Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

    In the heart of every great student was a great teacher. No matter what monkey wrench Life threw in the way, the impact left a lasting mark. Something to remember when things got tough. Something to remember when you couldn’t remember yourself. Yuuri knew that feeling all too well. A problem could swallow you up alive if you weren’t careful, and the Japanese skater wasn’t going to surf down the jaws of a monster in this psychological warfare. In truth, it wasn’t much of a warfare. If the war was about Yuuri against himself, then it was simply a mirror that obstructed his path. A shady panel of glass, reflecting the thoughts and voices that Yuuri refused to notice until it was too late.

    But all in all, the painful reflections reminded Yuuri of a long-forgotten youth. Something that was almost beyond his reach.

After a disastrous ending at the Grand Prix Finals and in every other major competition, Yuuri packed his bags and moved on. Not back to Hasetsu. Not yet. Yuuri wanted a year away from the people he knew. Just recently graduated with a bachelor’s degree from the States, Yuuri returned to Tokyo. After all, the skater had spent junior high and high school there.

    Close to the airport for traveling. No long waits to board a train or to cross through mountains and the countryside. Just board a taxi and Yuuri were magically at the airport. Luggage in hand while a skating insignia shone brightly over his shoulders. Junior competitions and senior debut, all of that was a skip away since the airport wasn’t far from the apartment complex Yuuri was staying in. His aunt and uncle personally drove him to and from the airport. The very least they could do as loving guardians in the city realm. Back in Hasetsu, Yuuri’s family and friends sent their last calls before he shone over the World’s Stage on TV.

    It was tough for everyone involved, but it was the easiest course of action to take. And now, Yuuri was returning to his roots. Just another face amongst millions of other faces. With a beanie donned over his head, it was easy for Yuuri to blend in when he took a taxi car back to his uncle and aunt’s place. They weren’t home. Probably out in the market? Yuuri called them for old time’s sake when he wrestled through his pockets for the room key. After all these years, his aunt and uncle persisted that he should keep the key. Just in case of emergency.

A familiar click of the door and Yuuri wheeled his luggage in, chuckling at what his aunt’s greetings and reassuring her that he had already eaten.

    Pulling his coat off, Yuuri folded it neatly and placed it over his sports bag. He sank into the old couch, smiling when his uncle took over and greeted Yuuri. It’d been years since they last spoken to each other. There was a lot of catching up to do, and Yuuri wanted to save the stories for when his aunt and uncle were back from the market. Goodbyes were rough, but they weren’t indefinite. Yuuri and his aunt clung to their last words before they had to let them go.

    Easing off the couch, the skater decided to take a walk. Stretch his legs around Tokyo and hopefully distract himself from last season’s defeats. Yuuri thought about visiting his old school. It wasn’t too far, and it brought back memories. Memories were often twisted after years of dust, but Yuuri had a firm grasp of who he was as a student. Not bad, but behind because of all the training and traveling he did when he was young. It wasn’t fair towards his academic life, but Yuuri graduated from a university not too long ago. That was something, and Yuuri had to thank his old school for preparing him for the rigor of an American school-system. Especially, for university.

    But enough about that, it was time for Yuuri to go through the school gates. For a prestigious institution like Kunugigaoka Academy, there were still some loopholes around the entrance arrangements. Not that Yuuri was a rebellious student or anything. When he needed to leave the school immediately to catch a flight, Yuuri knew the best secret passages around the grounds. It took a lot of digging and months during breaks for Yuuri to map out all the possible routes he could take. Depending on the day, hour, and urgency of a flight he had to attend. He wondered if his favorite route was still free.

    Hidden deep within the bushes surrounding the academy’s gates, if you took a sharp left past a forked tree, there was a trashcan that always sat by the brick walls when the entrance was closed. And if nothing had changed during the past ten or eleven years, there was a flower bed on the other side of the wall. Soft enough to cushion a fall if one landed properly enough.

Checking the wall for sturdiness, Yuuri inspected the trashcan before stepping back. Five meters away from the wall. Shoes tied and arms restriction-free, Yuuri ran. Ballet lessons and figure skating had taught him how to jump with power. Landing squarely onto the trashcan lid before boosting himself upwards. His hands clasped over the top of the school wall, and Yuuri maneuvered himself over. Landing into a familiar roll and back onto his feet in the middle of the flower bed.

    Luckily, there weren’t any plants in the patch. Just seeds and Yuuri carefully brushed soil back over them before going his merry way. An adult roaming around the grounds of an academy while school was in session. What could possibly go wrong? Well, a lot of things can go wrong, so Yuuri kept his distance. Staying close to the wall, behind vegetation and trees. Crouching and walking on his hands and knees at times when there weren’t any trees or shadows to blend into. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, it reminded Yuuri of his time at the academy.

    Always hiding, blended into his surroundings so that no one found him. Pretty useful when school ranks meant Life or Death, and slowing down the competition was notorious on a rigid school-system like Kunugigaoka Academy. Cheaters were cheaters, and Yuuri wasn’t one to cheat. Even when his grades slipped, it was better to start from scratch than claw up to a title that you didn’t deserve.

    Resting in the shade for a break, hints of nostalgia wafted into Yuuri’s mind. Mingling students with their noses behind a book. Pencils scratching over wads of paper. The usual bullies that boasted their ranks before succumbed to their own greed. All sorts of faces on campus, but Yuuri didn’t spent his third year in junior high with any of that. Instead, he was in Class 3-E, up in the mountains behind the academy’s main buildings. The forest behind the school grounds weren’t blocked off, and there wasn’t an obvious trail from the main campus to Class 3-E. A student had to skip the academy’s entrance altogether and march up a crooked trail until the altitude wore their lungs down.

    Sneaking out of the main campus, through another secret route, Yuuri trekked his way through the forest and up the mountain. It’d been years since Yuuri last walked up here, and he glanced around at the trees and silence. Steady heartbeat reminding him of the struggle he had, walking up this trail every day for an entire year. True, Yuuri needed to sit down after all the walking, but he wasn’t dead tired. Just nostalgic and taking in all the sights, sounds, and smells that he used to be so familiar with.

    The old school building stood as tall as ever. Class was in session. Yuuri saw shadows peeking through from the windows. He didn’t approach the building, but admired from afar. A tinge of regret riding in his heart when he saw the cracked windows and the shedding roof. Bit of a shame. The building used to look healthier when Yuuri was still a student, but it was a decaying matchbox now. Collecting mold and dust. The building had truly seen better days, and Yuuri knew that he couldn’t stay out for long.

    If a student saw him and reported his presence to the teacher, it’d be too much explaining on Yuuri’s part. The skater just wanted to visit, not spill like a can of beans to an interrogator. Speaking of interrogator...

A voice singled him out. Yuuri turned around. An agent marched up to him. Voice rough around the edges, but calm enough to ask Yuuri why he was here. Should he lie and say that he was lost? No, who would wander up this far into a mountain if they were “lost”? So instead, Yuuri told the truth. The well-suited man didn’t look like he believed in the story, and Yuuri figured as much. There weren’t many people who’d venture this far into rugged terrain. The only choice now was to accept the consequences, and Yuuri tightened his fists when the agent escorted him down the mountain.

Mr. Karasuma, wasn’t it? Yuuri remembered the name as soon as the agent introduced himself. In all fairness, the man was putting up a polite facade while escorting a civilian. Yuuri played along and gave out his name. No need to lie if Mr. Karasuma wasn’t lying. The agent did stir a bit, recognizing Yuuri’s name from news broadcast and whatnot. Yuuri figured as much and explained that he was in the school vicinity for inspiration. Seeing an old view might jog something back for upcoming themes. Figure skating and all.

Mr. Karasuma suggested sticking to the main campus for safety. Yuuri hid the fact that he used to be a student of Class 3-E. If the agent was hiding something, Yuuri was free to hide something as well. Besides, Mr. Karasuma didn’t look like a man who wanted to drown in paperwork. Best to be on the agent’s good side until his situation balances out. Back at the main campus, Yuuri had no choice but to troop up to the principal’s office. He was already caught, so it was better to come clean than risk soiling his name even more.

About ten minutes later, Yuuri was in the belly of the beast. A cold, distant office hidden in shadows. There was only one light source and that was the sun hovering over Principal Asano. Dull eyes stared back at Yuuri when he retold the same story he told Mr. Karasuma. No strings attached. Every word was true. To say Yuuri was nervous was an understatement, but he and the principal were adults. The balance of power wasn’t so heavily shifted now, but Yuuri had a hidden ace up his sleeves when Principal Asano finally stood up and beckoned Yuuri to come closer.

The athlete did come closer, hesitantly. The principal had a proposition for him. He will grant Yuuri access to the main campus and Classroom 3-E if-- if and only if-- Yuuri agreed to monitor and take notes on Class 3-E. Bizarre offer for a principal who didn’t take things lightly, but Principl Asano assured that everything was in the best of interest. If Yuuri wanted to stay for inspiration, he needed permission. Here was the permission and exchange that Principal Asano was willing to offer. There were more lies and hidden arrangements behind the offer, but Yuuri realized that the principal was true in what he said.

Not a change in stance, not a flicker of the eye. Principal Asano showed no weaknesses towards Yuuri, and Yuuri didn’t expect him to. Promises were made, hands were shook, and the principal guaranteed that Yuuri would be allowed onto the grounds within a few days. Background checks would be done within the hour and an interview was to be set up tomorrow afternoon. By interview, Yuuri knew that Principal Asano meant interrogation.

Despite the sweet civilian facade, Yuuri had a sneaking suspicion about Class 3-E. Ever since Mr. Karasuma showed up to escort him down the hill, the former student knew that there was something fishy. Yuuri scanned the man before him, up and down. Principal Asano was a difficult book, but the man had a reason for pushing a classified folder forward for Yuuri to read. Fixed stare over his eyes when he watched Yuuri open the folder.

Chapter Text

Pale chalk etched across thick boards in break-neck speed. Scribbling pencils echoing down the hallway while the teacher brandished the Japanese flag, back and forth to spark youth. To spark creativity. To spark and foster a decisive mind. Flag attached to her belt loop, the teacher threw down her chalk piece when the final problem was up. Her students turned over their worksheet, scribbled down the problem, and began working. The clicks of Ms. Saruhiko’s heels was enough to startle a heartbeat. More than half of Class 3-E was paralyzed. Pencils fixed at a point, immobile.

Was this problem even part of their year’s curriculum? Scratching heads, scratching chins, and eventually scratching the underside of a desk seemed more promising than scratching out gibberish for a problem they didn’t understand. A few sneaky students tried to thumb through their review packet, but Ms. Saruhiko caught them red-handed. Literally . She patted the student down with red chalk dust over her hands and swiped the review packet. It wasn’t looking good. Mid-terms were fast approaching and for once, Class 3-E had to step up its game. For the past few years, all the teachers that had stepped into the classroom were indifferent and merely babysitters for Class 3-E. For the first time, the students were on their toes because of Ms. Saruhiko.

The clicks from her heels weren’t helping. When she called time, she gathered the worksheets slowly. Flipped to the back to see if anyone at least tried the last problem. Blank backs stared right back at her. Really? Nothing? Nobody bothered to jot what the problem wanted? It was back to the drawing board, but Ms. Saruhiko found satisfaction with one paper. Even though he didn’t know the topic or where to begin, one student broke down the question to its key essentials, solved for those, and added the pieces together. If only he had two or three more minutes, he could’ve finished his solution.

Katsuki Yuuri. Ms. Saruhiko remembered that name. When class was over, she called Yuuri up to her desk and the junior athlete stumbled forward. Trembling and chirping about how he needed to go to the ice rink. Right away. Ms. Saruhiko told Yuuri that it was fine to stop and smell the roses, and she commended him on his effort for the final problem. Yuuri chuckled weakly, saying that he broke the problem down to its weak points. However, he didn’t know how to tackle those weak points. As Class 3-E’s teacher, Ms. Saruhiko was more than proud with Yuuri’s thought-process. She couldn’t give him full marks, but he had one of the highest scores on that worksheet. She knew for sure.

That begged a question for her. Why was a bright student like Yuuri doing here? The boy had a grasp at what he was doing, despite tackling something that he had never seen before. That was a beautiful asset to have for the higher classes, and it just struck Ms. Saruhiko odd that Yuuri was here instead of there . Trying to keep the conversation short, Yuuri mumbled about how he often couldn’t turn in assignments on time because of his schedule. The principal thought it was best for him to be in Class 3-E to catch up. Tapping the side of her face, Ms. Saruhiko gave Yuuri her sweet opinion and observation about the matter. Ending the talk with a reintroduction.

Wiping his hand with the back of his shirt, Yuuri clasped it over Ms. Saruhiko’s. They shook hands, a common formality. Katsuki Yuuri. Yuuri couldn’t tug his hand out from his teacher’s grasp. Ms. Saruhiko maintained an iron grip. Saruhiko Chihoko. She gave her student an interesting smile before finally letting go.

