine, untouched by dirt, sweat, or any sort of indication that he would've been in a battle.
The only showing, the blood of his knuckles that wasn't even his
He had platinum-white hair and crimson eyes, behind a pair of glasses. His eyes seemed to regard them as less than nothing
Luffy's chest heaved as hard as it could. Each breath hurt. The sight of his Nakama, his world, shattered around him, was a pain worse than any poison, any punch. It was a wrongness that broke the universe.
"Y-You…!" The word was a raw, torn thing ripped from the very core of him. "My crew…!"
The Admiral's gaze shifted to him. His expression not changing even a little
"It is… unfortunate." The voice was calm and measured. It was the most terrifying sound Luffy had ever heard. "You have a good crew. Their bonds are strong. A rare and precious thing in any era. I have seen it before."
Luffy could only stare, the heat in his chest a boiling. He was waiting for this man to attack as well, bu he isn't
The man's words were just noises for him. Why wasn't he fighting? Why was he talking?
"That is why this is such a waste. A truly… unfortunate outcome." The Marine's head tilted. A small, almost delicate motion "In another sea, under another sun, I stood beside you on the Thousand Sunny. I watched you become the King of the Pirates. The parties were… lively. The navigator's laughter was particularly infectious when she wasn't worrying about berries, the archaeologist… her smile was a worthy treasure to fight for"
Luffy stared, his brain struggling. The words made shapes in the air, but they didn't make sense. Another sea? Another sun? He was the King of the Pirates?
"In another," the man continued, his voice never changing its flat, weary tone, "I led a rival crew. We clashed at the summit of the world. It was a magnificent battle. You almost won"
Luffy just blinked. The words were just noises. They were big, complicated words that meant nothing to him. All he felt was the cold ground under his knees, the ache in his body, and the terrifying stillness of his friends. All he heard was a crazy man saying crazy, boring things that had nothing to do with right now.
The confusion curdled into pure, undiluted rage.
The only thing that cut through the confusion was a sharp, hot spike of protectiveness.
"SHUT UP!" Luffy roared, the sound tearing from his throat, raw and desperate. "JUST SHUT UP! I DON'T GET IT! I DON'T CARE! YOU HURT MY FRIENDS!"
He launched himself forward, every ounce of his will, his love, his rage, his very soul poured into a final, desperate, Jet Gatling.
A storm of fists to protect what was his
To defy this monster
But then
They just… stopped.
A full foot from the Marine's impassive face.
The air itself crystallized and shattered silently around his rubber arms, buzzing with a nullifying energy.
The wrongness emanating from the man's hand was an absolute wall. A full-stop to all motion, all hope, all force.
The Admiral's eyes held his. No anger. No hate. No annoyance. Just deep understanding, and perhaps a flicker of something that looked almost like pity.
"I know," the man said, and it sounded less like a taunt and more like a genuine, weary apology for the inevitable. "But unfortunately for you, in this timeline, I chose the white coat. The sea of possibilities is vast, but a man can only sail one course at a time. He must choose his purpose and see it through, no matter the personal cost. My orders from the Gorosei are to end the Great Pirate Era, root and stem. And that includes you and your friends."
His hand moved. A tiny, almost lazy flick of his wrist. A motion so insignificant it was an insult in itself.
There was no impact. No pain.
But everything just… shut off.
The fire in his belly. The strength in his arms. The will to stand. The very idea of defiance. It all just… turned off. Like a switch had been flipped in the core of his being.
His legs were water.
His bones turned to sand. He crumpled, his face smashing into the cold, unforgiving ground.
The world grew dark and fuzzy at the edges, closing in like a long tunnel. He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't even blink.
He could only watch, a helpless prisoner inside his own useless, broken body.
"Such a waste of a good crew," He heard the man murmured, his voice already fading as his consciousness faded away. "Such a tedious, unfortunate path this one is for this version of you"
Then, a different sound. A struggle. A woman's grunt of effort, cut short.
