After sharing a lively lunch with the Akiyama sisters on the school rooftop, the warm spring breeze ruffling their hair and the distant hum of the city below providing a soothing backdrop, Shuichi made his way to the infirmary. The rooftop had been a moment of respite, filled with An's animated chatter and Tsuki's quiet, indulgent smiles, but now his thoughts shifted to the task ahead. The school corridors were bustling with students returning to class, their voices echoing off the polished floors, the air tinged with the faint scent of chalk and cleaning solution.
Reaching the infirmary, he paused before the door, its frosted glass panel obscuring the interior. He rapped lightly, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway, and was met with the faint scrape of a chair shifting inside, followed by a brief silence. Only then did Naomi's voice emerge, soft but composed. "Come in."
Shuichi pushed the door open, closing it behind him with a gentle click, sealing them in the sterile intimacy of the infirmary. As expected, Naomi was alone, seated at her desk, the room bathed in the soft glow of fluorescent lights. The air carried the antiseptic tang of medical supplies, tempered by the faint warmth of sunlight filtering through the blinds. Medical charts lined the walls, and a neatly made bed stood in the corner, its crisp white sheets a silent witness to their conversation.
"Sensei, you don't seem in high spirits?" Shuichi said, his tone direct but laced with a playful familiarity. Without waiting for an invitation, he pulled a chair closer, positioning himself a comfortable distance from her desk. The metal legs scraped softly against the linoleum floor. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes meeting hers with an easy confidence, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
Naomi hesitated, a flicker of vulnerability softening her usually vibrant demeanor. "Well…" She began, her voice quieter than her typical brisk cheer, a trace of unease threading through it. "My family found out about the breakup. They don't understand." Her fingers toyed with a pen on her desk, a nervous tic that betrayed the turmoil beneath her composed surface.
Shuichi nodded, his expression thoughtful, as if her words confirmed a suspicion. "Not surprising," He said, his voice calm but empathetic. "It's hard to explain something like this to your family, especially when your ex-fiancé looked so perfect on paper. They're probably thinking you messed up somehow." His bluntness was tempered by a quiet understanding, his gaze steady as he gauged her reaction.
Naomi's lips curved into a wry, bitter smile, her eyes glinting with a mix of resignation and amusement. "You hit the nail on the head, Shuichi-kun," She said, her voice tinged with a weary acknowledgement. "That's exactly it."
"So, what's it gonna be, Sensei?" Shuichi asked, scooting his chair closer, the gap between them narrowing. His tone was light, almost teasing, but his eyes held a genuine curiosity. "You want to vent to me, or are you fishing for some comforting words?" The question hung in the air, an invitation for her to set the terms of their exchange.
Naomi turned slightly, propping her elbow on the desk and resting her chin in her hand. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes betrayed a storm of conflicting emotions—frustration, longing, and a desperate need for release. "I want to vent," She admitted, her voice soft but strained, "But I don't even know where to start. So, let's hear your comforting words first, Shuichi-kun." Her lips twitched, a faint attempt at her usual playfulness, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Happy to oblige," Shuichi said, a chuckle escaping him as he leaned back, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee. He paused, his expression shifting to one of quiet contemplation, as if sifting through his thoughts for the right words. He sensed the weight of her invitation, the unspoken urgency behind her request. She was teetering on the edge of an emotional outburst, her earlier attempt to retract her message a sign of her inner conflict. She needed a spark, a catalyst to unleash the pent-up feelings threatening to overwhelm her, and he intended to provide it—carefully, deliberately.
Raising his gaze, his expression grew earnest, his voice steady but imbued with a quiet intensity. "Back in middle school, a sensei once told me something that stuck with me," He began, his words measured. "He said, 'No one sees how hard you've fought or the battles you've waged inside. People only care about the outcome, whether you like it or not. That's just how the world works.'" He paused, watching her closely, noting the subtle shift in her posture, the way her breath hitched as his words landed.
As expected, the sentiment struck a chord. Naomi sighed, her shoulders sagging as if a weight had settled upon them. "Yeah," She murmured, her voice heavy with recognition. "That's it. All they see is that I lost a 'perfect' marriage prospect…" Her words trailed off, her fingers tightening around the pen, her frustration palpable.