That was years ago and to this day, Yuuri still remembered his teacher’s touch. Okay, that sounded kind of weird. Even to Yuuri’s standards, and didn’t English teach him anything about how words can be misinterpreted? A classic technique to add drama in literature, and Yuuri’s life was already written down in a book somewhere. Best to not let his writer get any funny ideas about his character. A sigh leaked from Yuuri’s mouth when he helped his aunt make dinner that night. He was already breaking the fourth wall. Not a good idea.

His aunt asked if he was okay, and Yuuri mumbled that his sleeping schedule was pretty screwy at the moment. Sleeping early was a good idea. However, his aunt took it the other way and lectured that Yuuri shouldn’t be overworking himself. Setting her nephew in front of the TV, Auntie Katsuki pulled up some classic cartoons to keep Yuuri occupied while she finished up dinner. Yuuri appreciated it, but seeing his aunt work alone in the kitchen tugged a few heartstrings. His uncle was in the bedroom, nursing a bad back after boasting that he could carry a whole watermelon by himself. What eventually happened was Yuuri showing up at the market to give his uncle a shoulder while his aunt carried all the groceries back home.

Grabbing the remote, Yuuri turned up the TV’s volume and shuffled down to the bedroom and opened the door softly. His uncle was asleep. Rolled onto his belly with a warm pack at the base of his back. Yuuri approached slowly and laid a hand over it. The pack was still warm. That was good. Rising up, Yuuri pulled the blankets up to keep his uncle warm, and the latter thanked Yuuri in his sleep.

Back pain ran in the family. As a skater, it was dangerous and Yuuri had a weekly session with a chiropractor when he was still training. Now on off-season, he didn’t have to see a chiropractor much, but Yuuri’s vertebrae was prone for being stiff if it wasn’t worked on. Rolling his shoulders, Yuuri shuffled back into the living room. Lost in thought. Sinking into the couch when a rerun of an old anime passed by. The memories from earlier that day were still fresh in Yuuri’s mind, especially the contents behind the classified folder.

A jiggly, yellow octopus that threatened to blow up the earth, like how he blew up the moon. To be honest, Yuuri didn’t know about the latter until he flew back to Tokyo. Yuuri was doing a program at the time when the moon exploded. An odd coincidence since Yuuri’s program was all about the moon and how humanity had treasured it for generations without a single thought. Did the judges give him full marks? Not particularly since his technical aspects were, to say the least, shaky. At least Yuuri had a year off to figure out what to do next. He already accepted Principal Asano’s proposition with a firm handshake.

Show up to Classroom 3-E every school day, document how the students were doing, take notes on the creature’s teaching-style, and offer a civilian’s perspective over the whole situation. A civilian’s perspective over an assassination classroom, Yuuri never expected that Life would throw this monkey wrench at him. As weird as it was, Yuuri hoped that he might be able to understand his late teacher better. To say the least, Ms. Saruhiko had some odd quirks, even for a teacher. As one of her only students, some of that quirkiness rubbed into Yuuri’s thoughts. Making this personal psychological warfare not so personal anymore. Enough about that.

One the last school day of the week, Yuuri was allowed to enter Classroom 3-E. He felt like a kid again when he woke up early and downed cups of yogurt. Auntie Katsuki offered to make breakfast, but Yuuri’s gut couldn’t handle a five-star meal so early in the morning. To make his aunt smile, Yuuri sipped her homemade orange juice while he loaded his sports bag with notebooks and some pens. It wasn’t like there was an ice rink up in the mountains, but Yuuri kept his skates in the sports bag. A little bit of home and a little bit of the past to keep him company. Besides, if Yuuri felt really saucy, he could hit up the rink in downtown and practice there if he wanted to.

At this point, Yuuri tried to make the experience as nostalgic as possible. Kissed his aunt on the cheek, waved goodbye to his shuffling uncle, and Yuuri was down the apartment stairs before his heart caught up. A brisk walk down the busy sidewalk, mingling into a walk group of strangers to pass the traffic light. People on their phones, SnapChatting and Instagramming about their mornings or about the traffic. Twitter on fire with links to space research and gifs of the moon exploding. No different from when Yuuri went to school, except some apps didn’t exist and people still didn’t talk to each other on the way to school. Unless you were close to a group of people, then there was talking. Other than that, you kept quiet and walked quickly.

It took awhile before Yuuri got into the swing of things. With a beanie on his head, no one recognized him for the better. From a glance, Yuuri looked like a high schooler or a really chill T.A. with a party at his hip because of the bulging sports bag. Wearing his sports gloves, Yuuri adjusted the bag’s shoulder strap when he skipped the main entrance and trekked all the way up the mountain face to Classroom 3-E. It was pretty early and if Yuuri remembered anything about his experience in said classroom, people usually showed up five minutes before the bell rang.

Another little bit of comfort as Yuuri pushed himself forward. Some chitchat with the octopus teacher, find a good place to sit, and ignore the usual delinquents that every class had. Rinse and repeat. The bare basics of a class observer. Walking through the halls and feeling the aged wood of the old school building lit a flame in Yuuri’s chest. Already in the teacher’s lounge, there was a package waiting for him, courtesy of Japan’s Ministry of Defense. Anti-Sensei knives, Anti-Sensei BBs, and a firearm for a beginner’s lesson in shooting. The bare basics for if the teacher you were observing was also a ticking time-bomb.

Yuuri’s eyes darted left and right. Not a breath in the entire building, besides his. Yuuri pocketed the BBs and left the firearm untouched. Picking up one of the Anti-Sensei knives, Yuuri ran his thumb over the blade. Bending the rubber to his will. Tossing the knife into the air, it spun three-sixty before the handle fell into Yuuri’s grasp and he tossed it up again. A little habit he picked up from Class 3-E, back in the day when all he had were pencils. Something to keep the mind occupied until you--

Yuuri threw the blade as soon as “Mr. Octopus” appeared in front of him. They introduced themselves. Katsuki Yuuri and Koro-sensei. Fitting names for two adults who’ll be spending the next year together. Yuuri squinted his eyes towards the narrator, cringing at a line that could be perfectly misinterpreted. Was there no stopping to this madness? At least, Yuuri got his knife back from Koro-sensei. The teacher held the knife daintly with a floral handkerchief, and he commended Yuuri on his reflexes. Grade A moves for a formidable athlete. Yuuri joked that he didn’t like jump scares, and Koro-sensei sincerely apologized. Noting that he’ll slow down when around Yuuri’s presence, and the figure skater wondered what constituted as slow to a being that could potentially walk at Mach 20.

Either way, Yuuri had a taste of what Koro-sensei could do. Jotting mental notes for safe-keeping while Yuuri asked Koro-sensei what was his lesson plan for the day. Suddenly, a tear leaked down Koro-sensei’s face and he needed a moment to pull himself together. Someone was curious about his lesson plan! To a veteran teacher, explaining would be a hinderance. To a fresh teacher, it was a miracle! Wiping back the tears with his tentacles, Koro-sensei whipped out a dictionary-sized binder and gushed with joy as he explained the lesson play. It took Yuuri about fifteen seconds to realize that the binder only covered one period. Six more binders to go in Koro-sensei’s secret stash, and it wasn’t hard to notice how passionate the teacher was.

A huge Cheshire grin painted over Koro-sensei’s face. Probably the most suspicious but genuine smile that Yuuri had ever seen. A smile fit for viewing others as equals, but also comedic to dull the tension running down a knife. Oddly fitting for a being of mass-destruction. No, Yuuri shouldn’t think like that. Right now, Koro-sensei presented himself as a teacher. The least Yuuri could do was view Koro-sensei that way too.

When the bell rang for first period, Yuuri walked together with Koro-sensei to Classroom 3-E. Koro-sensei entered first, quickly dodging a barrage of BBs as he took attendance. Yuuri peeked into the classroom, taken back by the army of firearms from the students’ side. Reloads, sharing ammunition, swapping weapons to better suit another, and a few coordinated maneuvers weaved into the chaos until attendance was done and everyone sat back down. Breathing hard and some punching the top of their desk out of frustration. Yuri gulped.

From his peripheral, Yuuri noticed Koro-sensei’s waving gesture. Head held high, Yuuri came in. The students stared at him, wondering who he was. A blonde girl up front-- Nakamura Rio-- screeched. Jaw dropped with a shaky finger pointing at Yuuri. Slamming her firearm and hands over her desk, she asked Yuuri if he could autograph her desk.

Yuuri blinked. Koro-sensei blinked. The whole class blinked before someone questioned Rio why she was acting like this. If happiness was an explosion, Rio exploded as she gushed about Yuuri’s decorated history as a figure skater. A comedic sweat drop ran down the front of Yuuri’s glasses. It was nice meeting a fan, but did Rio have to bring up his shameful past? Yuuri calmed the girl down with a firm handshake before stepping back to introduce himself to the class as a whole.

Katsuki Yuuri. For the duration of the school year, he was responsible for monitoring and jotting down notes about the class. Bring a civilian perspective to the assassination classroom’s madness. Yuuri bowed his head after the introduction, and the class greeted him back. To them, it was strange that an average person was going to be here with them. Well, Mr. Karasuma was average too-- in a human sense-- but he probably dealt with situations like this all the time. Yuuri was a fish out of his element, a true normal. An athletic and decorated normal, why not add that?

Yuuri tilted his head to the side, smiling sweetly.

This is a class of assassins.

An Anti-Sensei blade slipped down Yuuri’s jacket sleeve. Twirled between his fingers.

Their target: their teacher.

When Yuuri walked to his seat in the back of the class, Koro-sensei turned around to jot something onto the board. A sneaky kid lifted his firearm, quietly propping the the barrel over his desk. Poised to pull the trigger. Seconds away from pulling, an Anti-Sensei knife nested against the student’s neck. The boy nearly fell back in his seat, but Yuuri caught him. Prying the gun from the boy’s grip, Yuuri reminded him that using a firearm was a no-no once Koro-sensei’s lesson plan was on the go.

Gulping, the boy heeded those words of caution.

A signature grin tugged Yuuri’s lips when he took his seat in the back, red and black pen ready to jot down observations.

This is going to be fun.

Chapter Text

A normal, an average human thrown into a lion’s den. Clipboard over his knee, Yuuri’s pen bobbed up and down as he documented everything. From the cheeky delinquents that folded paper airplanes, to the students up front who were actually trying to learn, from the innocents with their assassination plans shining over their faces, and to those really perverted boys who exchanged crude drawings of something. Yuuri loosened his collar. The general atmosphere in Classroom 3-E hasn’t disappointed him one bit. A group of kids cooped together because of one reason or another. Grades, behavior, or attendance. Each student conveyed their situation so vividly that Yuuri had to refrain himself from documenting that as well. The girl up front-- Nakamura Rio-- glanced to the back of the classroom. Every now and then, meeting Yuuri’s gaze and waving. Yuuri waved back on the first instance, but the gesture got lower and lower until all Yuuri could do was scratch his cheek to make him seem boring.

This was probably the worst situation to meet a fan. In any other circumstance, Yuuri and Rio would have had a friendly conversation about the last skating season-- while Yuuri tried to keep an upbeat attitude, despite the losses. In the current situation, Yuuri had to zip his mouth and act like an adult. Pretty strange since he was a chill person in real life. No, but if he was too lax here, Life would throw a bigger monkey wrench at him. This wasn’t just about winning gold anymore or etching one’s name down in history. This was about saving the world from a tentacle fiend, and Yuuri was merely an observer. Watching this class of misfits pull it together. Yuuri twirled his pen between his fingers.

It seemed that most of the students were working on their own solo plans for the assassination. There didn’t seem to be any cooperation between fellow students, and Yuuri wasn’t an assassin so he couldn’t judge. The occupation did seem solitary but if a large group of people were tasked to take someone down, there was an ease that set the mind in motion if one was with others than all alone. Kind of reminded Yuuri of figure skating.

Out on the ice, a skater was by themselves. Pushing their body to great lengths and heights to get a fraction of an edge over the competition. However, it wasn’t just the skater that was fighting. It was the coach or the coaches that helped shape the programs. It was the support from family and friends when they watched from the sidelines or on the big screen. It was the cry of fans, roaring in the background and applauding no matter what happened.

Like assassins, skaters weren’t alone. The two occupations-- though very different-- were very much the same.

A target was on the eyes, and it took the cooperation of many to make the figurative or literal kill possible. Yuuri shook his head. Nope, don’t get distracted. Skating was his past life. Being a monitor was his life right now. To mix both lives together would be dangerous, and Yuuri had the same obligation like every student here. Find Koro-sensei’s weakness and exploit it, or go in for the kill when the opportunity presented itself. Already, there were a few notable clues. The ever-changing color over Koro-sensei’s face conveyed his mood, and Yuuri smiled when one of the students kept a running list of what all the colors meant. Yuuri believed that the student’s name was Shiota Nagisa. It wouldn’t be too strange if Yuuri asked Nagisa if he could look at the notes, right?