"Secure Straw Hat and the Devil Child" he commanded to the surrounding Marines who had been too terrified to even approach during the confrontation. "The rest… dispose of them."
He turned and walked away, not looking back at the carnage, his white coat a stark, funereal banner in the gloom. For him, it was just another tedious mission completed.
Then, nothing.
-------------------------
(Present)
(Hiratsuka Shizuka's POV)
The faint, lingering warmth of Saturday night felt like a distant dream, a pleasant feeling in the otherwise predictable quiet of her weekend
Sunday evening found Shizuka in her apartment, the faint smell of cigarette smoke and takeout containers she had grown accustomed to. Even though that night she didn't feel like smoking at all, her mind wandering thoughtlessly
She stared at the lesson plan for Monday, but her focus was elsewhere.
Her thoughts kept circling back to him. Yoshioka Akira
He'd shared a moment with her that left her thinking about it for the whole evening. She had his this close, but decided not to rush things.
It was the first real interaction she has had with a man, outside of family and obligatory social gatherings. And it felt actually nice.
He was quiet, yet his presence by her side was comforting.
Now arriving to her lonely home, maybe she should have been more aggresive
With a frustrated sigh, she stubbed out the lone cigarette on her hand. The "decorous woman" act in school was exhausting. There have been many a time were she just wanted to punch a student or light a cigarette mid-class
But she held back, first because it was illegal to punch a student, without counting that many of them had important families on their backing and she could get in trouble with them. And the latter was because.... well, it was also illegal to smoke in a non-smoking area
But well, tomorrow... it was back to business. Her resolve was firm. She would be "persistent." She would find a way to pick that lock and get into his heart (And pants)
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. A message from her friend, the one who'd taught her to be wary of men.
{Haruno: Heard you had a drink with the new silver-haired sensei on Saturday night. Well? How was the fresh blood?}
Shizuka snorted. Fresh blood. If only she knew.
{Shizuka: It was… quiet. He likes tea, doesn't like the taste of alcohol apparently, other than that, he seems to be pretty normal}
{Haruno: Tea?! At a bar? How boring. Is he even that good-looking up close?}
Shizuka's fingers hesitated over the screen. Good-looking? That was a laughable understatement.
To say the man himself was handsome would be down-selling him, she wouldn't be surprised if he was scouted once or twice a day for any sort of brand. He would be easily top 1 in any top model contest.
{Shizuka: He's… quite good-looking. Gotta go. Papers to grade}
She put the phone down, face first
Good-looking. That was one word for him
And knowing Haruno, is she got more into the topic, it would've picked her interest and made her go for him too
Fuck her, he is mine
Her gaze drifted back to the window, looking out over the city lights from her apartment
Somewhere out there, he was probably doing the exact same thing: sitting in a quiet room, reading a book, perhaps listening to the sound of some obscure classic music
The thought was both absurd and, she was increasingly certain, he looked like the type
Monday promised to be far more interesting than her lesson plans suggested
----------------------------
(Next Morning)
The energy of a Monday morning was a unique creature. It usually hit everyone equally with the sagginess of having rested on a Sunday, or in case with the more out-going students, having partied or hanged-out together, which of course requires more energy
The collective groan of students, the rustle of uniforms, the scent of floor polish from the cleaning done on the weekend. And today, as has been for the last three months, was a new current running beneath it all.
Shizuka felt it the moment she stepped into the main building.
A certain… buzz. It centred near the staff room, a subtle ripple of excitement and whispered chatter, predominantly from the female student body.
She didn't need to guess the source. It has been going for four months now
By the side, walking in the direction of his classroom, observing the scene with his customary look of profound disdain, was Higikaya Hachiman
His dark eyes tracked the flow of students with the weary fish-eyes he always carries. A hint of disdain behind them fairly obvious as he stared to something
Shizuka followed his gaze.
And there he was. Yoshioka Akira in all his splendor, walking towards his classroom, his bag by his side. He moved with that economy of motion across the hallway, a shark cutting through a sea of minnows. And the minnows were certainly reacting.