Shuichi pressed on, his tone gentle but firm, building on the foundation he'd laid. "But here's the thing—nobody sees anyone else's struggles or efforts either. That's just human nature, our limitation. So, when you're knocked down, you've got to find strength within yourself, not chase after other people's approval."
Naomi froze, her eyes widening as his meaning sank in. A flush of indignation colored her cheeks, her lips parting in protest. "That's not comforting at all!" She huffed, her voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief. But her temper, usually quick to flare, remained in check, tempered by her self-awareness. She leaned forward, her gaze narrowing. "You knew, didn't you, Shuichi-kun?"
"Knew what?" He asked, his tone innocent, though a spark of mischief danced in his eyes.
"That I called you here because I wanted validation," She said, her voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. As the school's health sensei, she was no stranger to psychology, and her insight cut through the pretense. "I needed someone to tell me I'm okay, that I'm enough."
Shuichi nodded, his expression softening, his voice taking on a candid warmth. "I knew," he admitted. "I also know that if I kept feeding you that validation, a few more talks like this, and you might start relying on me. Like a patient leaning on their therapist, you'd get closer to me, maybe too close." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, then flashed a disarming smile. "But I don't think that's what's best for you, Sensei. I'd rather not see you struggle more down the line, so I'm keeping it simple—be your sounding board, nothing more."
Naomi stared at him, her eyes searching his face, the trajectory of their conversation veering far from her expectations. She'd envisioned a different scenario—perhaps a playful exchange, a repeat of his abs, a fleeting moment of physical closeness to soothe her wounded pride. But this—this measured, almost protective distance—was disorienting. The loss of control, coupled with her already frayed emotions, ignited a sudden, fiery outburst. With a frustrated huff, she reached out, seizing his arms and pulling him close, her grip firm but trembling.
"Who's the health sensei here?" She demanded, her voice sharp, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and desperation. "Talking about psychology in front of me—don't you feel a little guilty? I know this isn't right, but right now, I don't care about that. I just need to know…" Her voice cracked, and she cupped his face, forcing him to meet her reddened, tear-brimmed eyes. "Am I… am I still attractive?"
Shuichi's gaze softened, his voice unwavering with conviction. "Sensei, your charm is beyond question," He said, his words firm and resolute, a lifeline in the storm of her emotions.
"Then what are we waiting for?" She whispered, her voice raw with need.
There was no further hesitation. Shuichi wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both tender and urgent. The world narrowed to the warmth of her mouth, the soft press of her body against his, the quiet hitch of their breaths in the sterile room. The kiss deepened, a release of pent-up emotions, a fleeting escape from the weight of her doubts.
Between kisses, Naomi's voice broke through, breathless and seeking. "I'm pretty, right?" She murmured, her lips brushing his, her eyes searching for affirmation.
"Absolutely," Shuichi murmured, his voice a low rumble as he trailed kisses across her face—her cheeks, her jaw, the delicate curve of her nose. "You're captivating."
Their touches grew bolder, a quiet dance of need and reassurance, until, almost imperceptibly, they found themselves on the infirmary bed. Naomi lay back, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Shuichi leaned over her, his kisses soft and deliberate, moving from her forehead to her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips, then lower, a slow exploration that carried a quiet reverence. The bed creaked faintly beneath them, the room's antiseptic scent mingling with the warmth of their closeness.
Then, abruptly, she stopped him, her hand pressing gently against his chest. "I'm sorry," She whispered, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes fluttering open to meet his.
Shuichi pulled back, unsurprised. He'd sensed her hesitation, the boundaries she hadn't yet crossed in her heart. She'd sought release, not surrender, her choice of the brief lunch hour over the longer after-school period a subconscious act of restraint. "It's okay," He said, his voice gentle, a reassuring smile curving his lips. "No need to apologize. I understand." He settled beside her, resting his head against her chest, content in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
"This is already more than I could've hoped for," He added, his voice soft, a trace of satisfaction threading through it.
Naomi bit her lip, her arms tightening around him, her fingers threading through his hair in a tender caress. "I was selfish," She murmured, her voice laced with guilt. "You're right—I shouldn't let this spiral. I hope I haven't caused you any trouble."
