Chapter Text
Most law students feared Professor Higuruma. Not the dramatic kind of fear people joked about during orientation or exaggerated rumors about impossible exams or sadistic grading curves. No, the fear surrounding Hiromi Higuruma was quieter than that. More serious.
He had a reputation for dismantling arguments the way a seasoned prosecutor dismantled a witness: patiently, precisely, and without mercy. Students stopped volunteering answers after the first week of class. By the second week, most people avoided eye contact entirely.
And by mid-semester, everyone had accepted the unspoken rule of Criminal Law II: Don’t attract Professor Higuruma’s attention. Unfortunately for me, I broke that rule on the first day. It wasn’t intentional. At least, that’s what I told myself.
He had been explaining prosecutorial discretion, writing case citations across the board in neat, methodical handwriting while the class scribbled notes in near silence. Then he made a statement that felt… incomplete.
Most people would have ignored it. But law school had already rewired my brain to chase arguments like loose threads. So before I could stop myself, my hand went up. “Professor?” The entire room went quiet. Higuruma paused mid-sentence, slowly turning to look at me. “Yes?”
“If the prosecutor abuses their discretion,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt, “wouldn’t the defense still have grounds to challenge the ruling on appeal?” The silence that followed was immediate. And heavy. For a moment, he simply studied me. His expression didn’t change, but something sharp flickered behind his eyes.
Then he gestured slightly with his pen. “Continue.” And just like that, I had his attention. That should have been the end of it. One question. One answer. But it wasn’t because after that day, Professor Higuruma started calling on me. Constantly.
At first, I thought it was punishment. Every lecture became a cross-examination. “(Y/N), explain your reasoning.”, “(Y/N), that interpretation is incomplete.”, “(Y/N), what precedent supports your argument?”
But there was something strange about it. He never embarrassed me. Never dismissed my arguments outright. Instead, he pushed. Harder every time I pushed back. Like he expected me to keep up. And somehow… I always did.
Weeks passed like that. A strange routine of intellectual sparring across the lecture hall. Sometimes I caught him watching me while other students spoke. Sometimes his questions felt less like tests and more like challenges.
And sometimes, though I would never admit it out loud, I found myself staying after class longer than necessary. Just to keep the argument going.
Which was exactly how I ended up here. Sitting alone in a nearly empty lecture hall while the sun dipped low outside the windows. Watching my professor grade papers at the front of the room. And pretending I still had questions left to ask.
Finally, he sighed. “You’re aware office hours ended thirty minutes ago.” I leaned back slightly in my chair. “I had a question.” He eyes me for a moment, pausing briefly from shuffling his papers. “You asked it already.”
“And?” I ask innocently. “And I answered.” He replied back in his usual monotone voice. I tilted my head, humming slightly. “I don’t think you answered it fully.” A quiet pause followed.
Slowly, Higuruma set his pen down. “You’re deliberately prolonging this conversation.” I shrug and can’t help the small smile that forms on my lips. “Maybe.” I answered as his gaze lifted to mine, sharp and steady. “You do this often.”
“Do what?” I continue playing the innocent act, enjoying how easily he can read me. “Provoke me.” The word hung in the air between us. “I’m a law student,” I said lightly. “It’s practically my job.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his glasses shifting slightly, like he was fighting a headache. “You should go home, (Y/N).”
“Why?” Another smile tugs at my lips. “Because it’s late.” He stated, glancing out one of the classroom windows briefly before looking back at me. “And?” Another sigh escapes his lips as his hand goes up to remove his glasses, placing them on his podium. “And it would be inappropriate for you to remain here alone with me.” I tried not to smile at that.
“Inappropriate?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “You know exactly what I mean.” The air between us shifted. I stood, the quiet sound of my chair sliding back echoing softly in the room. My footsteps were the only noise as I walked down toward the front of the lecture hall. He watched every step. “You’re making this difficult.” He said quietly.
“I’m just asking questions.” I say with a slightly larger smile. “You’re testing boundaries.” He counters. “Maybe I’m curious where they are.” Another long pause settles between both of us. Then, he stepped out from behind the podium. The movement was slow, deliberate.
Now we were standing only a few feet apart. Too close. “You’re aware,” he said carefully, “that this could cost me my career.” His voice was calm, but the tension underneath it was unmistakable. “I know.” My voice barely above a whisper as I glance up towards him.
“And yet you stayed.” He questions further. “Yes.” His eyes searched my face. “Why?” The honesty slipped out before I could stop it. “Because you look at me like I’m more than just another student.” Something shifted in his expression.
A crack in the composure he kept so carefully controlled. “That,” he said quietly, “is exactly the problem.” But he didn’t move away. If anything, he stepped closer. Now the distance between us was barely there. “You should leave.” He murmured. “Then tell me to.” I say, my gaze never lingering off of him.
“I am.” A small laugh escaped my lips at his words. “Convincingly.” I tease, knowing he would want anything other than me walking out that door right now. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked frustrated. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you’re still standing here.” Another moment of silence stretched between us. Heavy. Charged. Then his hand lifted. Slowly. Carefully. His fingers brushed my jaw, tilting my face slightly upward. The touch was gentle, but it sent a rush of warmth straight through me. His voice dropped lower. “You don’t understand how dangerous this is.”
“Maybe I do.” His eyes lingered on my face. Like he was weighing something. Making a decision. Then he exhaled quietly. Almost like he’d lost an argument with himself. “(Y/N)…” His thumb brushed lightly along my jaw, his eyes trailing over my body. My lips part slightly as my heart rate quickens. The next thing I know he’s kissed me before I can fully even register it.
