Aiko Nakamura curled up on her couch, wrapped in a blanket like a human burrito, sipping her mother's steaming soup. Her forehead throbbed beneath the bandage, but the real ache was the embarrassment gnawing at her soul.
One minute, she'd been caught in a silent spat with Yui; the next—bam—her head met the bench, blood trickling, screams echoing. Then there was Haruki-sensei, scooping her up like a K-drama hero, his arms steady, his voice firm.
"Why does my life feel like a soap opera on overdrive?" she muttered into her soup, the steam curling around her face like a veil of regret.
Sleep wasn't her escape. Her dreams spun into chaos: Yui body-slamming Emiko in a glittery WWE ring, quadratic equations chasing her through foggy woods, and Haruki whispering, "My Aiko," as thunder cracked in the background. She woke up gasping, her bandage itchy and her heart in full meltdown mode.
Morning hit like a steel chair to the face. Her alarm, of course, had overslept too. "One job," Aiko groaned, launching out of bed with her hair looking like it'd been in a wind tunnel. She threw it into a rushed bun, shoved toast into her mouth, and sprinted like the heroine in a low-budget anime.
At the school gates, the whispers were already flying. "Is that the girl Haruki-sensei carried?" "Did Emiko really push her?" "Romance or revenge arc?" Aiko's cheeks ignited. She wanted the ground to eat her whole. As she trudged toward her classroom, a blur of pink launched itself into her arms.
"AIKOOO!" Yui shrieked, hugging her like a hyperactive koala. "You okay? I almost broke Emiko's perfect little nose yesterday. And possibly your skull. But mostly hers."
"I'm alive," Aiko said with a tired laugh. "My brain's mashed potatoes, but at least I still know the alphabet."
They giggled, their chaotic energy a momentary shield against the morning doom.
Meanwhile, in the staff room, Haruki Takeda stared at his screen, his jaw tense, his hands hovering over the attendance file where Aiko's name blinked blank. The memory of her bleeding, fragile form wouldn't stop replaying. His grip on the pen tightened. She didn't deserve that. Not her.
Another teacher poked their head in. "Haruki, are you okay? You look like you're about to break that pen in half."
He forced a thin smile. "Just… focused." But inside, he was one bad thought away from flipping the entire table.
In class, Aiko and Yui returned to their fortress—the last row. Emiko sat up front, smug and unbothered, like she owned the school and the franchise rights to everyone's misery. The moment Haruki walked in, the entire class fell into hushed awe. His gaze landed sharply on Emiko.
"If anyone causes trouble in my class again," he said, his voice slow, dark, and calm in a terrifying way, "they won't be dealing with the school. They'll be dealing with me."
Emiko blinked, her smirk faltering.
Then his gaze softened—barely—as it flicked toward Aiko. Her face heated like a stovetop, and she dove behind her notebook. She wasn't sure if she was drawing a math graph or a tombstone for her dignity.
When class ended, Haruki's voice stopped her cold. "Aiko, can you stay a moment?"
Yui wiggled her eyebrows at her. "Don't elope without me," she whispered and skipped away.
Aiko stood in front of him, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve.
"How's your head?" Haruki asked gently.
"Better. Thanks to you," she murmured. "Sorry for the chaos yesterday."
"You didn't cause it," he said, smiling faintly.
"I just…" She swallowed. "I don't want to be the drama girl. The one everyone talks about. They think I'm trying to get attention."
Haruki's expression shifted—soft but steady. "You're nothing like Emiko. You're stronger than you think, Aiko."
Her breath hitched. "T-thank you, sensei."
Their eyes locked—too long, too intense. She panicked. "I should go."
"Need a ride?"
Her brain short-circuited. "N-No! I mean, I'm good. No lava pits today!"
He laughed. "Alright. But… if anyone lays a hand on you again—" His tone darkened, unspoken fury flashing in his eyes. Aiko blinked, heart galloping in her chest. She fled before she said something insane like "marry me."
Outside, Yui was waiting like a gremlin of mischief.
"Well?" she said. "Did he confess? Declare eternal protection?"
"Nothing happened!" Aiko groaned.
"Nothing yet," Yui sang, linking their arms as they walked.
Back in the staff room, Haruki stared at the screen. He hovered over "Student Disciplinary Report – Emiko Tanaka" but didn't click. Instead, he opened another tab: "Foods that help head injuries." His eyes skimmed. Soup. Leafy greens. Eggs.
Maybe I'll bring her something, he thought. Then shook his head. Get it together, Haruki.
That night, Aiko stared at the ceiling, the moonlight casting pale stripes across her blanket. Her head ached, but it was her heart that beat erratically. His voice, the concern in his eyes, his stupidly perfect face—it haunted her.
Why was he so nice to me? she wondered, clutching her pillow. Does he… like me? No. He's a teacher. I'm just a student. A clumsy one at that.
Downstairs, her father sat at the dining table in full military uniform, back from camp, his presence like a thundercloud. "How are your studies?" he asked.
"G-good," she replied, shrinking under his gaze.
"No distractions," he said sharply. "No nonsense. Or you're out of that school."
"Yes, Father," she mumbled, swallowing her rebellion with her rice.
Her mother offered a gentler smile. "She's doing well, dear."
Later, alone in her room, Aiko stared out the window, fingers brushing the bandage on her forehead. Haruki's warmth and her father's coldness collided in her chest.
If Dad finds out about Haruki… if there's even a rumor…
She shook her head violently. "No more feelings," she whispered. "No blushing. No daydreams. Just survive."
The next morning, she slipped into class like a ninja in stealth mode. Head down. No eye contact.
Yui hissed, "You look like a spy from a K-drama."
"Shhh," Aiko whispered. "I'm invisible."
Haruki entered, hair slightly damp, black shirt devastatingly neat. "Good morning," he said, scanning the room—and pausing on her. She ducked lower behind her book.
His heart sank. What happened to the way she used to look at me?
He continued the lesson, but something was missing—his usual spark dimmed. He waited for a question, a glance, even a smile. Nothing.
"If anyone has doubts," he said, eyes briefly locking with hers, "find me after class."
She didn't look up.
When the bell rang, she packed her things and fled.
He stood at his desk, watching her disappear.
What happened to… her?