Shuichi nestled closer, savoring her gentle touch. "No apologies needed," he said, his voice warm. "No worries either. I'll treasure this memory and move on with my life—studying, working, maybe finding a cute girlfriend someday."
Naomi's lips curved into a relieved smile, a weight lifting from her shoulders. "If you can do that, I'll be at ease," She said softly, her voice tinged with hope. "That'd be perfect."
"Feeling better?" Shuichi asked, closing his eyes, letting her warmth envelop him.
"Thanks to you, Shuichi-kun," She replied, her voice steadier now. "I'm much better."
"I'm glad," He said, a hint of wistfulness creeping in. "But I'm a little sad it's over. One last kiss, maybe?"
Shuichi shifted, his face level with hers, their eyes meeting in a quiet, shared understanding. Naomi's gaze softened, a flicker of guilt lingering as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close for a soft, lingering kiss—a farewell imbued with tenderness and gratitude.
As they parted, Naomi sat up, gathering her scattered clothing with a quiet grace. She slipped into her black lace undergarments, her movements fluid, her body outlined by the soft light filtering through the blinds. "It's almost time," She said, her voice practical but gentle as she buttoned her white blouse. "The bell's about to ring. You should head back to class, Shuichi-kun."
Shuichi watched, a trace of reluctance in his gaze, admiring the elegance of her motions. He knew this moment was a rare convergence—her vulnerability, her need for comfort had opened a door that wouldn't stay ajar. Pushing further would only fracture the fragile trust between them. "Alright," He said, rising to his feet. "Anything else you want to say, Sensei?"
Naomi paused mid-button, her fingers stilling. She turned, leaning forward to press a final kiss to his forehead, her touch warm and maternal. "This is the last time," She said, her voice firm but kind. "Don't fall too deep, Shuichi-kun, or I'll feel guilty."
"Got it," Shuichi said, his eyes glinting with a quiet acknowledgement. "See you, Sensei." With a final glance, he left the infirmary, the door closing softly behind him.
Naomi exhaled, her shoulders sagging as the tension drained from her body. 'What a terrible sensei I am,' She thought, a pang of self-reproach tightening her chest. To cross such a line with a student was unforgivable, yet Shuichi's maturity had salvaged the moment, keeping it from spiraling into regret. She hoped, fervently, that she hadn't left him with scars, that he could move forward unburdened.
---
Shuichi, the object of her concern, strolled toward his classroom, his pace leisurely despite the looming bell. His thoughts churned, a wry smile tugging at his lips. 'The last time, huh?' He mused. She'd said the same before, and he suspected it wouldn't hold. Her words were a flag, a promise destined to be broken when her need for validation resurfaced. He'd be ready, he thought, when she sought him out again.
The bell rang, the corridors emptying as students scurried to their seats, the echo of footsteps fading into silence. Shuichi's steps remained unhurried, his mind elsewhere, until he reached the classroom door and nearly collided with Sumire, their literature sensei, her arms laden with lesson plans.
Quickening his pace, he closed the distance, his hand slipping around her slender waist from behind, a playful, provocative gesture. "Sensei, I've been looking all over for you," He teased, his voice low and mischievous. "Waited ages in the infirmary, but you never showed."
Sumire's body went rigid, a gasp catching in her throat as panic flared in her eyes. Her heart raced, her instincts screaming to break free, yet her limbs refused to obey, frozen by a mix of shock and something she couldn't name. "Let go!" She hissed, her voice a frantic whisper, her eyes darting down the empty corridor. "If someone sees us, we're done for!"
Shuichi's grin widened, his tone dripping with mock innocence. "Oh? But why ask me to let go, Sensei? You could just step away yourself. Unless…" He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Unless you're saying no but secretly enjoying it?" His words were a playful taunt, designed to fluster her further.
Sumire's face flushed crimson, her voice rising with indignation. "Who's enjoying it?!" She snapped, her embarrassment fueling her retort. "I just… don't want to make a scene in the hallway!" Her words stumbled, her composure fraying under his teasing scrutiny.