After all, the class had already seen some of what Yuuri could do. Courtesy of Kimura Masayoshi-- the quick-draw hotshot that the skater took by surprise at the end of the last chapter. The boy was evidently very scared of Yuuri, and the latter didn’t mean that at all. Yuuri’s reflexes got the best of him, and he sent apologetic nods to Kimura whenever the boy glanced back. Shuddering in fear when he caught sight of Yuuri, he didn’t notice the nods and continued trembling in his seat. Yuuri will have to clear the air between them soon. Scaring a student wasn’t intentional, and Yuuri couldn’t live with the guilt.

When lunch break came around, Koro-sensei set his chalk piece aside and magically dodged every BB that came his way. Again, every student was firing with all their might and this was probably the only time there was any cooperation between the students. Other than that, when all the BBs were gone, the class’ attitude deflated significantly when Koro-sensei left the room. Perched in the back of the class, Yuuri tossed and twirled his Anti-Sensei knife like he was twirling a pencil back in the old days. His firearm was still in the teacher’s lounge, but Yuuri had no intention of using it. With his own hands, he wanted to see the look of anguish over Koro-sensei’s beady, little eyes. While Yuuri’s knife was down the teacher’s back. The literal example of a backstabber, but Yuuri knew that a chance like that would never happen. Not with the entire class hell-bent on firing like crazy. There was no chance in hell that Yuuri could get close without getting hit. He sighed.

During the lunch break, a lot of the girls stopped by to talk to him. Some admiring that he was an international athlete, others coming by to introduce themselves and to warmly welcome Yuuri to the class, and a few athletes came up to ask Yuuri about his training regime. Yuuri told them that this was his off-season but during the P.E. period, he’ll definitely be around for scouting or to polish his flexibility and reflexes. Yuuri even showed the girls his skates. Murderous stares came from the front of the classroom, jealous boys that were pissed that Yuuri had almost everyone’s attention.

In their eyes, Yuuri was this cool adult that had a wicked life. Traveled internationally? The most traveling that some of the boys had done was within the country while Yuuri soared to every continent. Heck, he probably skated in Antarctica and won fame and money there. To some of the boys, Yuuri was like every girl’s first dream-date. Mature but funny, older but still current with the times, young but old enough to treat a lady just right.

Disregarding the ten percent that viewed Yuuri negatively, the other guys saw Yuuri as a chill, dangerous dude. Anybody who could whip out a knife to stop a student from shooting their teacher earned mad-respect, and Yuuri was amicable. Much like Koro-sensei, but without the due date for an explosion. And yet, there were still some that thought Yuuri was way out of his league. An adult spending the rest of the year monitoring the class? Yeah right, what kind of joke was that? The only reason why Yuuri was here was because the government didn’t trust a bunch of adolescents for an assassination. Figure skater? Please. Yuuri can talk the talk, but can he back up his claims? Terasaka didn’t believe so. Yuuri was a just distraction from the ultimate goal. Killing Koro-sensei.

While everyone was distracted, Terasaka and his friends went outside for some fresh air. Nagisa was out there too, reviewing over his observation notes. When he heard footsteps behind him, Nagisa turned around and saw Terasaka and his crew. The shorter boy wanted to share his notes, but the ring leader told him to zip it and listen. From the classroom, Yuuri could glance over and see the boys clearly, but he had no idea what they were discussing. Whatever it was, Yuuri couldn’t look away. This was the first instance of planned cooperation he had seen all day. Something was going to happen, Yuuri knew it.

Fast-forward to later that afternoon, Koro-sensei posted a funny little assignment on the chalkboard. Each student was tasked to write their own original poem, but it had to end with “Was tentacles all along.” Pretty weird ending, and Koro-sensei’s own free poem was just as strange. It was an interesting assignment so while the students worked, Yuuri wrote his own free poem as well. Barely three lines into his version, someone stood up and brought their assignment forward. Yuuri glanced up. A boy-- Nagisa was his name, right?-- walked very casually up to Koro-sensei. The teacher smiling-- well, Koro-sensei was always smiling. At the last second, instead of turning in his paper, Nagisa pulled out his Anti-Sensei knife and went straight for the kill.

But even before then, Yuuri caught sight of something odd . When he initially heard Nagisa rise from his seat, there was a hint of hesitation. As if Nagisa wasn’t sure if he could go through with the plan he had in mind. Slight imbalance when he got up, but his footsteps and posture evened out with each second. Approaching ever closer to Koro-sensei. A haughty chuckle from Terasaka. A pause from Kayano Kaede’s writing hand when she looked up to watch her classmate. Yuuri noticed it all as well as the rest of the class. Nagisa’s footsteps intensified before the boy swooped in for the kill. Like the classified folder said, Mach 20 was no joke for a groggy Koro-sensei. He blocked Nagisa’s weapon, holding it firmly with a handkerchief in between his tentacle and the blade.

And then, Nagisa threw himself into his teacher’s arms, for lack of a better word. In a split second, a light bulb clicked in Koro-sensei’s head. Terasaka jumped up, pushing the button for a trigger. An explosion came in between Koro-sensei and Nagisa. Anti-Sensei BBs spraying in all directions. Kids took cover under their desks, and Yuuri hid behind his clipboard when BBs ricocheted and flew towards him. When the smoke cleared, Terasaka was the only one laughing. His little gang cheered, but the rest of the class looked at the boys as if they were insane. They were! Yuuri cracked his pens. The boys had just sacrificed a classmate for all of this , and not a slice of remorse bittered the taste of sweet victory of their tongues.

Their fellow classmates called them out, and Terasaka told everyone to shut up. Sure, Nagisa was a goner, but Koro-sensei was as good as dead. Wasn’t that the whole point of this stupid assassination game? But even so, Terasaka and his gang could’ve handled it better. Could’ve handled it without treating a fellow classmate like a piece of meat. Either way, Terasaka argued that the blast didn’t have enough oomph to kill anybody. At most, Nagisa would have a medical bill and with the thirty trillion yen on the line, it was like paying a cent to the hospital in Terasaka’s eyes. Down on the floor, Terasaka poked and tugged at a strange skin-casing that had Nagisa under its wraps. Growling came from above.

A dark, menacing Koro-sensei hissed from the ceiling. Demanding an explanation. Koro-sensei told the class that he had shed his husk to protect Nagisa and added that Terasaka should count himself lucky that the blast was slow enough for Koro-sensei to do what he had to. Terasaka, Yoshida, and Muramatsu quivered as Koro-sensei’s dark aura encased the classroom. Yuuri held his breath. Sunlight no longer shone into the classroom. Completely curtained by this intoxicating anger that transformed the comedic Koro-sensei into a monster. Suddenly, Koro-sensei disappeared like a ninja. Name plates from houses suddenly piled up in front of the classroom. Names of Terasaka, Yoshida, and Muramatsu’s friends and family.

Koro-sensei came back. Not as dark as before, but still just as menacing. He had agreed beforehand to not harm any student, but that agreement didn’t extend to friends and family. Per se. And then suddenly, Koro-sensei was back to his chill, teacher self. True, Terasaka tried to defend himself. Saying that everyone wasn’t going to sit aside and wait for the earth to be blown up. Drastic measures had to be taken for survival, and Koro-sensei wholeheartedly agreed. However, throwing away your own life to achieve something didn’t sound very sustainable. Koro-sensei drove the lesson home by advising everyone to take pride in their accomplishments and works as assassins and to never lower yourself in the eyes of the enemy.

Though it wasn’t a class observation, Yuuri jotted down Koro-sensei’s words and branded the lesson into his heart. The octopus really does care about his students. Why else would he leave such impactful words after an assassination attempt? Yuuri’s mood perked up when Nagisa’s perked up. The little boy who thought he was invisible finally had the pleasure in being seen. A bit of confidence stacked itself under Nagisa’s feet, giving him a boost to meet his teacher and his peers on equal footing. As a teacher, that had to be one of the best feelings in the world for Koro-sensei. As a former-student and current-athlete, it gave Yuuri a little boost. Something small for him to poke his head out from this self-doubt he had drowned himself in.

Assassins and skaters-- though very different-- were very much the same.

Chapter Text

City Hunter: a vigilante hidden amongst the shadows of our lives.

Even in the assassin community, there was no way of telling if the City Hunter was real or not. No one knew who it was and that was the beauty behind the name. A simple yet memorable title, a name that sounded too comedic to be true but catchy enough to fear. It didn’t help one bit that the City Hunter’s reputation only grew after their absence. Nearly five years had past since their last appearance, and criminals everywhere debated whether or not it was safe to conduct business in the night. An air of mystique was the clincher on the subject. In a five year absence, one would think that some evidence would’ve been found on what happened to the City Hunter. Perhaps a body or what was left of one? Perhaps a letter or some sign of struggle? There was no concrete evidence, and it was likely that there would never be any.

But on the topic of Class 3-E, Koro-sensei thought it was a brilliant idea to discuss about History’s Greatest Assassins. A little fountain of inspiration for his students, and it would help motivate them for the rest of the year. Assassins weren’t part of any curriculum, so Koro-sensei employed the learning as extra credit. And even if some students saw through that plan, Koro-sensei was careful as he slowly slipped in information throughout the day. Mathematics? It didn’t hurt to squeeze in very real examples of how math pulled off the beauty of death. English? Koro-sensei dropped hints of how effective language was, slipping in a few foreign words that most of the class have never heard before. Yuuri smiled out of politeness with the class’ struggle, wondering what the yellow octopus was up to.

And when the students thought that Koro-sensei’s shenanigans were over, the octopus simply dove into wild stories of some assassins he knew. Whether personally or not, Koro-sensei was vague about it. Telling enough to pique the class’ interest, but keeping the stories vague so that his students can research more if they wanted to. Halfway through the storytelling, someone asked what was the point of all of this. Yeah, they were great stories and all, but those assassins had reasons and motives for picking up the tools of the trade. Class 3-E was just a bunch of misfits, thrust into a situation that the Japan’s Ministry of Defense didn’t want to tackle. For now, at least.

Okay, so Koro-sensei tried a different tactic. Scratching his head with a tentacle, Koro-sensei promised to tell one more story and he’ll drop the whole subject. For real. Leaning against the chalkboard, the octopus spoke about a peculiar assassin who wasn’t qualified to be called one. The City Hunter. Who the City Hunter was, no one knew but their methods geared them towards being a vigilante, perhaps? It was unknown if the City Hunter had ever assassinated anyone but whoever they were, they saved countless lives from gruesome deaths and horrid fates. And the clincher, the City Hunter used to be a student at Kunugigaoka Academy.

The class grew still. Was that right? Did Kunugigaoka Academy produce its own... assassin? For clarity, someone asked Koro-sensei how he knew about this. The octopus twiddled his tentacles, mentioning that he did some research on the academy before coming. It took a lot of grunt work to dig out the information, but the facts were out there. Even during a time of peace, even during a time where no ticking time-bomb teacher was currently teaching, an assassin can be born. Koro-sensei didn’t know the details behind why a student chose to become the City Hunter, but he told his class that even a completely normal and average person can be someone formidable and dangerous if they were up to the challenge. Was the City Hunter a student of Classroom 3-E? Koro-sensei didn’t have those specific details, but he expressed great enthusiasm if the City Hunter was.

That got the class talking, wondering if History was repeating itself. Wondering if History liked the test-run they did, and now the test-run was a full-blown experiment with over twenty test-subjects instead of just one. Even without the humor that was tossed in to make the talk exciting, just the thought that someone from a previous generation once stood in the similar shoes of the present-Class 3-E student body made this whole situation sacred in a way. As if everyone was going to graduate through a test-ritual to see if they were worthy or not. It sounded cool in theory, but stressful and quite scary in reality. Just thinking that someone from the academy’s past might’ve assassinated someone was quite a reputation to look up to, considering that the class had until March to kill Koro-sensei.

During the talk and chatter, Yuuri kept quiet for the most part. He didn’t document anything that was said. It was best left private to Classroom 3-E. Nothing more and nothing less than that. He couldn’t contribute much to the rolling conversation, but Yuuri did joke about how he once knew a classmate that wanted to be an assassin. Mumbling here and there that that even though the City Hunter sounded sketchy, they were probably a really good person for saving so many lives from tragic endings. Yuuri didn’t elaborate further, even though some nosy students wanted him to. To see a normal jump into a conversation like this was interesting, so what motivated Yuuri to test the waters?