Sudden. Decisive. Like the restraint he’d been holding onto finally snapped. My breath caught as his hand slid behind my neck, pulling me closer. The kiss deepened quickly, the tension that had been building for weeks finally breaking. My hands instinctively grabbed the front of his shirt.
He backed me a step until the edge of the podium pressed lightly against my back. The classroom was silent except for the quiet rustle of fabric and our uneven breathing. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against mine. His voice was soft. “This… is a terrible idea.” I was still a little breathless as I replied, “Probably.”
“We shouldn’t do that again.” Silence. The only sound in the room was our heavy breaths before I responded, “Okay.” Neither of us moved even with the acknowledgment. His hand was still on my waist. My fingers were still gripping his shirt.
He stared at me for a moment, something conflicted flickering in his expression. Then he sighed quietly. “…I’m making a very poor decision.” Before I could respond, he kissed me again. Who knew a “poor decision” could feel so right.
─── ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ───
The next morning felt like walking into a courtroom after committing a crime. Except no one knew. Probably. I sat in my usual seat in the third row, textbook open but completely unread. My brain had replayed the events from last night approximately two hundred times giving me no time to study.
The classroom slowly filled with students, their conversations blending into background noise. Then the door opened. And Professor Higuruma walked in.
He looked exactly the same as always. Dark suit, composed posture, case files tucked neatly under one arm. If someone had told me he hadn’t spent the previous evening kissing a student in this exact room, I probably would have believed them.
He set his papers down on the podium. For a moment, his eyes swept across the room. Then they reached me, just for a second. The smallest pause. So subtle no one else would notice. But I did.
Then he looked away and began the lecture like nothing had happened. “Today we’ll be discussing judicial discretion.” His voice was steady. Professional, completely normal. Which was impressive considering my heart was currently beating way too fast.
I tried to focus on my notes. I really did. But it was difficult when every few minutes his gaze would briefly flick toward my row. Like he was checking if I was still there. Halfway through the lecture, he did the thing he always did. “(Y/N).” Every head turned toward me. My stomach flipped. “Yes, Professor?”
“Explain why judicial discretion must be limited.” Of course. Of course he was calling on me. I cleared my throat and answered. “The judiciary needs flexibility, but unchecked authority risks bias and inconsistent rulings.”
He nodded slightly. “And what mechanism prevents that?” Easy. A small sigh escaped me, glad that I knew the answer to this question without studying. “Appellate review.” I said confidently as some of my classmates hurried to write that down in their own notes.
“Correct.” His eyes lingered on me for half a second longer than necessary. Then he turned back to the board. If anyone else noticed, they didn’t say anything. But the tension in the room felt unbearable. Because every time he spoke to me, I could still feel his hand on my waist from the night before.
─── ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ───
After class ended, students packed their bags and filed out of the lecture hall. I stayed seated, pretending to organize my notes. Not intentionally. My body just… hadn’t moved yet. Yeah, let’s go with that excuse.
Soon the room emptied. Until only the two of us remained. Again. The quiet felt familiar now. Higuruma gathered the papers on his podium with careful precision. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said quietly, “You should leave before someone notices.” I looked up. “Not even a ‘good morning’?” His eyes lifted to mine. The composure from earlier had cracked slightly. “(Y/N).”
“Yes?” I asked, messing around with my textbook and notes to prolong packing them away. “What happened yesterday was…” He stopped, like he was searching for the correct legal terminology. “…a lapse in judgment.”
I stood slowly. “Is that your official ruling?” My eyes roam over his figure trying to read his actual thoughts on how he felt about yesterday. “Yes.” He responds back, his tone stiff, showing he doesn’t fully believe his own words.
“Interesting.” I walked closer to the front of the classroom. His gaze followed me the entire way. “And the verdict?” I asked, with a slight tilt of my head. “There isn’t one.”
“So the case is unresolved?” His jaw tightened slightly. “You’re enjoying this.” He asked, readjusting his glasses. “A little.” I admitted, stopped a few feet away from him. Close enough to see the faint tension in his shoulders. “We can pretend nothing happened if you want.” I said softly.
“That would be the responsible course of action.” I nod, playing along. “Responsible,” I repeated. “Yes.” Silence stretched between us. Then he exhaled quietly. “You should go.”
“You keep saying that.” I hum out, placing my hands behind my back and rocking on my heels slightly. “And you keep ignoring it.” He said as I smiled faintly. “Law students are trained to challenge authority.”
His eyes darkened slightly at that. “That doesn’t mean you should.” Another pause. Then he stepped closer. Not touching. Just standing near enough that the tension from the night before returned instantly. “(Y/N).” The way he said my name was quieter this time. “Yes?”
“If we continue this conversation, I may make another poor decision.” My heart skipped. “…Is that a warning?” I ask, my heart rate speeding up once more from the excitement.
“Yes.” I considered that for a moment. Then I picked up my bag. “Well,” I said lightly, stepping toward the door, “I suppose we should avoid that.” He watched me walk away.
But just before I reached the door, “(Y/N).” I turned back. His expression was calm again. Controlled. But his eyes gave him away. “We will continue pretending nothing happened.”
“Understood.” I nod along, giving him a playful salute. “And you will focus on your studies.” He continues, his eyes watching my every move. “Of course.” A beat of silence passed. Then he added quietly, “…Until you graduate.”
My heart skipped. I smiled slightly. “Professor,” I said, “that sounds like a very specific timeline.” He didn’t answer. But the look he gave me said enough.