Shuichi studied her flushed profile, then released her with a light chuckle, stepping back. "Alright, I'll buy that," He said, his tone conceding but laced with amusement. "Let's say you're telling the truth."
"Of course I am!" Sumire exclaimed, her voice shrill with relief as his hand fell away. Freed from his hold, she darted to the side, her movements jerky, as if released from a spell. Yet, a nagging unease settled in her chest—the strange paralysis she'd felt, the way her body had betrayed her will. 'What was that?' She wondered, her thoughts spiraling. 'Does he have some kind of magic?' Her eyes fixed on his hand, glaring at it as if it were her mortal enemy, the source of her confusion.
Shuichi caught her stare, his lips twitching with amusement. "Don't blame me, Sensei," He said, his voice light but pointed. "When something happens, look to yourself first." His words cut through her defenses, a gentle nudge toward self-reflection.
Sumire's eyes widened, a jolt of panic seizing her. 'Did I say that out loud?' She thought, her heart pounding. But Shuichi's next words eased her fear, though they did little to quell her embarrassment.
"I'm not a mind reader," He said, his tone teasing. "You're just too easy to read." He nodded toward the classroom door. "Bell's been ringing for a while. If you don't get in there, the class president's gonna come looking."
Sumire's indignation flared, her teeth grinding as she glared at him. "What did I ever do to you?" she demanded, her voice low but fierce. "Can't you leave me alone? I've been avoiding the infirmary to comfort Hajime-sensei because I knew you'd be there, hunting me down!" Her frustration spilled over, her hands clutching her lesson plans tightly.
Shuichi's expression softened, his voice taking on a reassuring note. "No need to worry about Hajime-sensei," He said, reaching out to gently grasp her wrist, his thumb brushing lightly over her hand. "I've already taken care of that for you." His touch was warm, his words a quiet promise, but they carried a teasing undertone that kept her off balance.
He continued, his tone thoughtful. "Like I said, Sensei, look at yourself. Sometimes, it's not about someone targeting you. Like attracts like, you know? When you were sneaking peeks, no one forced you, right?" His words struck a nerve, pinpointing the source of her deepest turmoil—her own inexplicable actions, the moments of voyeuristic curiosity that had left her reeling, unable to reconcile them with her aspirations as an educator.
Sumire's breath caught, her mind a whirlwind of denial and shame. She'd dreamed of being an exemplary sensei, a beacon of knowledge and guidance, yet her hidden impulses—those moments of weakness—made her question her worth. 'I'm not fit for this,' She thought, her heart sinking. 'Not if this is who I am.'
Shuichi sensed her distress, his voice softening with unexpected kindness. "Don't overthink it," He said, his tone gentle. "Everyone's got a side they keep hidden, parts that aren't all sunshine and roses. That's normal, Sensei. It's human." His words were a lifeline, offering absolution without judgment.
Sumire swallowed, her thoughts a tangled mess, but his words resonated, a flicker of reason piercing her panic. 'Maybe he's right,' She thought, clinging to the idea. 'Even someone as perfect as Ichika-sensei is rare. Normal people have flaws…' She paused, her eyes narrowing as realization dawned. 'Wait, no! He's doing it again!' Her anger surged, her resolve hardening to confront him, but a voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Nagase-sensei? Shuichi-kun? What are you doing?" An stood at the classroom door, her head tilted, her large eyes blinking with curiosity. As class president, she'd come searching when the sensei failed to appear, her presence a sudden jolt in the charged moment.
Sumire flinched, yanking her wrist from Shuichi's grasp as if burned. "It's not what it looks like!" She stammered, her voice high and frantic. "Nothing's—"
Shuichi cut her off, his tone playful but directed at An. "Come here and give me a kiss," He said, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Sumire's heart stopped, her face paling. "What are you saying?!" She shrieked, her voice cracking with outrage. "Shuichi-kun, you can't talk to a sensei like that! I'd never agree to—" Her words faltered as she saw An's reaction.
An blinked, glancing at Shuichi for confirmation. At his encouraging nod, she shuffled forward, her steps hesitant but obedient, stopping before him. Shuichi cupped her face, planting a quick, affectionate kiss on her cheek, his touch gentle and familiar.