A group of first-year girls from the volleyball team pretended to tie their shoes just a little too slowly as he passed, their giggles stifled the moment his form moved pass them.
Another pair took discreet pictures of Akira whil giggling to themselves
A trio of girls from his classroom, who Shizuka recognized as being particularly dedicated to the latest trends, were huddled together, their eyes wide as they whispered fervently.
"...no, but his hair... it's like, actual platinum..."
"...do you think he models on the weekends? He has to, right? No way a man as handsome like him isn't making money on the side"
"Yeah, but which magazine would he work with?"
"I don't know, I'll have to check to see if he appears in any"
"...I heard he's from some super prestigious university abroad..."
Their speculation was a going on and on like always. Going from normal to high-speculation, some saying he is even a sort of yokai that seduces young women to steal their souls
What is jaring, is that a couple of them said they wouldn't mind
Looking at how the fish-eyed boy stared at Akira, Shizuka could already get an idea of how Hachiman's monologue internal monologue was going as he watched the event 'The mating rituals of the common high school student are a pathetic display. The appearance of a new alpha specimen, in this case a genetically superior male teacher, causes immediate disruption in the herd. The females engage in preening and proximity-based signalling, hoping to be chosen, while the males either puff out their chests in a futile display of competition or, like me, observe from a safe distance, understanding the sheer pointlessness of it all.'
Yoshioka Akira, for his part, seemed utterly oblivious. Or knew, but didn't really care, with him is impossible to know what is going on inside his mind.
He acknowledged no one, his crimson eyes just staring forward, just stopping for a slight greeting or a bow
He didn't revel in the attention, he simply ignored as if it were air
That makes her thoughts that he was someone famous or accustomed to fame more prominent, but she can't prove it
He reached his classroom door and paused, his hand on the handle.
For a single, fleeting moment, his gaze swept down the hall. It passed over the giggling girls, over some of the boys that seemed to glare at the Sensei for stealing the gaze of the female population, and his eyes landed on hers across the hallway
He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, his head bobbing slightly as he stared at her
She nodded back smiling slightly
Then he disappeared into his classroom, leaving the usual wake of whispers and speculation that surrounded him
One would think that by four months people would already get accustomed to his presence, but she was proven wrong, as every day lovestruck teenage girls find something new to talk about him
Hachiman, from his spot, let out a quiet, disgusted snort. He had seen the entire exchange, including the look between the teachers.
His expression said it all: Another Monday, another series of useless social interactions
Shizuka felt a smile tug at her lips.
They all keep wondering and wondering about the white-haired teacher. But she was the only one who knew even just a little bit more that the rest
And that made her slightly giggly
She walked back to her own homeroom class.
The bell rang, signalling the start of classes. Let's get this day over with
---------------------------------------------------
(Hikigaya Hachiman's POV)
Monday mornings are a testament to human misery, a shared delusion that they can simply reset our will to live after almost days of blessed rest. But he knows the truth, no one should be forced to wake up on a monday
The classroom as every Monday that has passed filled stifled yawns, the frantic scratching of last-minute homework done by those terminal procastinator, and the low hum of existential dread that filled the mind of most teenagers by this age
Most of the conversations around where focused on two topics, what they did the weekend, or if they were together talking about their funny and enjoyable experiences
And of course, there was a new note in this orchestra of social politcs: a faint, almost electric buzz of anticipation.
The cause was now standing at the front of the room
Yoshioka-sensei. The new literature teacher that arrived just a couple of months before
The guy who looked less like an educator and more like a fallen angel forced to teach literature as a form of celestial punishment. Not said by him of course, said by the lovestuck JKs around him, and who knows what else their lovestruck mind have managed to generate
The female half of the class was, to put it bluntly, insufferable. As did the rest of the female population in the school, including, for what he has seen, a couple of teachers and staff
Even though the class was, if anything, boring for most the population, after all, who wants to reach Philosophy or any kind of text at this day and age, when most students would prefer their time spend on looking at the internet or recording videos themselves for internet cloud.