The skater kept a nice smile on. There were some things about his past that were better left unsaid. A shameful past at that, and Yuuri needed to sort his feelings through those memories first before sharing them to a class that he was growing fond of. When class was dismissed later that afternoon, Yuuri jogged to the academy’s main building to hand-in his notes to Principal Asano. The man was always eager when Yuuri stopped by, and the skater developed a tough skin in the office’s atmosphere whenever he dropped in. Ignoring the sudden cold and darkness around him, Yuuri saw that the principal wasn’t alone.

Two adults were by his desk, and a boy sat on the office couch. An Anti-Sensei knife in his hand when he stabbed through a picture of Koro-sensei. A new student joining Class 3-E, starting tomorrow. That’ll be exciting. All Yuuri needed to do was slip up to the desk, hand in his notes, and go on his merry way. Two daggers stabbed Yuuri’s back, and the skater turned around. The boy on the couch was staring at him. With a childish smirk that hid something sinister. Yuuri left the office as quickly as he could and made his way back to his aunt and uncle’s apartment space. His heart running a mile as he shuffled down the stairs and out from the campus grounds.

It’d been a long time since Yuuri was viewed as competition. The boy back in the office definitely held some sort of competitive grudge towards him, despite it being the first time the two had ever met. Breathing deeply, Yuuri managed to calm his heartbeat well enough before thinking clearly. One shot, one chance. Don’t look back. That was a little quote his teacher, Ms. Saruhiko Chihoko, used to say. Whether it was a knife, firearm, or even the pair of skates that Yuuri wielded when push came to shove, his teacher wanted one thing. A protegee to pass on her knowledge and to live through her work. Stupid as it was, Yuuri still kept the mask that he always wore during his youth.

A simple, surgical mask to wear when it was a smoggy day or if pollution was really bad. The elastic band on the back was stretched to its limits and the covering was a bit small for Yuuri now. But even so, he held the mask up to his mouth and twirled the Anti-Sensei blade that slipped down his jacket sleeve.

Five years was long enough to reopen an old chapter from one’s life.

If Yuuri still wanted to skate after this year, he had to kill Koro-sensei with his own hands.

Chapter Text

What was worth more? Pride or the price of a life?

That was the very same question Karma had. His trust for a teacher sliced thinly into two, vanishing in a wisp of smoke. Ashes rose into the air, fueling the redhead’s indispensable anger towards his teacher-- no, towards this goddamn teaching-system --when the bully only got the pointed tip of the blade while Karma received the blunt force. Blades were interesting creatures in their own little ways. One would think that a sharp blade was dangerous. Quite the contrary. The sharp edge gave the wielder a leverage over their kill, a simple strategy to trim off the undesirables. A blunt blade possessed no control. Tearing and pulling apart a fresh kill, crushing the worth of something in an instant.

Mr. Ono-- or should we call him “Backstabber”-- showed no mercy, no remorse. Slouching back in his seat while a haughty Class 3-A student cackled in the background. Safe because he was on the winning side. Karma didn’t bite back his tongue. Lunged forward, the redhead stayed true to who he was. Ratting out every bit of information he had on the Class 3-A student, citing that the boy as no better than a bully. Mr. Ono shattered Karma’s trust. Crushing the fine glass of understanding that once stood between them. Reducing it to nothingness in a span of a few words. Those words were the last things Karma heard from his beloved teacher before he tuned out the man’s voice for good.

At least he has a future!

Even to this day, about a year later, those words still haunted Karma. He crushed his milk carton. Strawberry milk shot up the straw, spilling down the boy’s hand as he took a lovely trip up the mountain. In this twisted, backwash of a world, the only ones who wielded power were on the winning side, huh? A signature smirk rode over Karma’s lips. There was no such thing as a winning or losing side. Those who could make it out alive were the only ones worthy of boasting such nonsense, and Karma held that belief to its highest degree. Throw that former Class 3-A student into this den of wolves, and Karma will show him something to truly fear.

Mr. Ono may’ve banished Karma with the “wolves”, but the redhead was going to make a comeback. Leader of this whole pack.

When Karma appeared on the scene, Class 3-E was outside. Taking a breath of fresh air after a few hours cooped up in a rickety building. The target: Koro-sensei. The yellow octopus was distracted, helping a few girls collect flowers. Easily dodging Anti-Sensei knives that struck from behind. Child’s play. Koro-sensei saw everything as entertainment. Saw this whole assassination business like it was a walk in the park. Pick flowers, dodge a knife. Admire an ant colony, dodge at twenty times the speed of light. This target was good. Crafty. Karma liked that. Coming over the hill to meet with the class, there was still some unfinished business that the redhead needed to do. That business took the form of a blue-haired male as he showed Sugino the new notes he took over Koro-sensei.

Nagisa froze in his tracks. Not a breath from the boy as his attention veered to the right. Perched over the grassy hill with his blazer wide open was an old friend, and a splash of red painted the atmosphere with heartwarming feelings. Enough to grab Yuuri’s attention from where he stood. Under the shade of a tree to admire the wonderful beetles with Kurahashi. The girl had quite a collection in her pickle jar. Kurahashi excused herself so that she could show her collection to a few friends. Giving Yuuri more time to analyze the current situation. He had seen that redhead before.

Karma Akabane. New student, out from suspension and starting his first day of school today.

The Japanese skater adjusted his glasses. Approaching where Nagisa and Sugino were to welcome Karma to the class with open arms. The redhead walked right past him, a foolhardy smile over his face. Karma’s eyes weren’t smiling.

Only one thing was in his sights. Koro-sensei. Yuuri crushed his pens while Karma sliced through the crowd of mingling students to meet Koro-sensei. Up close and personal. Wondrous words slipped from the boy’s lips, showering the teacher with praise and Koro-sensei couldn’t deny the offer of shaking Karma’s hand. A firm grasp and then a splat. Koro-sensei dodged the knife up Karma’s sleeve. Looking down at his own tentacle as it quickly regenerated. Staring at it and then staring at Karma. For the first time, someone actually landed a hit on him. The class was mesmerized, staring at Karma as the boy took a step closer to see dear Koro-sensei better. Taunting the teacher, asking why Koro-sensei was backing away from a warm welcome. When Karma drew close enough, he whispered that if anyone had a chance of saving the world, it was him.

And at that moment, the class and Koro-sensei believed in Karma. For just a moment, the sun broke through the dark clouds and emerging from the darkness with an army following behind him was Karma. Yuuri hid his smirk behind his clipboard, calling Karma out and asking the boy why he was late. Two hours late, to be exact. Karma waved a few apologies over to Yuuri, not taking much notice to the normal. The seeds of Pride were sowed and growing well. Yuuri watched the suffocating flowers creep up Karma’s neck. He wondered how much time the boy had left before his senseless pride was finally against him. Only Time could tell and the clock was ticking. Fast.

The next morning, Yuuri was polishing his arsenal of Anti-Sensei blades. The knives were made of rubber, but polishing the blades was an old habit. Whether it was with a real knife, skate blades, or a rubber knife, nobody could take this old habit away from Yuuri. Testing out the flexibility of his favorite blade, Yuuri threw it at Koro-sensei when the yellow octopus popped into the teacher’s lounge. Dodging the blade quickly and picking it up with a handkerchief. Voicing that between dodging students, dodging Mr. Karasuma, and his personal jealousy towards said man, nothing took Koro-sensei’s breath more than this. Katsuki Yuuri. An innocent normal thrown into a pack of savage wolves, but the normal was savage in his own, discreet way. As an athlete and as a normal thrust into this situation, it wasn’t odd that Yuuri was picking up a tendency for throwing knives. Especially if the Earth’s safety was at stake.

Yuuri thanked Koro-sensei for the nice words. Reminding the teacher that in an Assassination Classroom, there was no one to trust. Even the normal ones. Wasn’t that right? Yuuri adjusted his glasses. A glare reflected off the lens. Koro-sensei nodded with a giggle, happy to see Yuuri growing out from his quiet shell. Frankly, the teacher was worried that Yuuri might’ve been out of his element here in the mountains, but the skater was doing just fine. More than fine, actually. Yuuri was doing a great job as an observer and as a silent motivator to the rest of the class. For that, Koro-sensei was thankful. But enough chit chat, there were lessons to teach and growing minds to nurture.

Koro-sensei headed to class first while Yuuri gathered his papers. Sneaking an Anti-Sensei knife up his sleeve for reassurance. Sticking knives up one’s sleeve shouldn’t reassure anybody, but it was an old habit from Yuuri’s youth and he thought about his late teacher, Ms. Saruhiko Chihoko, every time he did the gesture. She wouldn’t have picked him as her protegee if she thought Yuuri couldn’t handle it. And this year, Yuuri could finally show his teacher the fruits of his labor. Of course, Yuuri had to step-up his game. Karma’s tricks and improv were off the charts. High enough to force Koro-sensei to be on his guard. But even so, Yuuri did some reading from Karma’s chapter, smiling fondly after learning that the boy had sliced and taped bits of an Anti-Sensei blade over his open palm before shaking Koro-sensei’s tentacle.

When Yuuri came into Classroom 3-E, the class was tense. More tense than usual. Koro-sensei was staring at something. Yuuri peeked around the yellow octopus, averting his eyes from the sight. A hunk of a red octopus splattered over the teacher’s desk, a very real and sharp knife sticking out from the cephalopod's head. Ink and blood dripping onto the floor. No one said anything, but Karma’s voice sliced through the silence like a red, hot knife. He wanted to give Koro-sensei a heartwarming gift. Koro-sensei picked up the octopus, plucking the knife out from the dead animal’s head. He told Yuuri to take attendance while he, while he gave the octopus a proper send off. Yuuri nodded before peering down at the attendance sheet. Calling out names and documenting the responses. By the time he finished, Koro-sensei came back with the usual bubbly atmosphere around his head. Yuuri took his spot in the back of the class.

Karma acted like he wasn’t there. Good.

For the rest of the day, Karma deployed a wide range of tricks. Throwing everything he had to assassinating Koro-sensei. However, the teacher was craftier than expected. He took pleasure in taking care of Karma. Feeding the boy, painting his nails, and giving the redhead a hair makeover. Yuuri documented it all. Even if someone expressed complete malice towards him, Koro-sensei still had a good heart. Because the committee was a student and as a teacher, Koro-sensei did what any teacher would do. Help Karma grow, help the boy channel his energy into other hobbies, and making sure that the redhead had a full stomach and a bulging brain full of new information. That was the very essence of being a teacher.

Naturally, Karma combatted to the best of his ability. Shaking off the hospitality and cracking up new tricks. By the end of the day, Karma was out of ideas. The haughty impression he pulled off yesterday was a mere echo of a memory. Even if the boy failed, Yuuri was quite proud of with how innovative Karma was. He’ll fit in well , Yuuri thought. He documented one more thing before putting the clipboard aside. Easing back in his seat in the teacher’s lounge, Yuuri packed his belongings when Mr. Kurasama came into the room. Typing away on his laptop. Glancing up briefly to greet Yuuri before going back to work.

For a few days now, Mr. Kurasama was in charge of Class 3-E’s physical education. The two adults rarely talked to each other, but they were on good terms for the time being. Yuuri excused himself, asking Mr. Kurasama if he wanted a drink or a snack for the afternoon. The man shook his head, telling Yuuri to go on ahead. He deserved it. Shrugging, Yuuri grabbed his sports bag and walked out. Walking slowly across the creaky wooden floors. Closing his eyes and remembering the old days.

In so many ways, the Assassination Classroom reminded Yuuri of the person he used to be. Being an undercover assassin or vigilante--Yuuri liked referring himself as the latter --in a class of normals was no easy feat. Ms. Saruhiko observed her students carefully, weeding out the ones that would expose the whole story. It was easy. The students who were too excitable had an easy to read face. The quiet ones were a little harder, but the students who could blend into the background were the perfect candidates. There were quite a few to choose from, but Ms. Saruhiko picked Yuuri. Not just because he was one of the better students in the class, but because nobody would bat an eye if he was gone for a few days. The perks of being an international athlete at such a young age. Oh, Ms. Saruhiko was blessed and she taught Yuuri everything she knew.

That assassinating wasn’t just about killing somebody for an upper hand or for a personal gain. It was about protecting something or someone from a very real threat. Evasive maneuvers and strong defenses weren’t the typical tools for an assassin, but they bled the mark of a shinobi. A true Japanese assassin. Assassinating wasn’t all about killing. It was about making your move first to trip the target. And in such a competitive world with blood spilled at every corner, knowing information and keeping tabs on targets was just as important as silencing them. Once in for all. Besides, even if Yuuri didn’t want to follow in his teacher’s footsteps, he could always integrate what he learned into his skating programs. Carving something truly extraordinary, a cut above the competition.

That was when Yuuri noticed the startling parallel between him and Karma. Both weren’t conventional assassins. Yuuri relied on his cover and for others to play the lead role. Karma had his bag of tricks and a sharp-tongue. They were both dangerous in their own ways, and people knew them by name. However, there was one fatal flaw that plagued both assassins. Pride .

