(Sakura Hibiki's POV)
The Silverman Gym was buzzing with a different kind of energy today.
The usual clanging of weights and grunts of effort were replaced by the excited murmur of a crowd gathered around the central arm-wrestling table.
Coloured banners for the tournament hung from the rafters, and the promised cash prize was displayed prominently, inciting a competitive glint in many eyes.
Hibiki, however, was fuming, her hands on her hips as she scanned the bustling gym floor. "Unbelievable! How come none of you are participating?!"
Ayaka just said "No way, I already lost against you I'm not gonna to compete again knowing I won't win either way"
Tachibana-sensei just waved her hand "Yeah, no thanks"
Next to her, Machio sat on a bench, looking over a clipboard with a slightly puzzled expression. "Hmm, it seems there were even fewer sign-ups for the women's division than I anticipated."
Hibiki turned her fiery gaze on him. "What does that mean? How many are there?"
Machio looked up, his gentle eyes blinking. "Well... it looks like there are only two people registered for the women's division."
Hibiki's anger vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated shock. "T-Two?!" Her brain processed this information at lightning speed. "That means I'm basically in the finals right off the bat!"
Tachibana-sensei commented with an amused smile. "Now, now, Sakura-san. It just means you only have to win one match to win the entire tournament. That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"Of course it is!" Hibiki cheered, already picturing the cash in her hands.
Machio, however, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder about that..." He mused, before his voice boomed across the gym. "Okay, everyone! Let's hold the women's division finals right now!"
The crowd parted slightly as another girl made her way toward the table. Hibiki's confidence didn't waver until she got a good look at her opponent.
The girl was tall, with an athletic build that spoke of dedicated training. She had striking features, sharp blue eyes, and chin length white-hair.
She moved with a quiet, focused confidence that was entirely different from Hibiki's explosive energy.
She was no casual participant.
"This is Gina Boyd" Machio announced, reading from his clipboard. "Born in Russia. Currently attending Kremlin West High School. An orthodox arm wrestler who won fifth place at a national tournament in Moscow."
Tachibana-sensei let out a low whistle. "Oh my! She must be very experienced."
From behind them, Ayaka's quiet voice added, "She looks really strong..."
A third, flat voice spoke up from right beside them. "Hm"
Hibiki and Akemi turned instantly to see Yoshioka-sensei standing with his arms crossed and watching the proceedings with his usual detached expression
"Yoshioka-sensei!" Hibiki exclaimed. "Why are you just standing there? Aren't you competing in the men's division? You could totally win!"
He didn't even look at her, his crimson eyes fixed on Gina as she took her place at the table. "Why would I compete if I already know the outcome? Winning holds no challenge. Furthermore" He added "I am under no financial necessity."
The two girls beside him just hummed in unison, exchanging a knowing glance. They'd both seen enough of his impossible strength to know he wasn't boasting.
Machio's voice boomed again, silencing the crowd. "AND NOW! FOR THE WOMEN'S DIVISION FINAL! FROM THE SILVERMAN GYM... SAKURA HIBIKI!"
Hibiki pumped her fist in the air with a roar
"AND FROM MOSCOW'S SILVERMAN GYM... GINA BOYD!"
Gina slammed her elbow onto the pad, her expression grim and determined. "I won't lose" She declared, her voice heavily accented but fierce. "I need that money. No matter what it takes"
Hibiki's competitive smirk softened for a second. 'Oh?' she thought, a flicker of empathy crossing her mind. 'Maybe she has a really serious, heartfelt reason. Maybe she needs it for her family or something...'
Gina continued, her face dead serious. "I'm gonna have to cover my budget deficits coming from Russia to Japan. It was more expensive than I thought."
Hibiki's jaw went slack. "...A SURPRISINGLY BASIC REASON!" she shouted, all sympathy evaporating
Gina then glanced around the gym, a slight frown on her face. "There is really no one else competing?" Her eyes scanned the crowd and then stopped. They widened considerably as they landed on Yoshioka-sensei
She stiffened, and a rapid-fire string of stunned Russian escaped her lips. She leaned in close to Hibiki, her previous intensity replaced by wide-eyed curiosity, and whispered loudly "Who. Is. That. Handsome. Man?"