Some are pretty funny, actually, not that he would ever admit in life that he has watched a couple of them. He is a teenager as well, don't judge him
But even so, he has seen how the students that do the bare minimum of studying to keep themselves in school get a lot more attentive when the white-haired teacher is standing in the middle of the classroom
Maybe is his voice, that he would admit, even as a straight young male, is very deep and appealing. Like those deep voices he has heard from some actors in some Western movies
Even Yuigahama, who he knows has the academical interest of a ADHD toddler, was practically vibrating in her seat, her smiles a little brighter. She probably doesn't really grasp the classes taught, possibly just enjoys seeing the handsome teacher talk in his low baritone voice about deep topics, just like the many other hormonal teenagers beside her
Even the usually apathetic girls were sitting a little straighter. It was disgusting.
Was a sharp jawline and weirdly colored hair really all it took to override years of ingrained academic apathy? 'Of course it is' The cynical part of his mind supplied. 'In the economy of high school social status, genetic luck is the highest currency. His lesson plan probably just says 'Stand there and look pretty' and he'd still get a full salary'
But the teacher didn't just stand there. He moved to the board
He picked up a piece of chalk, and the room seemed to get quieter. After the morning greeting, he spend a couple of minutes picking up his material from his bag and pulled out a couple of notebooks
They were already expecting another class of Literature and philosophical questioning that is apparently his Modus Operandi
"Open your texts to page 84" His voice was a low, calm baritone that seemed to absorb sound rather than create it. "William Blake. 'The Tyger.'"
A few obligatory page flips followed. Those were the books that the teacher managed to include into their academic syllabus
How did he do that?
He doesn't know, but some of the books he uses are completely in English, but somehow the classes he taught have improved the english level of their school, now even the most ignorant of the students could hold a conversation with a foreigner, albeit in a broken english.
But still, it was surprising nonetheles. And even if they didn't understand completely, some books using ancient forms of the language, the teacher takes his time to give them the full translation of the topic.
Then Yoshioka-sensei started his class
He didn't begin with a boring biography or a tedious vocabulary list. They already went past that a couple of weeks away
Instead, he turned to the board and began to write.
His handwriting wasn't the messy scrawl of most teachers. It was precise, elegant, and utterly consistent, each curve written in perfect cursive. He first wrote it in English then wrote below it the translatation in Japanese
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
It read
"William Blake was a visionary, he had a special way of seeing the world" Yoshioka-sensei began, not looking at them but instead looking at the book in his hand while playing with the chalk on his other hand "As you already know by the poems we have read before, He saw the architecture of creation and made a mythology of it. The symmetry of innocence and experience"
He finished the stanza and turned. Those crimson eyes behind his glasses swept over the room
"He doesn't refer to a "Tiger" in the literal sense, but a being he calls the "Tyger". And it is not just an animal, he is refering to something else entirely" He continued, his voice filling every corner of the room. "It is a question. A question made for such a being, a very powerful being he sees in creation 'What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?'"
He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"What does that mean, 'fearful symmetry'?" He asked the class "Could you answer, Tobe-san?"
Tobe, the class clown, predictably, mumbled a little before sitting straight, he was probably just falling asleep in his desk "Uh, 'cause it's, like, balanced? But scary?"
A few snickers rippled through the room. Yoshioka-sensei didn't smile, but he gave a single, slow nod. "The would be the literal meaning, but not quite. It is perfection that inspires terror. Not imperfection. The tyger he writes about is perfectly, beautifully his own existence. A predator. Its beauty is in its absolute function. Its symmetry is its deadliness. "
The snickers died down and then he continued,
"Blake is asking who could create such a thing" Sensei went on, walking around the classroom with his book in hand "A being of such power that it could conceive of both the lamb and the tiger, and see the necessary, terrible beauty in both, something many of you have seen already, more in this school ambient. Tell me, if there is someone being bullied then there must be a bully right. Then who created them both the prey and the preyed? Who decided their roles?"