What was worth more? Pride or the price of a life?

Yuuri faced that very same dilemma during a mission in Russia. He was there for a junior competition but under the surface, he was there to leak information about a mob boss. Very cliche, but cliches mimic real life for a reason. The very same mob boss was an audience member during the skating programs, and Yuuri’s performance had to suffer so that he could catch a minute or two with the mob boss. Alone. The woman was very caring, being one of the first to call an ambulance when Yuuri collided with another skater on the ice. Knocked out and bleeding from his neck. The skater he bumped into was fine, but the boy was shaken. Tearfully standing where he was, not knowing what to do while Yuuri almost bled to death.

Medics came onto the ice and moved Yuuri out, earning the boy a minute or two with the kind mob boss back on the bench. With the strength Yuuri had left, he needed to learn one more thing about the mob boss before he could successfully leak her criminal record. He needed to know her surname. Her goons always referred to her with a codename and in the public’s eye, the woman ran with an alibi to cover up her dangerous record. All Yuuri needed was a surname. In that moment, Yuuri’s pride and his life were on the line. If he kept talking, he would die. If Yuuri kept talking, he could fulfill the last part of his mission. Failure or not, Yuuri needed to know the mob boss’ surname. He was an assassin. Dying was part of the job description, but Yuuri was just a kid. Just a young soul that didn’t deserve to die this early in the game.

In the end, the price of life was worth much more. Not just Yuuri’s life or the mob boss’ life, but for the life of the son that rushed towards Yuuri’s side. Hoping that the skater was okay, hearing the updates from his mother, and finally thanking his mother for calling an ambulance just in time. Yuuri didn’t need to talk anymore. He now knew the woman’s surname. Nikiforov. The infamous mob boss that he was supposed to destroy was the single-mother to none other than Viktor Nikiforov. The young man that Yuuri had admired for all his life. Viktor addressed the mob boss as his mother, and the mob boss--in turn--addressed her son affectionately.

The price of a life was worth more than a selfish pride. Because deep in Yuuri’s heart, he wasn’t an assassin. He was just a kid that wanted his idol to keep smiling. Whether or not Viktor knew about his mother’s dark records was a mystery to him. But at that moment, Yuuri realized how precious a life truly was.

And in the present, Yuuri saw that Karma realized the same thing as well. Looking out the window, Yuuri saw a smiling Karma and cheerful Nagisa running while a stuttering Koro-sensei chased after them. Demanding to know what Karma used his money for. What donation?! Hiding his laugh, Yuuri looked at Karma and truly saw the boy blossom in front of the sunset. The redhead was still a trickster, but there was nothing malicious about him now. Karma experienced for himself how precious a life truly was. Oh how fleeting Pride can be.

Chapter Text

Truth be told, Yuuri knew that this would be coming. Sitting in front of Principal Asano’s desk, Yuuri took tiny sips from an oriental teacup as his boss shuffled through a manila folder. A rather imposing one at that! Leaflets of paper ran down Asano’s thumb, like a counter inspecting the bills after a bank heist. Probably not ethical for Yuuri to view his boss in such a light, but the ominous atmosphere and the shadows highlighted across the principal’s face was what nightmares were made of. The heavy cast of eyebrows, the pointed glint over Asano’s eyes, and that devilish smirk curved over his lips. Drops of unease trickled off of Yuuri when he leaned forward, inspecting the documents that Asano pushed towards him. Yuuri’s school records from around ten years ago. When he was a student at Kunugigaoka Academy.

Asano should’ve held this meeting ages ago, but he was a lenient man. As lenient as an educator/businessman could be. All he expected were results, and Yuuri delivered them dutifully. Like a student turning in assignments on time to remain on a teacher’s good side for the time-being. There was nothing wrong with Yuuri’s work, and the principal didn’t expect anything less from a young man with a bachelor’s degree. However, Principal Asano couldn’t turn a blind eye over a very simple fact. Japan’s Frozen Tiara was under his care and supervision, and not even a toddler could miss the biggest fact that was standing before him. Katsuki Yuuri, figure-skater of the highest caliber. Decorated with gleaming medals, hungry vengeance, and nerves of steel. Weathered down into an unappreciated class monitor with a clipboard and pens. Wasn’t that a troubling sight?

To see one of the brightest citizens in the country culled into a position like this. If the world knew...The world wasn’t going to know. Kept under a strict contract, courtesy of Japan’s Ministry of Defense, Principal Asano and Katsuki Yuuri vowed with their lives to not divulge anything about Koro-sensei and Class 3-E to the public’s ears. However, nowhere on the contract did it say that the signed parties couldn’t question and investigate each other. If they wanted to. Yuuri suspected that sooner or later he would be caught, but what was the purpose behind showcasing old school documents?

Yuuri was a decent student, at least on paper. A few infringements for tardiness, but nothing more severe than that. Absences were waived because he had medals to bring home, or at least put Japan’s name out there on the list of rising athletes on the competitive ice. Average grades that fluctuated up and down, down and up. Nothing out of the ordinary, but there was a secret lurking behind Principal Asano’s smile when Yuuri looked up from the papers.

Was Yuuri a former student? Yes, he was. These school documents weren’t forged, and Yuuri quietly cringed when his eyes spotted past school pictures of his goofy self and that equally goofy smile plastered across his face. He really couldn’t smile with his eyes since the cinnamon-tinted windows to the soul were barren on top of a superficial smile. Drawing his eyes away from all of that, Yuuri closed a chapter of his life before his boss got too greedy. Humbleness was a virtue for any age, and Asano was no stranger to such formalities.

He simply eased back in his seat. Curious yet honored that a former student paid a visit after all these years. Yuuri mumbled that it wasn’t strange at all, and that he wanted some inspiration after a disappointing letdown during the last skating season. Everything Yuuri said was true, but he didn’t dare look away from Asano. Unless he wanted to reveal a scar or two for a crafty civilian. The meeting ended soon afterwards, and Asano congratulated Yuuri on his hard work and self-sacrifice. Patting a rough hand over the reports that Yuuri had been turning in for the past few weeks. Yuuri nodded, backing out from the office slowly. Mumbling that he was late for practice, mumbling that he couldn’t skip out on routines if he wanted to make a comeback for the next skating season.

Principal Asano managed a chuckle, almost tricking Yuuri into letting his guard down. As soon peace was restored in the room, Asano was quick to pierce it. Like a needle popping a child’s balloon.

Give a greeting to Ms. Saruhiko on my behalf. Today is her anniversary.

Back facing Principal Asano, Yuuri gave a curt nod. Biting the inside of his cheeks to keep his composure. Asano didn’t know. Yuuri kept telling himself that. He was Ms. Saruhiko’s former student and if Yuuri was anybody else, Asano would’ve said the same thing. However, why would the principal bring this up if he wasn’t already aware of something else? No, Yuuri couldn’t think like that. Ms. Saruhiko taught here at the academy for at least five years. It was be no surprise that Asano knew of the teacher’s anniversary, but it was rather unnerving that the meeting was held on that very same day. As if Asano wanted to see for himself if an old rumor was true.

Did Kunugigaoka Academy produce its own, “organic” assassin?

Back at his aunt and uncle’s apartment complex, Yuuri laid dormant in his room, hidden under fleece blankets. Resuming exercise when his folks went out for groceries. Breathing through his push-ups, Yuuri’s shoulders shook as his back curved into a mountain top. His form was sloppy, and Yuuri could almost hear Ms. Saruhiko’s voice. Urging him to straighten up if he wanted a sturdy upper body. Widening his hand stance, Yuuri dropped deeper into his push-ups. Chest a few inches off the floor as his rusty body pushed itself up. Managing one proper push-up before Yuuri fell over and smacked his head against a cabinet door. Lying in silence and nursing his wound, Yuuri closed his eyes.

Not to sleep, but to think back to the old days. Specifically five years ago, when he heard that Ms. Saruhiko was in Russia. Yuuri was in Detroit when he received the phone call during his practice session with Coach Celestino and fellow skater, Phichit Chulanont. Promising to keep his phone on silent next time, Yuuri rushed to the locker room. Cornered alongside metal doors in a frigid room. Voice dropped to a whisper, eyes wide when heard his late-teacher’s pants. Her voice so hushed that Yuuri barely understood what she said until Ms. Saruhiko whispered his code name. City Hunter. That was the first and last time Ms. Saruhiko ever called Yuuri by his code name.

A gunshot deafened her late-pupil’s ear, enough to produce a mere whisper as a fragile student called out to his teacher. In a vain attempt, Yuuri asked if Chihoko was okay. That was the first and last time he ever called Ms. Saruhiko by her first name. How tragic it was for one to never hear the bond between a pair. In the end, a teacher left this world without her just desserts.

The woman that had taught Yuuri everything she knew to survive in this cutthroat world was gone. Her way of life survived through Yuuri, but the numb assassin barely had a grip of what was going on before he hid the mask and way of life altogether. Never to be seen or used again, but Yuuri was easing back into familiar roots and had recently discovered where his old mask was. The dusty surgical mask rested under his pillow, serving as a memorabilia to everything that had shaped his life in the past ten years.

Later that evening, Yuuri spent his dinner at a bar. He left a note for his folks to read and to new honest, they were probably glad that he went. Always concerned that he wasn't fitting in with his “peers”, but at least they won't question Yuuri if he came home late. A lecture here and there, but Yuuri was an adult. Acceptable for him to spend an hour or two drinking to lift the spirits, but it wasn't his spirits that were lifted. Locked behind a bar counter with a shot of sake, Yuuri tipped the bottle for Ms. Saruhiko’s favor. Pouring the female assassin a generous portion, hitting it with his own glass, and downing both shots in rapid succession. Ears hot, Yuuri kept repeating the ritual until the alcohol tasted like Red Bull.

Back in the day, Ms. Saruhiko promised that she had a tasty drink for when Yuuri was of age, but the skater preferred his drinks alone. Much like how he preferred to do a lot of things alone until a dear friend snapped him out of it.

Yuuri dedicated the next shot to Phichit. Mumbling how the skater was his support pillar, quickly adding that Chihoko was a great pillar too. Both shots ran down Yuuri’s throat, leaving behind a burning bitterness. What was he doing? Slumped over a bar seat, trying to come to terms with a reemerging past.This was like every bar scene in a movie. The main protagonist drinking his sorrows away before someone convinces him to fall back to old roots. Yeah, right. Yuuri promised himself that the assassin life was behind him. If he was going to do anything drastic, it was going to be with his own face. Not a mask for people to speculate behind.

Yuuri needed to hold back on the liquor.

Someone came behind him, clasping a hand over his shoulder when sake spilled over the wooden bar counter. Lovely hands fit for a lover than a bar attendee. Silky hair ticking Yuuri’s neck when the patron came closer. Warm breath barely grazing Yuuri’s exposed skin. A mere whisper, strong enough to match a whistling bullet. Be my coach.

Yuuri snapped back, reuniting with the teal eyes of a madman. Slipped past the blade running down Viktor’s arm and matched it with his own. Blades met at the middle, both patrons too close to arouse suspicion from the general public. Steady eye on the other’s weapon as Viktor and Yuuri played off the tension. Chatting about how Viktor was in Tokyo for a bit before heading to the hot springs in the countryside. Yuuri poured him a drink, subtly influencing the famous skater to visit Hasetsu. There was a quiet ice rink there if Viktor cared to practice while on vacation. It would’ve been a nice chat between adversaries if daggers were pointed at each other’s thighs. Viktor nursed his sake slowly, knife rested just above Yuuri’s knee. Yuuri poured a bit more for Viktor to drink. Making the skater a stupor drunk would’ve been fine, but Viktor had vodka running through his veins. A little sake wouldn’t do very much, but Yuuri hid his smile when Viktor slurred his words. Two shots in. Yuuri already hid his knife, but he kept a friendly arm over Viktor’s shoulder when the European was pleasantly buzzed.

What was Viktor doing here? If he initiated an attack, it meant he was an assassin. Or, someone tied very closely to the circle. His mother was a mafia boss after all, but it didn’t mean Viktor was one too. But then, why would the European show up at all if that wasn’t the case? Yuuri narrowed his eyes when Viktor babbled, slipping from English, to Russian, and to some Japanese. More than enough evidence to suggest that Viktor hadn’t been in the circle for very long. To be put under with just a few shots was embarrassing, but Yuuri wasn’t going to hurt Viktor. Yet. He still revered the man as his idol, and Yuuri could never forget Ms. Nikiforov’s kindness from ten years ago. But then, why was Viktor here? How did he know where Yuuri was? On this day in particular, the anniversary of Ms. Saruhiko’s death. And what was with the strange phase Viktor had whispered before striking?