Hibiki sighed, planting her face in her palm. "Oh boy... here we go again."
"Alright, ladies!" Machio said, stepping between them as they positioned themselves at the table, their hands clasping. "Are you ready?"
Both girls nodded, their focus returning to the match. Gina's grip was like iron, her technique perfect.
"Okay then..." Machio, who had just taking his clothes and showed his sculptured physique, raised his hand "Readyyy... GO!"
CRACK.
The sound of fabric tearing was almost as loud as the sound of Gina's arm being slammed down onto the victory pad in a fraction of a second.
Silence.
Hibiki blinked, her arm still raised in victory.
She'd won. Instantly. She hadn't even felt a fraction of Gina's supposed strength.
Gina stared at her own defeated arm, her expression one of utter, complete shock and confusion.
The crowd was dead silent for a beat before erupting into cheers and stunned applause.
"Hibiki wins!" Machio announced, though he sounded as surprised as everyone else. And with a little bit of pride swelling in this muscular chest
Hibiki shot up from her seat, raising her arms in triumph. "YEAH! WHO'S THE CHAMP!? I'M THE— huh?"
She stopped mid-celebration, feeling a strange draft on her right arm. She looked down
The entire right sleeve of her sports t-shirt had split open from the shoulder seam, torn apart by the sudden, explosive contraction of her own muscles. The fabric hung limply, revealing her perfectly defined, and now very exposed, bicep and shoulder.
"Why don't you buy some clothes to change into before getting that home theatre system?" Ayaka commented watching Hibiki's state
"Huh?! Why did they rip?! I don't remember any of this okay!"
------------------------------
(Next Day - Morning)
(?'s POV)
The morning sun streamed into the classroom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
She rested her chin in her hand, her phone dark on her desk as she stared blankly at the chalkboard in front of the classroom
She didn't need to look to know the boys in the class were stealing glances, their eyes drawn to the prominent curve of her I-cups, straining against her uniform.
Normally, she'd feel a mix of annoyance and resigned acceptance.
Today, she just felt… absentminded
She sighed, the memory replaying in her mind for the hundredth time.
The stumble on the overcrossing, the panic, the two softest parts of her body making direct, crushing contact with a stranger's face.
Then, the dizzying fall, the impact softened not by the hard concrete, but by a firm, muscular body breaking her descent.
And then, him.
Standing up as if nothing had happened.
Brushing the dust off his clothes with a nonchalant calm.
Those deep, crimson eyes looking at her not with lechery, not with awe, not with the usual male reaction her body provoked, but with a detached, clinical assessment. 'Are YOU okay?' He was more concerned about her, the person who had just used him as a crash mat.
He had saved her, and then he had simply… left.
Vanished into the crowd before she could stammer out a thank you or ask for his name.
It was the most baffling interaction of her life.
Any other guy would have been elated, using it as a perfect excuse to ask for her number, or in the worst cases, suggest some kind of "repayment."
But him? Nothing.
She hadn't even registered as a woman in his eyes.
She'd been just an inconvenience, a small pebble in his path that he had efficiently evaded and then moved on from.
She thought about his platinum hair, his sharp features, his tall, powerful build that had so easily absorbed their combined fall.
Another sigh escaped her lips.
Suddenly, a pair of hands groped her from behind, squeezing her breasts with familiar audacity. "Boing!~ You seem really down today, Ai-chan! What's wrong?"
She jumped, swatting the hands away without even turning around. "Volley-bu-chan! Stop that! What are you doing?!"
Her friend, the ever-energetic volleyball player, leaned in with a grin. "Just trying to cheer you up! You've been sighing all morning. Man troubles?"
Before She could answer, a male student appeared at the classroom door, his face flushed red. "Uhm, Tawa-san? C-could you come out for a second?"
