Emiko Tanaka's chuckle slithered through the bathroom like poison wrapped in silk, sweet on the outside but sharp enough to slice. She flipped her hair with a practiced flick that could've landed her a spot in a shampoo commercial, her eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction as her heels clicked dramatically against the cold bathroom tiles.
"Some days are just… extra special, aren't they?" she cooed with faux sweetness, tossing Aiko Nakamura one final smirk before strutting out like the runway villain of Aiko's personal horror story.
Aiko stood frozen, staring at her own reflection under the flickering fluorescent lights. Her face looked as wrecked as she felt—flushed with embarrassment, her bangs uneven from yesterday's panic trim, and her lips pressed tight to hold in either a scream or a sob.
She tapped her knuckles against the sink counter like a broken vending machine and muttered, "This is going to be the longest semester of my life," her voice a soft croak of surrender.
That night, any dream of peace vanished into the black hole of her pillow. Her brain, that sadistic traitor, refused to shut down and instead launched into a relentless, high-definition re-run of the day's disasters:
Haruki Takeda's stupidly charming smirk, her own squeaky "I don't know," the thunderous class laughter echoing in her skull like a laugh track from hell, and of course—Emiko Tanaka's devilish grin. The mental slideshow came with background music: the haunting screech of chalk, and the whispered chorus of "Oooooh, bus guy knows her."
Aiko flopped onto her back, threw her pillow over her face, and groaned dramatically like a Victorian maiden in distress. "Why me?" she moaned to the ceiling fan, which offered no sympathy and continued spinning, indifferent to her pain.
Sleep, when it finally came, was no rescue either. Her dreams plunged her into a cursed forest where gnarled trees whispered algebra formulas, and shadowy figures in lab coats hissed at her, "Solve for x… or perish."
She woke up with a strangled gasp, her hair a tornado of chaos, and her alarm clock blinking blankly. No beeping. No mercy. Just betrayal. "You had one job!" she screamed, throwing off her blanket like it was made of snakes.
With no time for proper grooming or sanity, Aiko shoved her hair into a knot that could only be described as a cry for help, snatched the least-burnt slice of toast she could find, and sprinted out the door. Her backpack flapped behind her like a broken parachute as she ran to the bus stop, heart thundering and lungs on fire.
Then she saw her. A miracle in neon pink and glitter. The human embodiment of chaos and caffeine.
"YUI!" Aiko gasped, stumbling to a halt like she'd crossed a desert to reach her.
Yui Suzuki turned, eyes lighting up. "AIKO! You almost missed me!"
Aiko crashed beside her, hands on her knees, wheezing. "You have no idea… the trauma I've endured…"
Yui bounced in place, practically vibrating with energy. "Tell me everything."
And so Aiko did. She spilled the entire math class saga—every humiliating detail, every smirk from Haruki, every snicker from the class, the horror of being recognized, and the cherry on top: Emiko's bathroom ambush. For a full ten seconds, Yui listened with her mouth open, completely silent.
Then she exploded. "You said 'I don't know' like a baby hamster?!" she shrieked, clutching her stomach. "STOP—I'm gonna choke!"
"It's not funny!" Aiko wailed, stomping her foot as if that would restore her dignity. "It was traumatic!"
"It's hilarious," Yui cried, practically crying. "You are my favorite sitcom character. Seriously."
On the bus, Aiko slumped into the seat, her forehead pressed against the window. "I'm dropping out. Or transferring to Antarctica. Penguins don't give math homework."
"You're being dramatic," Yui said, still grinning.
"I'm being logical," Aiko muttered darkly. "I'll raise orphaned seals and live in peace."
By the time they reached school, dread had fully settled into Aiko's bones. She stopped in front of the math classroom, her legs refusing to move.
"I can't go in there," she whispered. "I refuse. My body rejects the idea."
"Oh no, you don't," Yui said, grabbing the strap of Aiko's backpack and dragging her through the door like a determined nanny hauling a misbehaving child.
"You betrayed me!" Aiko hissed, flailing helplessly.
They slumped into their usual back-row seats, and Yui slapped a glittery donut sticker onto Aiko's notebook like a badge of emotional support. It read: "YOU GOT THIS!" in bubble letters.