It was an odd way of making your presence known, and Yuuri couldn’t let his guard down. Even when Viktor fell asleep over the bar counter. Bangs hiding half of his face, but not hiding that childish smile tugging the corner of his lips. The kind of smile that you would see on a child as they slept on their mother’s knee after a long, long day. Yuuri couldn’t just leave Viktor here to his own devices. Despite being buzzed himself, Yuuri managed to pick Viktor up. Carrying the man bridal-style after paying off the bill. Shuffling down the sidewalk with a man nuzzled against his chest. Viktor breathed softly like a kid. He hadn’t changed one bit. Somewhat sheltered because of his mother, gullible when it came to offers, and quick to drop his guard when Yuuri turned out to be friendly.

For whatever reason, Yuuri didn’t let Viktor go. He didn’t know the man’s motives, or why he was truly in Japan. If Viktor knew where Yuuri was, that meant the European knew about the skater’s past. Why was everyone trying to dig that up? The City Hunter was the vigilante that the world deserved, but not the one it needed. There was no reason for him to don the surgical mask and fight against backalley crime. Yuuri had a skating season to train for and a yellow octopus to kill...Wait, did Viktor know about Koro-sensei? Was Viktor aware of the world’s most dangerous criminal and because of his mafia roots, did he decide to take a trip down to Japan just to kill the bastard? The pretty penny over Koro-sensei’s head was no joke and for a mafia group, it was enough to fetch in weapons, drugs, influence, and state-of-the-art luxuries.

You thought if you took me down, you could get the octopus’ coordinates.

Viktor twitched in his sleep. Completely helpless, but Yuuri knew better than to do anything funny. While under Ms. Saruhiko Chihoko’s tutelage, she warned Yuuri to never let his guard down when the enemy was vulnerable. Guns and knives weren’t the only tools that an assassin was equipped with. Poisons, recording devices, and the sly chance of the vulnerable corrupting you from the heart. Assassins only seemed vulnerable to tug at the heartstrings before “waking up” for the finishing blow. An old trick that female shinobi were taught. Whether clothed or naked, they were a slippery threat that could easily wiggle themselves into someone’s heart before destroying them from the inside-out. Yuuri wasn’t sure if any mafia group copied that tactic, but it was no secret that shady organizations employed attractive faces to put the public in stupor while the real puppet strings were hitched from the behind.

Maybe Viktor wasn’t here for Koro-sensei, but for Yuuri. Did he finally learn that Yuuri had planned on sabotaging his mother’s public record all those years ago? Yuuri didn’t stop to find out. Booking a hotel room for Viktor somewhere in downtown Tokyo, he hauled Viktor to the elevator and down the fifth floor. The Russian collapsed onto his bed, immediately reaching and grabbing Yuuri’s hand before the skater could leave. Was that really a good idea when someone had knives up their sleeve? But Viktor had just woken up, flat-out forgot that he had seen Yuuri earlier. Or, that was what he wanted Yuuri to believe.

The Russian murmured questions, asking where he was and why Yuuri was here. There was something so gentle about Viktor’s words that Yuuri turned his head, guard dropped by a sliver. A smirk twisted over Viktor’s lips.

You never let your guard down around anybody, Ms. Saruhiko had advised, years ago. Never know when a cute face is gonna turn on ya.

Be a shitty way to end his late-teacher’s anniversary with a blade at his throat, an attractive face cornering his escape. They were both drunk, not fully aware of what they were doing. It wouldn’t hurt if Yuuri played with his prey a little. Crossing the few centimetres bridged between them, Yuuri met Viktor’s lips at the middle.

Chapter Text

What emotion did Yuuri feel, with Viktor pressed against him? Fingers snaking through Viktor’s hair as the Japanese skater coaxed the Russian to return the affections. It was the alcohol that was speaking to Yuuri. Forcing the cheap assassin to sell himself in a way that sober!Yuuri would never do. He wasn’t sober!Yuuri, so Yuuri could do whatever the hell he wanted. Trace an innocent finger down Viktor’s jawline, feel the sharp intake of breath from the Russian when he broke from the kiss. Wondering what poison he got himself into. With a ghost of a smile, Yuuri leaned in for something smoother. A slower pace for Viktor to warm-up to, catching the Russian off-guard. A dark glint reflected off of Yuuri’s eyes when he rolled Viktor over. Straddling the Heir to the Nikiforov Family with his thighs, pulling off his glasses. Biting the triangle tip at the end before indulging on his just dessert.

At first, Viktor was like a dead fish. Dull fireworks whirling around in his mind when their lips met yet again. Face flushed, not because of the sake numbing his blood. Stunned . That was the only word that popped into Viktor’s mind before he matched Yuuri’s pace. Subtle at first. Rocking his own rhythm into the kiss. Not so daring with his hands like Yuuri, but Viktor felt like the happiest man in the world with the assassin in his arms. And for a moment, Viktor forgot why he was in Japan or why he sought Yuuri out in the first place. He felt engaged , just a step closer to being close to his personal flame. As if Viktor was a normal person, who was meeting his Lover after a very long time. Perhaps there was alcohol involved in that fantasy-land, and things got a little heated. A little?!

Viktor just had his heart and soul stolen by a foxy thief. A foxy thief that didn’t mind indulging Viktor, for just this once. Yuuri pulled back when Viktor needed a tap out to breathe. Head crashed onto the squishy pillow under him, Viktor panted. Not giving a damn that a suspended string connected his lips to Yuuri’s. Yuuri wiped back the saliva, twirling a dagger with his other hand. Making Viktor wonder what else Yuuri could do with that hand.

Yuuri tilted Viktor’s chin upwards, snapping his fingers. “Eyes up here, bastard. This isn't an eighteen and older work of fiction.”

“Enlighten me,” Viktor purred, nuzzling his cheek against Yuuri’s fingers until the other stroked back. “I can do more than just eye the cover.”

“You won't last.” Yuuri pushed Viktor’s hand away when the latter reached up to cup his face. Not for another kiss, but to feel the warmth radiating off from the assassin's body. Like a curious child touching a stranger's face because of its beauty, but Yuuri was more worse for wear than Viktor. An awful flush splattered across his face, like a Lover’s disease. Sweating more than he usually did, and Yuuri could barely see straight. Forget about his glasses, that were flung somewhere in the heat of the moment. He needed to interrogate Viktor, but his dagger was already slipping from his hand.

Viktor tilted his head innocently, pulling Yuuri closer to him. Holding the drunken man next to him, keeping Yuuri warm and safe. A hiccup bubbled from his throat. “For just a moment, can we pretend that we're normal.” If normal meant having his windpipe crushed under a choke hold, Viktor had a long way to go in melting Japan's Ice Queen. Yuuri had lunged so quickly that Viktor wasn't even sure if he was dealing with someone Human. A snarl crept from Yuuri’s soft lips, where words of encouragement and love should've been. He didn't let go.

“Normal?” Did Viktor understand who he was talking to? Assassins knew nothing about being normal, and there was no way of turning back after a first kill. Viktor should've known that.

“I mean, I didn't expect a cutie like you would hurt people,” Viktor said, as if he was talking about the weather. “Especially since you tried to sabotage my Mom.”

Yuuri loosed his hold, enough for Viktor to pry off Yuuri’s fingers. Giving each one a small peck with his lips, as if his touch could erase the sins staining them.

“Yeah, I knew about that,” Viktor added. “I knew what you were up when you came to Russia a few years ago. Still amazed that you never did anything afterwards.”

“I--”

Viktor shushed him. The hotel bed was meant for one person, but Viktor cradled Yuuri against him. Holding the assassin's hands against his own, resting Yuuri’s face on the crook of his shoulder. It was as normal as they could get, without killing each other. Maybe it was the alcohol that was talking because Viktor suddenly felt brave. He ruffled Yuuri’s damp hair, scratching the man’s scalp here and there. Kind of like a massage, but it felt more like a greeting Viktor would do on Makkachin.

It wasn't long before Viktor heard a peep of a whimper, prompting the Russian to continue playing with Yuuri’s hair. Making the latter feel loved.

But in reality, Yuuri couldn't forget that Viktor was a sick bastard. Especially when the Russian said six, simple words.

“I wonder if Chihoko is happy. “

Yuuri froze, but Viktor could hear his heartbeat. Ear rested against Yuuri’s neck pulse for certain.

“To think that she wasted her teachings on you is an insult.” Viktor glanced over at Yuuri. “It was kind of cute that you still called out to--”

Yuuri slapped him. The echo pulsing through the room, like the hatred mounted in his eyes. He shoved Viktor off the bed, and the Russian soon found himself hoisted into the air by a killer. Not a friend. A window right behind Viktor. Yuuri didn't have the guts to throw him out, but Yuuri had the strength to hold up Viktor by the collar. With one hand.

“Yuuri, you're not a killer. You never were, so just ditch all of this.” Viktor needed to speed up. His back was against the window. “Someone like you doesn't deserve to--”

“I don't care.” Yuuri’s hand trembled, but he pulled open the window. Quite a long drop to the ground.

“Are you doing this for Chihoko or for yourself?!” Viktor swung his body forward. Kicking Yuuri in the chest. When the assassin stumbled, Viktor lunged and pinned Yuuri under him. Both of them receiving nasty bruises from the floor and a bed leg. Trapping Yuuri’s limbs under his own, Viktor unsheathed his dagger from his belt loop. Somewhere in the tumble, the blade punctured above his hip. The Russian simply gritted his teeth and yanked it out. Blood running down the blade's tip, falling onto the bridge of Yuuri’s nose and sliding across his cheeks. Viktor had raised the blade.

Yuuri was going to die.

Viktor didn't allow for it. He stabbed the carpet next to Yuuri before his blade wound kicked him down a notch. Arms trembling when he pushed himself up, to not hurt Yuuri because of the abrupt collapse.

“Just because you were raised as an assassin, you don't have to be.” Hand over his wound, Viktor fell over. Hissing curses left and right, trying to stop the bleeding. “You saved my Mom’s life. I had to take Chihoko’s. I spared your life. You tried to take mine. We're not cut out to be normal, but it doesn't mean we can't strive to be.”

Viktor figured this would be the last time he saw Yuuri. The man got up and left, but he returned with towels and first aid. Like earlier that night, he carried Viktor bridal-style, laid him across the bed. Worked diligently through the night to patch Viktor’s wound. Just enough to clean and bandage. Viktor needed to see a doctor.

“Right, and I tell the poor Doc that me and my partner got a little frisky.” Viktor earned himself another slap but then, Yuuri kissed the bruise to make the swelling go away. Oddly enough, that was the kiss that stole Viktor. He traced his finger over where Yuuri’s lips were, teasing that he liked these kisses better. “I thought you were going to eat me earlier.”

“I could do more than just play, you know.” A total throwback to one of Viktor’s earlier comments.

Chapter Text

Just because your pain is relatable, it doesn’t make your behavior acceptable.

Yuuri may’ve butchered the quote from Dr. Steve Maraboli, but the message still held true when the vigilante slid it under Viktor’s pillow. The hitman rolled over in his sleep, reaching out to an empty space. Where Yuuri had laid that night, back-facing towards Viktor so that the man could kill him. If Viktor wanted to, and he did.

Viktor killed Yuuri with kindness, with tender hugs, and made sure that the assassin didn’t get cold. Yuuri barely slept. Aimlessly doodling creases and hidden valleys into a tiny mattress that barely held two men, side by side. At around four in the morning, Yuuri squeezed out from Viktor’s hold. Found his shoes, hidden under a shirt. Why was Viktor shirtless?

A dagger, blood, and a kiss. Taken out of context, you would think that Yuuri and Viktor did some funny business. Quite the contrary. Refresh your mind and read the end of the last chapter. Thank you very much.

Back to the story, Yuuri had gotten up and slid a message under Viktor’s pillow. Viktor grabbed a fistful of blanket, tugging it close to himself. Squishing his face against the itchy fabric. If Viktor and Yuuri had been normal, this sight would’ve been pretty cute. However, fawning over a potential-threat wasn’t part of Yuuri’s job description. He had to go, and so he did. Opened the suite’s window and jumped through the space. Scaled down the hotel’s fire escape and jogged all the way home. Quietly “breaking and entering” into his uncle and aunt’s apartment complex. Got ready for another work day, with bags under his eyes.

After hiking all the way up to Classroom 3-E a few hours later, Yuuri crashed and burned in the teacher’s lounge. Knocked out on his side of the table when Koro-sensei magically appeared before him. One tentacle holding a bagel from New York, another tentacle carrying a cup of coffee from Detroit. The yellow octopus expected some resistance.

After all, another work day was never complete if you weren’t dodging your co-workers assaults. So when Yuuri didn’t throw an Anti-Sensei knife at him, Koro-sensei got a little curious. Poked and jabbed Yuuri’s forehead until the class-monitor lifted his head and squinted. Crooked glasses stamped across his face when Koro-sensei offered him some coffee.