She suppressed another annoyed sigh.
She knew this script by heart.
With a nod to Volley-bu-chan, who immediately fell in step behind her with a gossip-hungry glint in her eye, she followed the boy.
The scene unfolded exactly as predicted.
At the top of a quiet stairwell, the boy poured his heart out in a stammering, sweaty-palmed confession.
She let him finish, then delivered her well-practiced, gentle but firm rejection. The boy's shoulders slumped, and he trudged away.
As they walked back to class, Volley-bu-chan nudged her. "You know; you've rejected every single guy in this school. So, what's your type, huh? What kind of guy does it for the unreachable Ai-chan?"
She was silent for a moment, the image of sharp crimson eyes and platinum hair flashing in her mind. "Someone... older," she said quietly, almost to herself.
"Ooh~! A mature guy! I see!" Volley-bu-chan teased.
They arrived back at their classroom to find a small group of their female friends huddled around a phone, whispering and giggling excitedly.
"What's going on?" Volley-bu-chan asked, immediately diving into the group.
One of the girls looked up, her eyes sparkling. "My cousin goes to Soubu High! She just sent me this picture of one of their teachers. Look! Isn't he the most handsome man you've ever seen?!"
Volley-bu-chan peered at the screen and let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Whoa. Yeah, he is. He's seriously hot!"
Curious, she leaned over to glance at the photo.
Her breath caught in her throat.
There he was. Standing in a school corridor, looking as disinterested as ever. Platinum hair. Crimson eyes behind a pair of glasses
That same impossibly handsome, impassive face.
It was him. The man from the overcrossing.
Her mystery man was a teacher. At Soubu High.
-----------------------------
(Sakurajima Mai's POV)
The school gate felt less like an entrance and more like a stage.
Mai felt the weight of every stare the moment she stepped onto the campus grounds.
A ripple of whispers followed her path to the main building, a mix of admiration, envy, and pure, unvarnished longing.
It was a familiar sensation, one she had known well in her modelling career, but it had been absent for so long it now felt both grating and… reassuring
She reached her shoe locker, the combination clicking with a familiar sound.
When she swung the small metal door open, a cascade of pastel-coloured envelopes fluttered out, spilling at her feet.
Love letters. Again.
A soft, weary sigh escaped her lips.
She bent down, gathered the stack without reading a single name or admiring a single heart doodle, and walked the few steps to the nearest trash can.
She dropped them in with a quiet thud.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a group of first-year boys watching her, their faces crumbling in unison.
She guessed, with a pang of something almost like guilt, that their heartfelt confessions were now nestled amongst discarded trash
It was cruel, perhaps. But a life spent politely acknowledging every infatuation was a life not lived.
She had learned that the hard way.
The walk to her classroom was more of the same.
Girls from her class and others watched her with sharp, assessing eyes, their smiles not quite reaching theirs.
The boys' gazes were heavier, more obvious, trailing her every move
It was exhausting.
Some weeks ago, this constant attention would have sent her seeking a shadow to hide in.
But as she slid into her seat, a strange thought occurred to her.
She preferred this.
She preferred the jealous stares to the utter, soul-crushing emptiness of being a ghost.
She preferred the awkward love confessions to having her school supplies, her very presence, mistaken for trash and cleared away by a janitor.
This was a nuisance. That had been a nightmare.
The morning bell hadn't rung yet.
A small pocket of quiet remained.
The chatter of her classmates faded into a dull hum as Mai pulled out her phone. Her thumb moved on its own, navigating to a hidden album, password-protected.
The screen glowed to life, revealing a single, slightly blurred photo.
It was him. Yoshioka-sensei.
She'd taken it that day at the abandoned factory, a quick, furtive snap when his guard was lessened
He was dressed in his dark sportswear, the kind that should have been baggy but instead clung to the defined lines of his shoulders and back. The zipper was down slightly, revealing the strong, elegant column of his neck and the sharp hint of his collarbone. His platinum hair was slightly windswept, and his profile was turned away, those intense crimson eyes focused on some unseen point in the distance, scanning for curses
Her finger traced the line of his jaw on the screen.