History class blurred into the background—a monotonous hum of facts Aiko didn't absorb. Her brain kept flashing forward to math. Math was next. The battlefield. The trauma zone. The place where dignity went to die.
When the bell rang, she had a lightning-bolt idea. "I'm skipping," she whispered. "I'll hide in the janitor's closet. No one will find me."
"You are not serious," Yui said flatly.
"I'm dead serious."
Yui narrowed her eyes. "You are not hiding in a mop bucket while I face math guy solo."
They exchanged a dramatic series of silent gestures—Aiko pleading, Yui pointing aggressively, both of them looking like mimes in the middle of a domestic dispute.
The door swung open.
Haruki Takeda walked in like a drama king arriving for a plot twist. His shirt was too perfect. His hair too flawless. His voice too cheerful for this math-induced misery.
"Good morning, everyone!" he called, but his eyes instantly found Aiko's face, and her soul nearly short-circuited. She offered a weak smile, praying it didn't look like a nervous grimace.
He launched into the lesson, chalk screeching, x's and y's filling the board like ants in a panic. Aiko barely followed anything. Yui kept whispering nonsense beside her—something about lunch plans or comparing Haruki's jawline to anime characters.
And then… betrayal.
Emiko Tanaka's voice rose, sweet as sugar but sharp as poison.
"Sir, Aiko and Yui have been whispering all class. It's distracting."
Silence crashed over the room. Aiko's blood froze.
Yui stood so fast her chair screeched across the floor. "You got a problem, Emiko?" she said, her voice low and deadly. "Try saying it to our faces next time instead of tattling like a brat."
Aiko tugged on Yui's sleeve. "Please, let it go," she whispered, panic rising.
Then—BAM.
Haruki slammed the chalk onto the tray. "Enough!" he snapped. "If you three want to fight, take it outside. Not in my class."
The room inhaled in unison. Emiko crossed her arms. Yui sat down slowly, seething. Aiko wanted to vanish.
Haruki resumed the lesson, his writing harder now, more intense.
Forty-five minutes of pure agony later, the bell rang like a siren of salvation.
"If you're too shy to ask questions in class, come to the staff room later," Haruki said, and his gaze flicked to Aiko—just for a second.
Then he left.
But the tension stayed.
Yui stormed to Emiko's desk. "Why'd you do that?"
Emiko flipped her hair. "You were distracting. I was helping."
"Helping?" Yui's voice rose. "You just wanted to be the center of attention, as always."
Aiko stepped between them, arms flailing. "Guys, stop—"
But Emiko shoved her. Hard.
Aiko stumbled, tripped, and slammed her forehead into the corner of the bench.
Time paused.
Then pain bloomed. Blood trickled.
"Aiko!" Yui screamed, rushing forward.
SLAP.
Her hand connected with Emiko's face. Loud. Echoing. Perfectly deserved.
Someone ran for help.
Haruki burst back in seconds later, his eyes snapping to Aiko, who sat stunned, blood streaking her face.
"What happened?" he barked.
"Emiko pushed her!"
He dropped to one knee beside Aiko, checking her quickly. "Don't move."
"I—I can walk," she mumbled.
"I didn't ask," he said, lifting her bridal-style like she weighed nothing.
At the hospital, Haruki paced like a lion in a cage. Yui sat nearby, muttering prayers under her breath.
The door opened.
Aiko appeared—bandaged but okay.
"You alright?" Yui rushed to her side.
"I'm fine," Aiko murmured.
"I'm driving you home," Haruki said immediately.
"I can take her—" Yui offered.
"No," he said, firm. "I'll take her."
In the car, the silence was thick.
After Yui was dropped off, Aiko sat quietly in the back.
"Thanks for the ride, sir," she finally said.
"It's nothing," he replied.
After a pause, he asked, "Why'd you fight?"
"I didn't!" Aiko exclaimed. "I was stopping them. Emiko's always like that. She acts like she owns everything and just—ugh. It's exhausting."
He chuckled softly. "You're cute when you complain."
Her heart stopped.
Her face burst into flames.
She stared out the window, flustered beyond repair.
When he dropped her off, he watched until she was safely inside. And as he drove off, one thought burned through his mind like fire:
No one touches her.Not on my watch.