Yuuri mumbled that he had a bad night. Koro-sensei nodded, patting the poor man on the back before asking if it was his first time. Earning a slap on the tentacle-- not a euphemism for anything, I swear!-- before Yuuri crashed again. Fast-asleep while Koro-sensei draped a blanket over Yuuri’s shoulders. What Mr. Katsuki needed were some vitamin pills. There was a general store not too far away, and Koro-sensei had plenty of time before Mr. Karasama and the rest of of Class 3-E showed up. Koro-sensei made sure that Yuuri was comfortable before speeding to the general store at the glorious speed of Mach 20. There, he met a rather alluring young woman. Almost forgot to get Yuuri his vitamins before the nice woman asked Koro-sensei if he was going to buy anything.

By the time Yuuri woke up, first period had already begun. He was late. Koro-sensei was going to mount his head above the teacher’s lounge, but the man-- er, octopus-- wasn’t like that. He hoped. Better to scramble than merely hope. Yuuri grabbed his usual clipboard and packet of pens before trooping to Classroom 3-E. Preparing an extensive apology, and Koro-sensei was probably going to force the class to dissect it later during Language Arts. But when Yuuri slid the classroom door open, twenty-something firearms were nearly pulled before Nagisa called the attack off. Twenty-something firearms were lowered, and Yuuri was this close to flipping a table like an emoticon meme.

Where the Hell was Koro-sensei? Was the man aware that class was in session? Yuuri licked his lips, weakly. Voice hoarse as he called out names, adjusting his glasses every time he glanced down at the attendance sheet. Students mumbled things, but Yuuri didn’t care. He wasn’t sure of why he was crabby, but the assassin felt something bad creeping up his bones. That by the time he finished attendance, the classroom door slid open. Yuuri flung an Anti-Sensei knife. Sliced right through one of Koro-sensei’s finger-tentacles-- sounds kind of wrong, but true-- and the rubber weapon fell right into a hitman’s hands.

Yuuri squinted. Koro-sensei wasn’t alone.

To his left was a voluptuous, young woman. Better suited to being a model than a...If she was a teacher, Yuuri couldn’t find it in himself to take her seriously. To Koro-sensei’s right was the one man Yuuri didn’t want to see. Viktor Nikiforov. Happy and chipper with a Starbucks cup, twirling Yuuri’s Anti-Sensei knife between his fingers. Was that a bite mark on his neck? He and Yuuri must’ve had a kinky night, but that didn’t matter because Viktor was in front of Yuuri and the assassin accidentally, kind of, blew his normal-cover in front of Class 3-E.

Marked as the second individual to ever land a blow on Koro-sensei. Made even more impressive because Yuuri was running on feeble hours of sleep. Where was Mr. Karasuma when Yuuri needed him? Excusing himself while Koro-sensei introduced the lovely Irina Jelavic, Yuuri grabbed Viktor by the back of his collar. Dragging the hitman out into the hallway, ignoring the squeals from Nakamura because her skating idols were in the same building, face-to-face!

Sliding the door behind him, a real knife slid down Yuuri’s sleeves as he pinned Viktor against a wall. Demanding to know why the Russian was here. Right now, at this exact spot. Viktor tiptoed his fingers across Yuuri’s arm, reminding the assassin that he was in this position because of Yuuri. Flattery wasn’t going to get Nikiforov anywhere, and Yuuri had hardened his heart against the hitman’s advancements.

Yuuri asked again. Why was Viktor here?

If I told you, I had to kill you.

The most cliche line in the book. But while Yuuri wielded a real weapon, Viktor loaded his own. Pressing a gun against the squish of Yuuri’s stomach, forcing the assassin to let go. Yuuri had already staked his claim onto Koro-sensei, and he would do anything to keep Viktor’s finger off of the octopus. Viktor feigned a gasp, asking Yuuri if he could go through with that. Assassins couldn’t be greedy. Yuuri would have to face Mr. Karasuma, Ms. Jelavic, and the whole of Classroom 3-E if he wanted a chance of killing Koro-sensei on his own.

And besides, Yuuri couldn’t work alone. Everyone in the damn building knew that Koro-sensei was unstoppable unless everyone worked together to achieve the same goal. So that begged the question. What was Viktor’s goal of being here? The Russian wouldn’t say, but he was done teasing with Yuuri. Ready to make his feelings known when he wrapped a careless arm across Yuuri’s shoulders and whispered sweet-nothings into the latter’s ear. Whether to make the assassin blush, or perhaps not. Many curious ears were listening from the other side of the wall. Tapping into the conversation to hear the juicy bits of the sexual tension beyond the classroom door.

I’ve always pictured meeting you like this, but I want to do something more.

Yuuri’s ears grew a dull red. He threatened to slice the Nikiforov succession-line with his knife, but Viktor was quick with his words. Slipping into Russian because he knew for a fact that Yuuri brushed up on the language during his very last assignment from Ms. Saruhiko Chihoko. By God, if Viktor uttered her name again, Yuuri was going to ship one of the man’s fingers to his mafia family.

Can’t a coach say, “Yuuri, I’m going to coach you on being a not-assassin.”

To think that a private conversation between them both was going to slip out like this. Yuuri slapped a hand over Viktor’s mouth, before he could finish what he wanted to say. If Yuuri was going to oust himself as an assassin, this wasn’t the proper way to do it. So he gestured for Viktor to keep quiet. This was a secret between both of them and if Viktor compromised Yuuri’s “disguise”, the assassin didn’t hesitate when he whispered all the things he was going to do to Viktor afterwards. Revenge for killing his teacher and revenge for screwing up his life yet again.

Viktor asked Yuuri if Chihoko taught him any of this, or if the assassin was being deliberately nasty for another reason. For the third time in his life, Yuuri slapped Viktor and the Russian knew that he deserved it. He promised to keep Yuuri’s secret to the grave but in exchange, he and Yuuri had to work together because Viktor also warmed up to Principal Asano. So now he and Yuuri were partners, two normal adults monitoring an Assassination Classroom. Bullshit, Yuuri demanded for a raise, but Viktor commented that the assassin couldn’t do anything until they delivered results. And results came in the form of Koro-sensei’s head, mounted above Principal Asano’s office. Not really, but Viktor can sure dream.

For the rest of the day, Yuuri watched the shenanigans that unfolded because of Ms. Jelavic-- the class adopted a rather fitting nickname for her-- he kept his attention on Viktor. Not because the man he hated was sitting next to him. Playing the part of normality, like it was just another day on the job. Yuuri still idolized Viktor. Purely as a skater. So did the press. If the news knew about Viktor’s whereabouts, Yuuri would have to his life goodbye because he would have to assassinate the man before the press could arrive. And in the end, it would oust himself as an assassin. Nothing good came from Viktor and yet, the Russian was dead-honest when he said that he wanted Yuuri to live a normal life.

He was going to coach Yuuri, help the Japanese man realize that there was more to life than just kill-skating. And while Yuuri was weary of the Russian’s advances, he unknowingly opened his heart a tiny bit and Viktor warmed that little spot in the assassin’s chest.

After an unsuccessful assassination-attempt, Irina retreated to the edge of the teacher’s lounge. Lounging half of her body out the window when Viktor showed up, two cans of coffee in his hands. He tossed one to the assassin and she accepted. Shaking the can gently before Viktor promised that he didn’t lace it with poison. After all, why would he poison his own partner in crime?

“The business does something to you.” Irina took a sip from her can. “You can’t trust that everyone’s going to be black or white. There’s always a gray undertone in everything.”

“I guess I found my own gray undertone.” Viktor swished his own canned coffee. Gazing down into the contents, reminded of a very similar set of eyes that bore the same color.

“Don’t distract yourself from the mission. We aren’t here to make friends,” Irina reminded him. How could Viktor forget? The fate of the entire planet was balanced over the squirming tentacle of a yellow fiend, Koro-sensei. No more missions, no more competitions, no more friends, no more family, and no more love. All would be gone if the octopus wasn’t killed by next March, but Viktor contemplated on the thought.

“Don’t you think it’s worth it to...You know, live a normal life?”

“Assassins are the exact opposite of normal,” Irina barked, squeezing out an apology afterwards. To raise one’s voice at their superior was a sure-fire way in earning a death-wish, but Viktor was a calm superior. He didn’t reprimand Irina too harshly, but there was a Pecking Order involved in these sort of things and Viktor gently nudged the woman back into her place. No harm done.

“You know, you’re not the first to say that to me.”

Irina perked up, wagging her eyebrows. “Who was it?”

Viktor didn’t bother hiding his smile. “The person I was sent to kill.”

Chapter Text

Nagisa could count on one hand of all the haircuts he’s had in his life.

His first haircut was when he was three. A mere toddler sitting on the edge of a stool in the bathroom as his mother lavishly mixed shampoos and conditioners into his hair. Just a few hours before, she was on a shopping-spree and bought so many bottles that the cashier was afraid that there was a crisis. But of course, the woman had a way of getting what she wanted, even though her husband refused to meet her eyes on the drive back home.

And now, here was the situation now. An endearing mother rubbing chemicals into little Nagisa’s scalp while his father hovered by the doorway. A cigarette snugged between his fingers, but it wasn’t lit because he had to be here to see this. Obvious wear-and-tear when he brought the dead cigarette to his lips when his wife gingerly fluffed and smoothed her baby’s hair.

Nagisa would swat his bangs back, reaching up to touch the conditioners in his hair. His mom slapped his hand away. The clap shattering a childhood innocence, but his mother caught herself before an angry spill.

“Not now, sweetie. We have to make sure that your hair is perfect.” The word ‘ perfect’ rolled off her tongue ever-so innocently and yet, a seed had begun to take root deep within her heart. When she made a grab for the scissors, Nagisa’s father spoke up first.

“Don’t you think you’re being insensitive?”

Nagisa’s second haircut was when he was nine. After begging his mother for ages and not finding any success when his hair got too long, his father finally did the deed. In secret, he took Nagisa to a small salon near the edge of town. Twelve dollars for a quick cut.

Nagisa hummed a little tune while the barber trimmed back his locks, giving Nagisa his first boyish cut in years. Snips of hair rolling off his shoulders and back, falling on the floor like a first winter’s snow.

When Nagisa and his father came back home, Nagisa bolted to his room while his mother and father argued and were at each other’s throats. Nagisa covered his ears the whole time, learned to tune out their voices as he hummed school lullabies underneath his breath.

How could a haircut be so wrong?

Nagisa’s third and final haircut was before he came to Kunugigaoka Academy. It was right after the divorce between his mother and father and the situation was rather... unbearable .

When Nagisa came home that afternoon, his school’s bag slipped from his shoulder and down his arm. Falling onto the floor like a miniature earthquake when he tiptoed into the house and was met by an inexplicable silence. His mother was in the living room, a pair of scissors in her hand and a catalog in the other. The latest girl’s hairstyles for her to browse her, for her to choose from.

When Nagisa glanced over his mother’s shoulder, he took note that the styles were a bit young.

“They’re not for me, sweetheart.” His mother coaxed for her son to sit on the couch with her, tugging a hair tie out from Nagisa’s hair. Running her fingers through the strands before snipping bits, here and there. Not caring that the strands fell onto the floor and couch, creating a mess before their feet. With no one to hold her back, Nagisa’s mother did as she pleased.

Nagisa could only sit on his mother’s lap, unable to do anything as a metaphorical noose eased a pitiful breath from his throat. His silent rebellion was when he pulled his hair into a ponytail, pulling back the expectations that his mother forced down his throat. Eyes peeking through a layer of bangs so that he could sculpt his own future, away from her influence.

---

Viktor had his first memorable haircut when he yanked a dagger from a woman’s corpse. Having buried deep into her side when she tried to escape from an Assassin’s Creed, but she was fortunate that such a friendly soul was the one to reap her life. Viktor wasn’t a grim reaper, but a mere hitman with a job. A job to take down the woman that tried to destroy everything that his mother worked so hard to do. And as a living weapon for his dear mother, Viktor could only give   Ms. Saruhiko Chihoko the best that a hitman could do. All for the Nikiforov name.

In regards to Chihoko, her cell phone was just beyond her reach, a bloody finger barely touching the dial pad when a younger Viktor slumped into a corner, nursing a bullet wound to the shoulder. Tearing medical tape between his teeth, fingers fumbling when he wrapped the soft tissue-material over his wounds. Swearing to some deity out there that he would heal in time before World’s, but he would just have to tell Yakov that he injured his arm on accident. Would the elderly coach believe him? No, but it was the one excuse Viktor could cling to when a desperate assassin aimed for a safe target, away from Viktor’s major organs and arteries.

Heavy breaths accentuated a rigor that shook his body, but what stole his breath was the whimper on Chihoko’s line. Her phone may’ve cracked on impact when it crashed to the floor, but the assassin’s call was the only aspect about her that was still alive.