A warmth spread through her chest, a feeling so different from the cold annoyance of the love letters or the hollow fear of being forgotten.
This was a secret warmth, hers alone.
Just as quickly, she locked the phone, the screen going dark.
She couldn't risk anyone seeing. They wouldn't understand.
They would see only a handsome teacher but she saw the man who had looked at the terrified girl beneath the curse and seen not a victim, but as a potential warrior.
The man who had offered power instead of pity.
A faint blush warmed her cheeks, and a small smile touched her lips.
Her mood, previously weighed down by the stares and the letters, felt inexplicably lighter.
She tucked the phone away and straightened her desk, ready for the day.
The world could stare all it wanted. They were only seeing the surface.
They had no idea who she really was, or who, she was truly looking at.
----------------------------------
(Kasumigaoka Utaha's POV)
The walk to school was a daily ritual of observation, a quiet prologue to the day's narrative.
Today's chapter began, predictably, with a familiar supporting character.
"Kasumigaoka-senpai! Good morning! Wh-what a coincidence running into you here!"
Utaha allowed a faint, knowing smile to grace her lips as she regarded her kohai, Aki Tomoya.
He was trying so very hard to be nonchalant, his posture stiff, his glasses gesture a little too quick.
Ever since she'd agreed to humour his whimsical little Gal-game project, he'd become a constant source of mild amusement.
Watching him fumble through his dynamic with the earnest Sawamura Spencer Eriri and the refreshingly blunt Kato Megumi was like watching a particularly clumsy romance subplot unfold in real time
It was… cute.
Almost endearing, really.
Especially the way his eyes sometimes flickered to her with a hint of something more than simple admiration.
A crush on his beautiful, talented senpai. How very tropey.
But she was not interested.
This Love Interest's heart belonged to a far more complex and compelling character.
Her gaze drifted past Tomoya, scanning the school grounds for a glimpse of platinum hair. Her current obsession. Her muse.
Yoshioka-sensei was a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, dressed in an impeccably tailored t-shirt and necktie
She had been studying him from a distance, a critic analysing a masterpiece.
She noted his rare, brief interactions: the intense, focused conversations with a certain first-year, and the new connection with the third-year phantom, Sakurajima Mai.
That was a development worthy of a plot twist.
Sakurajima-san's sudden materialization into the school's consciousness was an event that bordered on the supernatural.
One day, a rumour; the next, a tangible, breathtakingly beautiful reality that everyone swore had always been there.
It was a phenomenon that defied logic, a retcon of the school's very history.
And at the centre of that inexplicable event? Yoshioka-sensei.
Her writer's instincts, honed by hours of crafting compelling fiction, screamed that there was a hidden arc there.
A shared history, a secret pact, something that tied the enigmatic teacher to the newly-appeared model.
The potential for drama was exquisite.
And the man himself remained an impenetrable fortress.
His posture was a study in controlled neutrality.
His literature classes were still masterclasses in deconstructing meaning, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that could make a grocery list sound like a profound philosophical treatise.
He revealed everything about the text and absolutely nothing about himself.
She had filled notebooks with his mannerisms, his cadence, his turns of phrase, all fodder for her current magnum opus, "The Teacher Who Stands in the Doorway of Dawn and Dusk."
But it wasn't enough. She craved the subtext, the hidden backstory, the motivation behind those impossibly calm crimson eyes.
A new rumour had just hit the circuits, more tantalizing than any before.
Whispers in the hallways suggested Yoshioka-sensei had connections to the yakuza.
A culinary expert with a terrifying visage, a misunderstanding involving cherry glaze and a punch from Hiratsuka-sensei… it was almost too absurd to be fiction.
And where there was absurd smoke, there was often a fascinating fire.
"…and so I was thinking, for the next route, maybe we could… Senpai? Kasumigaoka-senpai?"