His eyes flicked back to them, and for a split second, Hachiman saw it.
Some of the students that were in the higher caste shifted slightly, others that he knew where in some sort of subtly bullying circle looked to other way
Feeling called out now, huh?
He remember that there was a girl that was harassed slightly for something, he doesn't know what and he wasn't interedted in the slightest
Of course, he remembers how everyone reacted when Yoshioka-sensei intersected and stopped that, becoming even more famous, even to the girls that were part of the bullying circle.
But still, being called out like that, specially in class, and specially, by the popular teacher would be a deep wound for their pride and ego.
"The poem is not about the answer," He concluded, turning back to the board to write the final, famous lines "It is about the courage to ask the question. To stare into the burning eyes of the terrifying and magnificent being and demand to know its origin. Standing up to a superior, and ask him who put him in there"
When he finished writting, he placed the chalk back into the board's stand and turned to the classroom
"Any comments?"
The classroom stayed quiet for a moment. Yukinoshita was the first to break the silence. "A fascinating interpretation, Sensei" Her voice carried a note of genuine interest. As he has seen before, Yukinoshita is quite knowledgelable in literature, often reading books alone in class while most spend their recess in their social groups "So you are saying the book is about standing up to our superiors?
Yoshioka-sensei's eyes met hers.
"I speak only of what Blake wrote, Yukinoshita-san. Whatever you think is open to your own interpretation, but indeed, it could be seem that way" He said, and then he continued.
He turned the page on his book again and turned into another segment
"Blake then published 'Songs of Innocence and Experience' as complementary opposites," Yoshioka-sensei stated. The students instantly looked at their own books, looking for the mentionated poem "To understand the terror of the tiger, one must first know the peace of the lamb, otherwise, how could the lamb know it is a lamb?"
He wrote on the board again, the chalk making a soft, precise click with every letter.
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
"The question is the same" Sensei noted, his crimson eyes scanning their faces. "But the tone, the context, changes everything. The lamb does not inspire fear. It invites tenderness. The same creator, two different creations. Two necessary halves of a whole. This time it does not require courage to ask this question, it requires tenderness"
He turned to the classroom
"One has to ask, who made the victim the victim? Who made the bullied the bullied?"
The class continued
Hachiman found his own pen moving, not copying notes verbatim, but jotting down fragments of the teacher's commentary ''Innocence is not ignorance. It is a state of grace before the fall into knowledge. Experience is not wisdom. It is the scar tissue that remains.' Who talked like that?'
An hour bled away. After talking a little bit more about the poems, the teacher then starting talking about the troubling imagery that surrounded the time the poem were written on.
Yoshioka-sensei guided them through "The Chimney Sweeper" poems, and it made a couple more of students pale
He spoke about the soot-covered children he is grateful he doesn't have to live.
Looking at the historical situation of the books he speaks about, he is actually grateful of the house he has and the food on the table, hearing their teacher talk about a dark past of child-labor.
He never offered easy answers. He only asked more questions, his voice a steady, relentless probe at their minds.
"I do remember, seeing a documentary of children working as chimney sweepers with their fathers, in times where chimney sweeting was a job, nowadays most homes do not have a chimney, they have calefaction. Still, it showed a three-year old working, covered in soot and dirt, all to bring food to the table, alondside his father. Children like him, died young of lung cancer"
Suddenly, the chocolate pastry he bought yesterday that was a little expensive, started churning in his stomach. He turned around, and saw some of the students even paling, probably thinking about their own unnecessary expenses done with daddy or mommy's money
"Consider the social commentary" He said, gesturing to the lines on the board "But then consider the deeper metaphor. Is the chimney a physical place? Or is it the narrow, dark passage one is forced into by life? The 'coffins of black', are they literal? Or the constraints of a society that consumes its young?"
The class, for once, was too captivated to even look at the clock. This usual social commentary, tragedy and even a little snuff brought attention to their minds.