Sumire froze, mortification washing over her. Her earlier outburst had been a humiliating misstep, her assumption that Shuichi's words were meant for her a painful blunder. Her cheeks burned, her toes curling with the urge to vanish into the floor. The realization was swiftly followed by shock as she processed the scene—Shuichi's casual intimacy with An, the class president, in full view of a sensei. Her mind reeled, unable to comprehend the dynamic before her.
"Good girl," Shuichi murmured, pressing a soft kiss to An's hair, his voice warm with affection.
An glanced nervously at Sumire, a flicker of concern in her eyes, but her trust in Shuichi was unwavering. Believing he had a reason for his actions, she turned, nuzzling her head against his chest like a contented puppy, her movements unguarded and endearing.
Shuichi chuckled, ruffling her hair before turning to Sumire, his brow arched. "What was that you were saying, Sensei?"
Sumire's face flushed, her voice barely a whisper. "Nothing," She mumbled, her embarrassment overwhelming.
"Oh, my mistake," Shuichi said, his tone teasing. "Thought you were expecting something."
An's eyes narrowed, her gaze shifting to Sumire with sudden suspicion. "Is Sensei chasing Shuichi-kun too?" She asked, her voice laced with a mix of curiosity and challenge. "If so, we're rivals!"
Sumire's jaw dropped, her mind blanking as she sputtered, "No way! I'm your sensei! Can you two show a shred of respect? Stop messing around and get to class!" Her voice was a desperate plea, her composure shattered by the absurdity of the situation.
"Alright, a shred," Shuichi said, his laughter bubbling up as he patted An's backside, guiding her past Sumire into the classroom. He spared the sensei a final, amused glance, oblivious to the seismic impact he'd left on her worldview.
Sumire stood rooted, her thoughts a chaotic whirl. 'Why does everyone normal seem so… strange?' She wondered, her mind grappling with the implications. 'Is this what normal is? If so, maybe my… sneaking glances aren't so bad?' The idea, planted by Shuichi's earlier words, took root, her confusion deepening. 'Did he actually have a point? Like attracts like?' Her head spun, her steps unsteady as she followed them into the classroom, her spirit dazed.
---
The lesson was a disaster. Sumire stumbled through her lecture, her notes a jumble, her words tripping over themselves as students exchanged puzzled glances. Her cheeks burned with shame, her confidence eroded by the morning's events. To make matters worse, An rose repeatedly to correct her errors, her bright eyes fixed on Sumire with an intensity that felt like a challenge, as if she truly saw her as a romantic rival. Sumire's heart sank, her embarrassment compounded by the class president's scrutiny.
When the bell rang, she fled to the restroom, locking herself in a stall and clutching her hair in frustration. 'What is this mess?' She wailed internally, her voice a silent scream. 'How did I end up as a rival to my own student? Over another student, no less?' The absurdity was crushing, her dreams of being a respected educator crumbling. 'Teaching is too hard,' She thought, a sob catching in her throat. 'I want to go home to Mom…'
---
Meanwhile, in the classroom, An approached Shuichi's desk, her usual exuberance tempered by the presence of their classmates. She resisted the urge to fling herself into his arms, maintaining a composed facade, though her eyes sparkled with excitement. She slid her phone toward him, her voice a hushed whisper. "Shuichi-kun, Mom said the shop got a special visitor—some judge from that big award thing."
Shuichi's brow lifted, his interest piqued, but before he could respond, a chime sounded in his mind, the system interface flickering to life. He scanned the notification, a grin spreading across his face.
[Tamako Akiyama Sense Of Belonging +10, Administrator Monthly Salary +100,000 JPY]
'Not bad,' He thought, his eyes skimming the updated stats.
[Fumika Ogawa, Sense Of Belonging 80]
[Tamako Akiyama, Sense Of Belonging 80]
[Sayuki Ogawa, Sense Of Belonging 70]
[Ichika Kitagawa, Sense Of Belonging 30]
[Current Monthly Salary: 2,700,000 JPY]
'Gotta put in more effort with Sayuki-san,' He mused, noting the gap between the twins. 'They're drifting apart again…'
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