Tomoya's voice filtered back into her awareness. He was looking at her, a mixture of hope and confusion on his face. He'd been talking. She hadn't heard a word.
She offered him a perfectly crafted, dismissive smile. "My, how time flies. I must be going, Aki-kun. Do try to have a productive day."
Without waiting for a response, she glided past him, her mind already racing ahead, plotting her next move.
The clumsy romantic subplot of her Kohai's life held no allure for her.
She had a far more intriguing man to investigate. A story to unravel.
And Kasumigaoka Utaha always got the material she needed for her novels
-------------------------------
(Yotsuya Miko's POV)
The walk to school had become a completely different experience.
The crisp morning air, once thick with unseen horrors, now felt… lighter.
Miko walked with a steady, confident pace she wouldn't have dreamed of a few weeks ago.
On her left, Hana chattered away about a new cake she wanted to try, her voice a cheerful, normal hum against the backdrop of the city.
On her right, Niguredou Yuria walked in a tense, vigilant silence, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for threats only the two of them could perceive.
It was her new normal.
Her new, incredibly weird, but surprisingly okay normal.
A small, pathetic-looking spirit, no bigger than a dog, oozed out of a sewer grate. The old Miko would have flinched, her heart seizing as she quickly looked away, pretending her shoes were the most interesting thing in the world.
The new Miko didn't even break stride.
Her smile, directed at Hana's story, didn't falter. She subtly called her now trusty partner, Mamoru, who instantly lashed its tongue like a whip towards the cursed spirit.
The spirit popped out of existence with a silent fizz.
Hana, blissfully unaware, continued talking about whipped cream.
Yuria, however, saw it. She gave a sharp, approving no.
"…and then you have to chill the bowl, or it'll just melt right away! Right, Miko-chan?" Hana asked, looping her arm through Miko's.
"Right," Miko agreed, her voice warm and genuine. "Chilling the bowl is key." She could focus on normal things like chilled bowls now. It was amazing.
She glanced at Yuria.
Yuria's bravado had been shattered that day, replaced by a healthy dose of fear and a burning, desperate need to get stronger.
She'd attached herself to Miko with the tenacity of a limpet, watching her every move, silently demanding to be taught.
It was exhausting, but also… nice. In a strange way.
They passed a crowded bus stop.
Hana was now debating the merits of strawberries versus mangoes.
Miko's sharpened senses, automatically filtered through the crowd. Most auras were the faint, dull glow of normal people. But one man… his energy was murky, thick with resentment. A larger, greasy spirit was clinging to his back, whispering negativity into his ear.
Miko's eyes narrowed. She focused, and summoned Mamoru from her shoulder, just as they were moving past the man, her Shikigami stretching his neck and opening its jaw, instantly crushing the cursed spirit between its fangs.
The man shivered suddenly, shook his head, and looked around as if waking from a bad dream.
Miko felt a small surge of satisfaction. She was learning. She was helping. She wasn't just a victim anymore.
Yuria had seen that, too. Her eyes were wide. "It just instantly devoured it" she whispered, her voice a mix of awe and envy.
"Sensei says direct confrontation isn't always the answer in some cases" Miko replied softly, not wanting to alarm Hana. "Sometimes just having it devour it is the correct way"
Hana, catching the tail end of the conversation, blinked. "Devour? Are we still talking about cake?"
"Sure, Hana," Miko said, squeezing her friend's arm. "We're talking about cake."
They turned the corner, and the school gates came into view.
With her now acute senses, she could feel the difference between the school and the street below. While the street would be filled with the roaming cursed spirits like rats going around everywhere, the school felt clean, like an hospital room, sanitized from every spec of energy.
And it is all thanks to her sensei
Yuria took a deep breath, feeling the clean aura of the school.
Hana happily talked about maybe trying to bake something for the cultural festival.
And Miko walked between them, a quiet, content smile as how her life has turned into
Now, she was the one who could protect her blissfully ignorant best friend,
She wasn't just enduring the strange, terrifying world she could see.