More specially, because he can guess a couple of those hit close at home
Yoshioka-sensei's usual method was brutal, but efficient. He would quote a line on a poem, then dissect it with surgical precision in for them to understand it, and compare it to their actual lives.
"'And by came an Angel who had a bright key'" He paused, letting the hopeful image settle. "A bright key. To unlock what? Freedom? Or simply a different cage? Is the angel a saviour, or another authority figure offering a conditional escape?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He simply moved on, layering interpretation upon interpretation until the simple poem felt even heavier
"I would say, many have happened in the actual day. Young girls that feel trapped in their families, until a "Knight in shinning armour" appears to "Release" them from their cage, only to end up in another cage all together. That could be one of the reason passion crimes are in the rise in our times. Sweep by the idea of an "Ideal Love" young women get enchanted by smiles and a face, only to end up in an abusive relationship"
'Does that apply to you, Sensei' His intrusive thought added
The final poem he brought them to was "London."
I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.
"Mark the repetition. 'Charter'd'. Meaning mapped, controlled, or owned" Sensei's voice took on a darker, flatter tone. "Blake walks through the city. Looking at the influential institutions of the time, the Church, the Buckingham Palace, the Military, and he doesn't see progress. He sees 'mind-forg'd manacles'. The chains people make for themselves in their own heads. The curses they inherit and then willingly pass on. "Follow because I follow" or "Do because I did" as well"
He turned from the board, his gaze sweeping over them.
"Every face he meets, he sees a mark of weakness, a mark of woe. Not because he is cynical" A faint, almost imperceptible dryness entered his tone "But because he is observant. He is listening to the cries of the people and hearing how they have internalized their own oppression. The infant's cry of fear, the soldier's sigh, the youthful harlot's curse, they are all part of the same song. A song of a society chaining itself"
The bell for the end of the period was shockingly loud, a violent intrusion into the world of bleak, their teacher had made. Yoshioka-sensei placed the chalk down neatly on the tray.
"For your consideration" He said, his voice returning to its default, neutral state, the brief glimpse of dark intensity gone as if it had never been. "Are you lambs, tigers, chimney sweeps, or Londoners? Or are you the immortal hand that fears what it has created? Class dismissed"
"Stand" The class-rep ordered, and every one did so "Bow"
After the bow, Yoshioka-sensei gathered his papers and left, leaving them alone in the classroom. The usual groups starting chatting between themselves, talking whatnots
Hachiman slowly closed his notebook.
His hand was slightly cramped from writing, as always this is one of the classes that make both his mind and hand hurt. Two hours had vanished but it felt like an entire day
Across the room, he could Yukinoshita was still staring at the door through which the teacher had exited, her expression unreadable.
He could a couple of the rich kids in the classroom staring at their expensive phones. Even Miura stared at her nails, which were probably expensive to get done
'Well, I guess that is all for today' Hachiman thought, the chill from earlier returning 'I will make sure to hug Komachi when I get home if she allows it of course'
Also, he will probably start saving money instead of shamefully wasting it
---------------------------
(Later That Day)
(Hiratsuka Shizuka's POV
The door to the staff room clicked shut behind her, sealing out the distant roar of after-school club activities
She released a sigh as her gaze sweep through the room
Many of the teacher done with the classes decided to use the time to finish as much work as possible so they don't have to take any home. Other of course, were busy with as club-managers.
How unlucky for them
And then, there was him.
Yoshioka Akira sat at his desk, as always, even in a causal posture, he seemed to be posing for a magazine or something like that
The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, painting bars of gold across the stacks of essays waiting to be graded
He wasn't working on them. His chair was turned slightly toward the window, a half-empty cup of tea cooling by his elbow.
His crimson gaze was fixed on something beyond the glass, something in the middle distance only he could see.
As always he looked thoughtful, yet she could never figure out what was on his mind
This was the utter stillness of a soldier after a brutal campaign, the thousand-yard stare she'd only ever seen in gritty war documentaries and some edgy light novel protagonist
A wild, ridiculous theory, born from too many late nights with cheap whiskey and even cheaper light novels, clicked into place in Shizuka's mind.
