Chapter Text
The school bell rang with a metallic echo through every classroom. It was the signal that the end of the day had begun.
His first day teaching his new class that year had been like any other. Almost like any other.
The figure of that weary man still sat at his desk, longing to go home. That year he’d been assigned one of the youngest classes in the high school. Things were going from bad to worse.
Once, that kind of news would’ve filled him with enthusiasm—but now he was a changed man. The night he found out, he got a migraine.
No way would he be the homeroom teacher for such a low grade. Him, in charge of a class of kids? He might as well be teaching children!
He sighed as the students left for home with their parents—most of them smiling as they reunited.
He focused particularly on the attendance list. More precisely, on one student.
That familiar surname was near the end. The one in question sat among the back rows.
A girl whose uniform had been perfectly in order that morning (and completely messy by the end of the day) had walked into his class with unforgettable audacity.
Her clothes were in total contrast with her silky hair, which always seemed effortlessly combed.
She managed to stand out one way or another.
The surname was a common one, so he kept going despite the sting in his chest.
Oh, it was useless.
As the days passed, he realized it went beyond just her name.
Her expression—ready to challenge the world with that triumphant voice and bold movements. Her eyes, which carried the same glow. Huh, it would be disrespectful to forget her strut.
It was like a stab in the gut when she smiled.
Thinking of the similarities was… ridiculous.
Her smile. Wide, bright, cheerful, contagious.
Seeing it felt like punishment. That’s why, when he first saw her, he tried to deny the resemblance. Everything about her reminded him of someone he once knew. Someone who, in his memory, should never be in front of him again.
And no matter how much he wished otherwise, it wasn’t his choice. She was extremely loud! Her classmates agreed.
She drew the attention of anyone nearby—either through her piercing voice or her exaggerated gestures.
Her only redeeming quality came when he looked closer. Her hair was a mix between magenta and orange underneath; his own strands faded from blonde to melon.
Maybe she didn’t look that much like her. Maybe he was exaggerating.
He clung so tightly to his assumptions that he began to wonder who the girl’s parents might be. Oh, her voice, her face, her features… she was probably hers, he thought. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe.
Aside from that, her personality was defiant, hard to keep calm. Her grades were below average. She had a different kind of spark than he expected.
He was thinking of… someone else. The person he remembered had been responsible, polite—loud, yes, but kindhearted.
This girl didn’t have an ounce of decency or empathy!
The first time she talked back was when he confiscated her makeup. She complained, but the sharp look in his eyes silenced her.
She knew exactly when she was getting on her teacher’s nerves—but it was fine. The feeling was mutual.
She’d flash a smirk far too confident for her age right after being scolded, whenever Kamishiro-sensei turned his back. As if saying, “I don’t care.” Like a mockery.
And she certainly didn’t hold back from whispering about him right in front of him.
—“Bet nobody even wants him at home,” she muttered arrogantly.
When he heard that absurd remark, he froze.
Would arguing with a teenage girl be pathetic? He was nearly three times her age. It wasn’t even worth asking.
He thought she’d grow bored next time, but he was very wrong.
“Oh, isn’t he paid just to teach the class?”
“Ugh, he’s so annoying.”
“Ha! I bet even his wife doesn’t love him.”
Fun fact: Rui didn’t have a wife.
He refrained from arguing back, as he did with the rest of his students. Although—if he was being honest with himself—she made him feel different from the others ever since she arrived. She got under his skin.
And whenever he heard those whispers, he couldn’t bring himself to reply. What would he even say? ‘I don’t have a family’? That would only be another humiliation…
He almost pitied his own former teachers. Still, they were undeserving of forgiveness.
That kind of relationship perfectly described most of the teacher-student bonds he’d had back in high school. Nostalgic, right?
(No.)
…
That was how it went—until the first fight.
That day, Rui was off his teaching load, so he’d only been there in the morning for homeroom.
He always arrived punctually at 7:15 a.m. Every single day. Then, when the 8 o’clock bell rang, he’d leave for the rest of his classes.
It was Thursday, around 4 p.m., when he heard. The assistant principal had called him in to discuss the incident.
One of his students had almost gotten into a fistfight with another from a different class.
—“Excuse me?”
None of his students were anywhere near the word troublesome, so he doubted the report’s accuracy.
Sure, they could be tedious and dramatic, and picturing them fighting was… quite the task.
—“Listen, Kamishiro. The vice principal had to step in. The girl who lost her temper will have to see the counselor.”
—“I’ll keep that in mind if you tell me who she is. Which girl?”
Normally, the situation wouldn’t have mattered much to him—except the other student’s parents had complained.
The matter was now in his hands, and he would deal with his student.
The principal, by that point, had grabbed his small notebook where he wrote everything—from the trivial to the essential. “Tenma Maru,” he said flatly. The girl was a thorn in his side even now.
He rested both elbows on the desk and looked the teacher straight in the eye. For a moment Rui thought he’d hesitate—but he was wrong.
—“Every class has its own demon, I suppose… You should know, Kamishiro—she is the devil.”
Rui couldn’t have described her better the next day.
That Friday, when he saw the culprit, she entered with her chest puffed up, triumphant, smiling.
At that moment, the teacher understood that the fight hadn’t really ended when the vice principal split them up. They had continued, behind everyone’s backs.
Her knees were scraped raw from the pavement. On her face—a scratch, likely from acrylic nails.
The issue was that the boy had been about to slap her—and he didn’t have those nails.
Suspicious.
Besides, she didn’t even wear them, though she was a diva. Still, the first thought that crossed his mind was something else.
It turned into a new feeling: shock. Her parents must’ve paid her little to no attention. He shuddered at the sight of her.
Her porcelain face had been cracked, yet she still looked like a glass doll. Untouchable. Unshaken.
She didn’t care, though; in fact, she couldn’t have looked prouder. It was as if she was rubbing her strength in everyone’s faces.
Where had morality gone?
She boasted out loud as if losing her reputation was something to celebrate.
Pity became invisible—but it was still there. His expression hardened with helplessness. That path would drag her down. He wouldn’t let her keep walking it… not anymore.