She was learning to navigate it. And for the first time, the future didn't seem so frightening.
-------------------------
(Hiratsuka Shizuka's POV)
A mountain of paperwork threatened to topple over and bury her alive.
Shizuka massaged her temples, the dull throb of a stress headache building behind her eyes.
The Cultural Festival planning was always a nightmare, but this year was something else entirely. Forms, budget sheets, safety permits, and student proposals formed a chaotic fortress around her desk.
She scowled at one particular form, holding it up as if it were personally offending her. "A miniskirt maid cafe? Do they have any shame? Those horny little..." She muttered to herself, tossing it decisively into the 'REJECTED' pile with a little more force than necessary. The audacity of teenagers knew no bounds.
Just as she was contemplating whether a strong drink at ten in the morning was professionally acceptable, a presence materialized at her side.
A steaming ceramic mug was placed gently on the corner of her desk, right in her line of sight.
She looked up. Akira stood there, his expression as inscrutable as ever.
"Yoshioka-san" She said, a flicker of surprise cutting through her irritation.
"Hiratsuka-sensei" He acknowledged with a slight nod. "You looked like you required something to calm your mind"
She managed a tired smile. "Thanks. I really do." She picked up the mug, the warmth seeping into her hands. "You didn't have to."
"It is a reciprocal action. You have provided me with tea on numerous occasions. It is logical to return the gesture" He stated, his tone flat and factual. "This is from my personal supply. It is superior to the 'hot leaf juice' served by the machine"
A genuine laugh escaped her, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. "A man of discerning taste, I see." She brought the mug to her lips and took a cautious sip.
Her eyes widened.
The aroma was incredible, a complex, soothing blend of something floral and earthy. The taste was nothing short of divine.
It was perfectly brewed, smooth and rich without a hint of bitterness. It was like drinking calm itself.
A wave of warmth spread through her chest, and the knot of stress in her shoulders began to loosen almost magically.
"Wow," she breathed, staring into the mug. "This is... amazing. How on earth did you make tea this good?"
"I am proficient in many things," he replied simply, as if commenting on the weather. "Tea is one of them."
She took another, longer sip, savouring the flavour. The looming paperwork seemed a little less intimidating.
Akira's crimson eyes scanned her face. "You seem to be under a lot of stress"
"You think?" she said with a wry chuckle, gesturing to the paper avalanche. "It's this damn festival. The vice-principal slashed the budget this year to practically nothing. I'm trying to help the student council move numbers around, reject the most insane proposals—" she kicked the 'REJECTED' pile for emphasis, "—and somehow still help them put on an event that won't be a complete embarrassment. It's a logistical nightmare"
Akira listened, his gaze flicking from her to the organized chaos on her desk. He reached out, his movements precise, and plucked a specific budget summary sheet from the top of a pile.
His eyes scanned the columns of numbers at a terrifying speed, processing information in seconds that would take her minutes.
He was silent for a long moment, then placed the paper back down exactly where he found it.
"Do not worry," he stated, his voice calm and utterly certain. "I will handle this. Just wait and see."
Before she could even form a question, he had turned and was walking away, his broad back retreating through the staff room door.
Shizuka blinked, mug halfway to her lips. She looked from the door to the budget sheet and back again. Handle it? How? What did that even mean?
She shook her head, a small, bewildered smile playing on her lips.
Then she shrugged, taking another blissful sip of the miraculous tea. However enigmatic he could be, one thing was undeniable: his presence was strangely calming, and he was certainly excellent eye candy.
For now, the paperwork could wait a few more minutes. She had a perfect cup of tea to finish.
------------------------
(Later That Day)
(Ogata Rizu's POV)
The final problem on the practice sheet was solved, the answers clicking into place with a clarity that still felt new and miraculous.
Rizu let out a soft breath, setting her pencil down. In the quiet of the empty classroom, the only sounds were the gentle scratch of Fumino's pen and the calm, steady voice of their tutor.