It was absurd, the kind of trope she'd mock in one of her students' books… but it fit.
His strength, his calm attitude. The way he moved without sound. The chilling calm in the face of a stuck jar lid that should have required effort.
The way he seemed to be interested in dark literature. It would have been just an edgy attitude, but the way he spoke, in addition to his voice, made her think he had a way of convicing people.
'Oh, gods' she thought, her grip tightening on her bag. 'He's not just some mysterious businessman or famous artist with a tragic past. That's the boring, adult explanation'
This was something else entirely.
She could actually imagine him standing with a knife in hand and a corpse on the ground, his shinning red eyes staring at the dead body with apathy
That would explain his handsome appeareace, he was a protagonist from some dark anime, the retired assassin, the mercenary who traded his rifle for a grade book, the experimental soldier who'd escaped his creators and was now hiding in the last place anyone would look: a suburban high school
It was the most insane thing she'd ever considered.
And yet, looking at him now, it felt more plausible than him being a young adult who'd had a mid-life crisis
If she learned something from her friendship with Haruno, is to read people, And no amount of corporate drudgery carved that specific kind of light into a person's eyes. She has seem that before in the faces of a couple of old familiar that fought in World War II.
Her earlier curiosity, which had burned so brightly in the bar, now felt like a dangerous game.
She wasn't just prying into the life of a reserved colleague
She was potentially tipping over a rock and finding something… lethal hiding underneath.
She pushed the hysterical thought down. This was real life, not a paperback thriller.
But the image stuck, colouring her perception.
'That is to say he wouldn't NOT look sexy in military fatigues and covered in grime'
The image painted on her head just made him look more alluring.
'Nope, we are in school, keep your thoughts to PG-13 Shizuka, wait until you get home' She told herself
She walked to the coffee machine, her movements calm, yet her traitorous mind wandering to the image of the teacher in green camouflage fatigues
She poured two cups, black.
She crossed the room and placed one quietly on the corner of his desk, within his line of sight but not intruding on his space. With that image of him on her mind, she kind of got a little hot under the shirt, so she decided to try and avert his gaze as much as possible
He didn't startle. He rotated his chair slightly towards her direction and picked up the coffee, then placed it beside his own cup of tea staring at it
Shizuka leaned against the adjacent desk, cradling her own cup and decided to talk about his class of today that keep everyone talking, some even called home and thanked their parents for the life they have "They looked like you had shown them a new way of life" She said, keeping her voice light "Most of the campaigns of appreciation we made for them were just ignored, you know most of the kids around here are just spoiled brats but you manage to make them consider how lucky they are, good job with that"
A breath, almost a sigh, escaped him. "Well, most would think life is easy because they live easy right now, not knowing how hard it can get when everything does not go their way. In different circumstances, they would be struggling"
"And what's your state?" The question was out, softer than she'd intended, a genuine probe wrapped in concern
His head turned. Just a few degrees. Those crimson eyes finally left the cup in his hands and landed on her.
There was no offense in his gaze. No defensiveness. Just that same measured neutrality, now tinged with a faint, surprising trace of… appreciation for the directness of the question?
"Well, now probably most students will think I had a troubled past" He said, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "I have the feeling this will be a long week"
"I'll say" She took a sip "And so, did you?"
"I could say my infancy and teenage years were troubled, but I am sure the students will come with more convoluted stories"
"Yeah, they probably will"
He reached for the coffee.
He took a sip. Nodded once. A silent thank you.
Shizuka smiled into her own cup, her mind racing. The mystery had just deepened into something terrifying and thrilling. She had her answer, and it was infinitely more complicated than she'd imagined
That of course didn't stop her curiosity. Already running hundreds of scenarios on her head
A lighthouse keeper who knew every shade of darkness.
And against all better judgment, the part of her that loved a good story, the part that was tired of her own predictable nature of her days, thought that she wouldn't mind a little drama, if it meant keeping have him as her company