“Sensei?” A young man’s voice called out in the stillness of the room. Other words followed, but Viktor didn’t understand. He knew enough Japanese to corner Chihoko when she thought she was safe in an Italian hotel, so Viktor approached the phone cautiously. Bent down and picked up the bloody device just beyond from Chihoko’s reach and brought the phone up to his ear.

A squeak and then a yell of anguish startled Viktor. The phone shattered like a piece of glass on the floor. The line was dead. The only thing Viktor heard was his own heartbeat, but even that was fragile when his hand hovered over his lips in realization.

He recognized the voice on the line. Viktor fell. Shattered like a skater’s heart of glass because he stole the one guardian-figure that Yuuri never stole from him. No, the voice couldn’t have been Yuuri’s. A twin, a sibling, anybody else but the amiable skater that he recognized in the Junior Leagues.

But even when Viktor was transferred to to the Seniors’ Division, he never forgot Yuuri’s rounded accent and the slight hesitation in his voice when he spoke in English. But this time, Viktor heard all of that in Yuuri’s native tongue, and there wasn’t a spell nor fairy that could erase the deed he had done. Chihoko was dead, slaughtered like the animal she was for running away from a fate that was more than just certain, and Viktor felt a heavy blow to his chest.

That morning, Viktor chopped his hair, using the same bloody dagger than had taken Chihoko’s life. A fistful of hair burned and buried in an undisclosed location, long after Viktor cleaned up his act before anyone realized what had happened just a few hours prior.

---

When Nagisa controlled his hair, he felt a freedom that he never had when he was with his mother.

When Viktor tore his own hair, he didn’t know why he did it. Perhaps, he thought he could throw away the part of him that tore someone so close to Yuuri’s life. Perhaps, it was Viktor’s own silent rebellion against the control his mother had over his life. Viktor didn’t know. He just...didn’t know.

---

“Viktor, are you listening to me?” Yuuri snapped his fingers.

Viktor blinked. He wasn’t staring at an Italian sunset but an oh-so personal one when Yuuri bent down to pick up his fallen sweat towel, rearing up a bountiful crest of a booty that Viktor couldn’t tear his eyes from. Before judging, you try averting your eyes from an individual that tried to seduce you, toss you out a hotel window, threatened to shank you with a knife, yet still invited you for a morning skating session while the Class 3-E kids prepared themselves for a school assembly. After everything Viktor had been through during the past few chapters, he needed some slack, even if it was purely unintentional on Yuuri’s part.

Viktor didn’t bother hiding his smile when he folded his own sweat towel away. “Yes, Yuuri-kun?”

Yuuri contemplated whether or not he should say something, but he simply got up and turned his back against Viktor. Sweat towel slung over a broad shoulder, muscle stretching from underneath the skin because the assassin had to work to get his body back. If he was ever going to kill Koro-sensei and keep Viktor in line. And oh, Yuuri was completely aware that Viktor was enjoying the backside-show.

But right now, he either didn’t care anymore or he had already given up on reforming the Russian hitman.

Two weeks in, ever since Viktor joined Classroom 3-E and became a living nightmare while sitting next to Yuuri while he tried to keep his City Hunter cover a secret. Something that Viktor didn’t understand, but he kept him a Grade-A secret if Yuuri promised to start skating again. Acting like a normal civilian, despite the craziness of what was to come.

Did Yuuri have a choice? Yes, but he couldn’t waste his time keeping Viktor and the feisty Irina Jelavic from stirring trouble on his watch.

So grudgingly, Yuuri has to accept the accord. That was why they were here: wrapping up from a skating session, about to head to the academy to give Class 3-E their full support.

For a class full of assassins that could easily hand any ass that was thrown at them from the “oh-so superior, other classes”, there were only a few things that were stronger than a bond between mercenaries. So if the class needed them when it was time to face the rest of the academy, Viktor and Yuuri were going to be there.

Hell, Mr. Karasuma, Professor Bitch, and Koro-sensei were going to be there too, so the professional skaters/assassin and hitman needed to get it together. Starting with a simple request.

Yuuri took a swig from his water bottle. “If you’re going to be here, at least be some help to the kids.”

Viktor cocked his head to the side. “So you accept me as your partner?”

“I accept that I can’t get rid of you, so you might as well be useful.” Yuuri tugged off his practice gloves and tossed them into his sports bag. “Being here probably means nothing to you, but these kids and this class mean something to me.”

“You do have a heart~” Viktor dodged a well-aimed, Anti-Sensei knife. Moving before the rubber dagger had a chance to graze his bangs, and the blade ran into a locker’s door before slipping onto the floor. Falling with a bounce, much like a cell phone in one of Viktor’s distant memories. “Can I propose something too?”

Yuuri shrugged.

“Let’s communicate with words. I like action, but…” Viktor’s voice trailed off when he slipped the Anti-Sensei knife into the crook by Yuuri’s ear. Much like how a student would hold a pencil there while studying. “I think we can do something more than just throw knives at each other. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. My aim’s getting better.” Was that a joke? Did Katsuki ‘I’m going to end the Nikiforov descendant-line one day’ Yuuri crack a joke and mean it?

For perhaps the first time, there was a bit of smile riding over the assassin’s lips, and Viktor could only amuse himself with a small preview from an angle.

This was the normal life that he wanted Yuuri to have. A life where it didn’t hurt to smile and joke, and Viktor could almost see Chihoko smile from somewhere in Hell. Then again, Hell was an assassin’s equivalent to Heaven so no harm done when Viktor dropped his guard for just a moment.

He was just another, five-time winning champion. Yuuri was just another skater, a dime from a baker’s dozen with a bit of a goofy outlook on life when you managed to catch one of his quirky smiles. So stuck in a locker room with sweat hanging off them like a fresh downpour, Viktor wanted to reach out and…

He couldn’t. Not with a gun in his sports bag and a very real knife up his sleeve when Yuuri slammed his locker and spun the combination.

I want to live a normal life. Viktor repeated the phrase in his head, but there was a job he had to carry and his enemy had already dropped his guard. Now or never, but Yuuri had Chihoko’s blessing. And the old mentor hovered over Yuuri’s shoulder like Lady Lucky, without the former knowing and Viktor kept his distance.

Memories scarred by a familiar bullet wound and the thump of an arm when a phone shattered just a finger away from a bloody, outstretched hand. But today, at this very moment, a very different tune began to play when Viktor opened his eyes to the future before him.

Because even though Yuuri was prickly as a cactus, Viktor found his morals behind the bluntness in Yuuri’s words. What mattered more: pride or the weight of a life? To follow a path that you were destined for since the beginning, or a new destiny that aligned itself to what you believed in?

Enough of that for now, he and Yuuri were running a bit late. Hopefully, Class 3-E will still be in one piece by the time they get there. Shoes on, sweat towels tossed into their respective sports bags, Yuuri and Viktor clapped hands like seasoned rivals before rushing out from the local ice rink and back to the academy.

---

There was nothing to fear if you had nothing to hide.

Class 3-E stepped into the main campus’ gymnasium but in reality, it felt like they had just stepped under a microscope. Arranged into a single-file line, Class 3-E took the farthest edge of the gymnasium, squished into a spot that was a bit more claustrophobic than it needed to be.

Rejects. Outcasts. The bottom line.

There was something almost heartwarming about those words, Nagisa realized when he stood behind Kayano and looked up as a staff member went through the Student Handbook and flipped through to some specific pages about an obscure rule that didn’t make sense, but everybody had to believe in it like the law. In every novel or great TV show, the characters that were interesting weren’t part of an exclusive group that shunned others. Unless the author/creator wanted to play with those rules. But for the most part, the main characters were outcast, rejects, that were suddenly thrust into a situation because if they could handle being turned on by society, at least they had each other to save the world.

Perhaps, Nagisa was thinking about a bit too much. But then again, what he said was true. While the rest of the academy dealt with courses and classes like jam and jelly, Class 3-E was aware of a government secret that only a group of misfits would believe and not totally freak out over. Then again, the class doesn’t have much of an edge. However, they did learn something new when Okuda gave Koro-sensei all sorts of poisons to try just the other day.

They weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, not by a longshot, but Nagisa had a feeling that they were one step closer to actually assassinating Koro-sensei. Once in for all. The thrill, the adrenaline, it all coursed into Nagisa’s hands and he almost didn’t notice that every other class was handed Student Handbooks while Class 3-E got nothing. Zilch. Nada. Well, some things just never changed.

Unless you can count for a Mach 20 teacher to rush in, handing every student a personal Student Handbook for their wants, needs, and personal growth. And just like that, Koro-sensei was on the scene in the goofiest disguise that anybody had ever seen. A droopy nose, gloves for hands, a brownish wig, and a skin-suit that bulged over his actual skin.

Nobody had any words for Koro-sensei, but there was definitely a buzz when Mr. Karasuma walked in with Professor Bitch. It was almost laughable because Professor Bitch tried so hard to fit in, but her outlandish outfits just drew people’s eyes towards her and it drove Mr. Karasuma insane because they were supposed to be discreet. Incognito.

Nagisa bit back a smile, knowing all too well that some things can’t go your way. However, you can adapt because that was an assassin would do. Nagisa brushed his pigtails before Professor Bitch approached him and tried to wiggle some information about Koro-sensei. A strong move on her part since she basically smothered Nagisa into her chest, but Nagisa wasn’t going to fall for the same trick twice and was reeled back from her bosom. This wasn’t going to be the last time, so Nagisa had to train up quick so that he could defend himself against a seduction that was too weird, even for anime/fanfic standards!

But even so, just seeing the assassination teachers standing next to the class was inspiring, in of itself. They, too, were misfits in a world that wanted to govern their every move and yet, the three assassins/teachers forged their own path and decided to do something good for a class of misfits that could use a bit of luck and reassurance.

Koro-sensei really loved being a teacher and his ambition was to be killed by his own class, despite the fact that he blew up a chunk of the moon!

Mr. Karasuma just wanted the class to grow strong, individually and as a team. Even though that he could easily call in a swat team and finish Koro-sensei like no one’s business if he wanted to.

Professor Bitch... was trying to be a decent teacher, even though she could’ve screwed them all over and ditch the scene altogether.

The trio of misfits weren’t going to leave.

And when the gym doors were kicked back, two very sweaty misfits barged in. Sports bags over on their shoulders, panting and mumbling about how they should’ve called a taxi but no….Viktor wanted a detour around Tokyo and they ran into a yakuza group and Yuuri had to do...something.

Nobody really got the details, but a few things were certain.

Yuuri was holding up a dripping water bottle, that looked like it was bashed into someone’s head. Viktor looked really please for some odd reason, as if he saw a sight that he had never seen before. And unmistakingly, the two athletes were holding onto each other’s when they shuffled into the gym and dropped their wet belongings.

Professor Bitch chewed Viktor out, demanding to know where he was, but Yuuri slipped into the conversation as if it was just another night at a bar with a beautiful woman.

“Don’t you worry about Viktor, sweetheart.” The breath of a mercenary crept from Yuuri’s lips. “Not when he has an ass--”

“--istant, an assistant with him!” Viktor saved Yuuri by the skin of his teeth, and the weary assassin didn’t know why until he realized what he had almost said. Yuuri turned around and Class 3-E stared at him, wondering what he was going to say before Viktor butted in.

It wasn’t like they didn’t know who Yuuri really was. Ever since the man first came into their class, he showed what he was capable of when he almost struck someone’s neck with an Anti-Sensei knife. And out of all the adults, he was the only one who managed to cut a tentacle off of Koro-Sensei. So indeed, Yuuri wasn’t normal by any standards, but the class wondered if and when Yuuri was going to share his story with them. They weren’t going to force him if he wasn’t ready but if he does one day, it’ll mean something more. Not just for them, but for Yuuri too.

Yuuri could’ve spilled the beans at any time about who he really was, but he wanted to be the civilian support that the class needed.

Viktor... whatever the reason why he was here, he was unfailingly kind. Despite being a pretty face to see before you die.

There were so many who had their own way of finding a path in life, and Nagisa choice was to keep his hair up. It seemed so... tame, compared to what the teachers and adults were doing. However, this was Nagisa’s silent rebellion.

Perhaps, not just for his mother’s controlling ways. Perhaps, not just because he wanted to be a new person that could stand up to the events that were against him. Perhaps, Nagisa could finally stand up for what he believed was right.

When the usual bullies came around to insult him again, a personal snake coiled around their necks when Nagisa drew close. An effect that he never he had, but it was a result from all the assassination training under his belt. And to just see the bullies quiver and run off in fear told Nagisa that he wasn’t the same boy anymore.

That he was a misfit, yes, but a rebel with a cause.

“To walk a lonely path, to bring justice to corrupted hearts, and to be the vigilante with a heart of gold,” Viktor said to him, a bit of a laugh rolling off his tongue because it seemed like he was reminiscing about a prior memory. “That’s the Assassin’s Creed.”

Nagisa took those words to heart.