Yoshioka-sensei stood before the chalkboard, his movements efficient and precise as he outlined the final steps of the calculus proof to Fumino
His voice, a low, resonant baritone, didn't condescend or rush.
He had a way of seeing the exact block in their understanding and dismantling it with surgical patience, showing them how to use their own unique minds to conquer the subjects they struggled with most.
Rizu watched him, her gaze lingering.
She studied the way his platinum hair caught the afternoon light, the focused intensity in his crimson eyes as he explained, the way he could make the most complex concept seem like a simple, logical puzzle.
Every day after these private lessons, she'd walk home with his voice echoing in her head, replaying every word, every slight nod of approval.
And that rarest of things, the tiny, almost imperceptible quirk of his lips that appeared when one of them finally grasped a difficult problem.
It felt like a secret victory, a reward just for them.
Both she and Fumino owed him so much.
Their grades in their most difficult subjects were climbing, the constant anxiety about exams was easing.
He had given them that.
Her eyes flickered to Fumino, who was watching Sensei with a look of pure, unadulterated admiration.
But it was more than that. There was a softness in Fumino's eyes, a warmth and a depth that made something prickle unpleasantly in Ogata's chest.
It was a look that went beyond gratitude.
'Why does that bother me?' she wondered, quickly looking back at her notes.
The thought was irritating, a tiny splinter on her chest she couldn't quite remove.
"Well, that will be all for today," Yoshioka-sensei stated, wiping the chalk from his hands. "Remember to review the homework I assigned. You two have been improving. I can see that, and your other teachers have told me the same."
Fumino beamed, her whole face lighting up as she nodded enthusiastically. "Thank you so much, sensei!"
Ogata nodded mutely, her throat suddenly tight.
She began packing her bag with deliberate slowness as Fumino gathered her things and headed for the door with a cheerful wave.
This was her chance.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she approached the teacher's desk. He was organizing his own materials, but he paused and looked up at her approach.
"Do you have another question about the lesson, Ogata-san?" He asked, his tone neutral.
She shook her head, her fingers fumbling in her pocket. She felt her face grow warm. "N-no, Sensei. I just…" She pulled out a slightly crumpled coupon, holding it out to him with both hands. "This is for my family's restaurant. For a free meal. I… I wanted to thank you. For all your help. You're welcome to visit anytime."
She kept her eyes downcast, focusing on the coupon in her hands. It felt incredibly small and silly now.
She felt the coupon being plucked from her fingers "Thank you, Ogata" He said, his voice the same calm, level tone he used for everything. "That is very kind. I will keep it in mind"
Relief and a strange flutter of happiness washed over her. She managed a quick, deep bow. "Thank you, Sensei!" She blurted out before turning and practically fleeing the classroom, her face burning.
So focused on her own embarrassment, she didn't notice a trio of girls who had just arrived at the classroom door, their expressions carried curiosity as they moved aside to let her rush past.
Their presence, and the speculative looks they shot toward the classroom's sole occupant, went completely unseen by the flustered Rizu
------------------------------
(Thousands of Years Ago)
(Kocho Kanae's POV)
The air in the Ubuyashiki mansion was thick with a reverence so profound it felt sacred.
The Hashira were assembled, their usual competitive energy subdued into awed silence.
They had all had been told of the event that happened about three days ago, an unprecedented one. The death of an Upper Moon
Kanae was among them, her leg bandaged and supported, but her posture straight.
Her eyes, however, were not on their master, Ubuyashiki Kagaya, whose gentle voice filled the room. They were fixed on the man standing slightly apart, as he always did.
Yoshioka Akira. The Thunder Hashira.
He listened to Ubuyashiki's words with the same detached focus he seemingly gave everything, his crimson eyes revealing nothing
"...and we are all eternally in your debt, Yoshioka-san" Ubuyashiki said, his blind eyes seeming to see straight into the soul of the man before him. "The elimination of an Upper Moon is a blow to Muzan we have not struck in generations. You have done a great service to all of humanity"
A slight, almost imperceptible nod was the only acknowledgment.
"Which is why," Ubuyashiki continued, his tone softening with a paternal concern that made even the most hardened Hashira lower their gaze, "I must insist you take a rest. Our reports indicate you have not ceased in your missions for years. Even a blade as strong as yours must be sheathed to prevent it from growing brittle."
Akira's response was immediate and flat. "It is unnecessary. My physical condition is optimal. My body is not fatigued. I can continue my way of working, Ubuyashiki-sama"
Ubuyashiki offered a patient, sad smile. "The body is one matter, Yoshioka-san. The mind is another. I will not make this an order. But I am asking you, as your leader who values you deeply, to please take some time to rest"
A silence hung in the room
The other Hashira watched, captivated by the quiet struggle of wills. No one refused the Master, but no one had ever seen the Master have to ask the Thunder Hashira for anything.
The man was a force of nature, seemingly beyond such common concerns. He was always doing missions, not stopping for anything other than reporting, and then went back to it again without any type of order.
Finally, Akira gave another curt nod. "Understood. I will allocate one week for rest. No more."
"That is all I ask" Ubuyashiko said, relief evident in his serene expression. "Thank you."
As the meeting concluded, the other Pillars approached Akira one by one, offering their gruff thanks and respectful nods.
Himejima Gyomei offered a prayer of gratitude.
Shinazugawa Sanemi gave a terse "Not bad." As he crossed his arms and looked away
Even the boisterous Uzui Tengen was uncharacteristically solemn in his acknowledgment. Like hurt that someone beat him into being flashy.
Kanae waited, her heart performing a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
She watched him accept their words with the same neutral expression, already turning to leave once the social obligation was complete.
This was her chance.
She moved, her steps a little too quick, making her injured leg protest. "Thunder Hashira! Wait, please!"
He stopped, turning those impossible crimson eyes on her. The intensity of his gaze made her breath catch all over again.
"Kocho-san" He acknowledged
"Thank you" She said, her voice softer than she intended. She bowed deeply, ignoring the pain. "Thank you for saving my life."
He regarded her for a moment. "It was nothing, I arrived to kill the Upper Moon, your survival was an additional but fortuitous causality"
The words should have been cold, dismissive.
But to Kanae, who had seen the fleeting softness in his eyes that night, he was just this way.
He was stating a fact, not dismissing her gratitude, and trying to make her feel less indebted.
"Where will you go?" She asked, pressing her advantage before he could leave. "For your rest?"
"I do not have a residence. I will find lodging in a nearby town. I don't want to stay in Ubuyashiki-sama's mansion during my rest, it would be improper" He stated
The opportunity was so perfect it felt like fate.
Kanae felt a brilliant, warm smile spread across her face, one she usually reserved for comforting her younger sister or the injured at the Butterfly Mansion.
"Then come to the Butterfly Mansion!" She said, her tone bright and inviting "As thanks for saving me, I'll prepare a feast for you! Shinobu will be so happy to finally meet the legendary Thunder Hashira, and our girls are wonderful cooks!"
She saw the slightest hesitation in him and that made her held her breath.
He analysed the offer, his gaze flicking from her hopeful expression to her bandaged leg, perhaps calculating the logic of accepting hospitality from someone he had just saved
"Very well" He said after a moment. "Your offer is appreciated. I accept. Kocho-san"
Doki.
Internally, Kanae cheered, a burst of pure, unadulterated joy flooding through her. She kept her exterior calm, the picture of a gracious hostess "Wonderful! I'll head back now to let them know to prepare! Don't be late!"
She gave him a final, radiant smile before turning, her steps light and quick despite her injury.
She didn't look back
Afraid he would see the blush she could feel heating her cheeks.
The man who moved like lightning, who saved her life and made her heart beat weirdly, was coming to her home
Her heart beat a frantic, happy rhythm all the way back to the Butterfly Mansion.
Doki. Doki. Doki.