Chapter CXIV: The Adventurous Approachable-s
The sun peeks lazily through the slatted blinds of a small, warmly lit dorm room. A faint buzz comes from a cheap alarm clock shaped like a watermelon slice—one of those quirky novelty items nobody buys but somehow ends up with. A hand darts out from under a comforter and slaps it with moderate violence. The sound stops. A groan follows.
From the tangle of sheets rises a young woman with mildly disheveled hair and an oversized pink t-shirt that reads "I Science Better Than You." She yawns, rubs her eyes, and blindly reaches for her glasses on the nightstand. They clatter to the floor.
"Perfect. First thing in the morning and gravity's already on her bullshit," she mutters, squinting as she picks them up and puts them on.
This is Ms. Maika Ezura, once a teacher, now a metal-melting hobbyist-slash-babysitter who still drinks banana milk out of a measuring cup.
She stretches, neck cracking, and strolls into her tiny kitchenette. The rice cooker is already humming—timed the night before. She opens the fridge, grabs a container of miso soup (leftovers, of course), and throws together a quick breakfast. As the miso soup boils in the pot, she hums a jingle from a childhood shampoo commercial and does a mini cha-cha in her fuzzy socks.
After scarfing down breakfast like a woman who hasn't tasted joy in years, she heads to her closet—not for clothes, but for something shinier. She pulls open the bottom drawers to reveal what looks like the inside of a secret steampunk lair: metal scraps, a mini electric furnace, protective gloves, and molds shaped like stars and flowers.
"Alright, necklace project: day four," she says to no one, cracking her knuckles. "Let's melt some sh—stuff."
The furnace hums to life. She drops in some brass shavings she scored from a junk shop last week, a few polished nails, and even a broken charm from an old bracelet a kid had given her. While the metal liquefies into a molten shimmer, she pours the hot fluid into molds—one shaped like a fox, the other a sun.
An hour later, two necklaces sit on the table like newly minted treasure. She examines them with a magnifying glass. "Not bad for someone who failed her first college chemistry lab," she says with pride.
She washes up, pours herself some cold coffee (as tradition demands), and plops down on the couch in front of her smart TV. She scrolls through streaming options until she lands on First One Who Confesses Loses the Game! — a chaotic romantic anime she's watched four times but still finds stupidly entertaining.
Halfway through a dramatic "who-will-confess-first" cliffhanger, her mind drifts to a memory. A memory that starts in... 2021 at the prestigious Shinomiya High School.
She walks through the tall gates of the school for the first time, resume clutched in her hand, a crisp collared blouse making her look ten years older—or so she hopes. At the office, Principal Fukushu, a short man with eyebrows like fat caterpillars, skims through her papers.
"Please, do introduce yourself," he says, glancing over his reading glasses.
"I am Ms. Maika Ezura, sir. I majored in Biology and am deeply passionate about science communication and education."
He smiles. "Very good. We'll have you teaching Biology and STS for Class 2-A. Oh, and you'll be handling Junior High Class 3-A for Science too. You're also their adviser."
"Adviser?" she blinks.
"Yes. Sink or swim."
Spoiler alert: she swims...barely.
Still at the pandemic era, where online classes are very ubiquitous on the web on that very time,
"Next slide, everyone! Now, can anyone tell me what a catalyst does?"
Kota's voice comes through the mic with confidence. "It lowers the activation energy needed for a reaction to proceed."
"Very good, Kota!" she chirps.
Asahi's voice follows, "Ma'am, is love a catalyst? Because I feel things when I eat chocolates."
Half the class cracks up. Maika holds back a laugh. "Depends on the chemical reaction, Mr. Hitokami."
She watches the two boys grow through the year—Kota more reserved, always typing out detailed explanations in the chat; Asahi more animated, often wrong but charmingly so.
In 2023, at the Senior high faculty room, Maika pushes open the door to the faculty room, now filled with boxes and whispered plans.
"You're resigning?" she asks one of her fellow teachers, Ms. Tanaka, who's folding papers with robotic efficiency.
"Yup. Public school nearby offers higher pay and fewer night duties. Plus the principal doesn't smell like old coffee."
She chuckles nervously. "Oh... cool."
She finds Akito, the Literature Club adviser, sipping from a flask labeled "Definitely Not Vodka" (it's tea).
"What about you?" she asks.
Akito shrugs. "I'm out too. Not for a better job though—just tired. Might take a sabbatical. Do some reading. Some hiking. Meditate, maybe."
"Wow. You're serious about resting."
He smirks. "Rest is underrated."
One month just before her resignation, and it's after class. The sun's rays filter in through the lab windows.
Kota, Asahi, Gin, and Enmei approach her sheepishly like kids about to admit they broke something.
"Ma'am... we need help."
"Academic?"
"...Romantic."
She nearly chokes on her tea.
They explain their dilemmas, each one in various stages of crush or confusion. She listens, then smiles.
"You boys... you're growing up. Don't let love mess with your friendship. Let it deepen it. Communication is the key. And remember, falling in love is a science, but staying in love—that's the art."
Their eyes sparkle like kids who just heard a fairy godmother.
Then at the first day of Class 2-A as Class 3-A now, and since the whole class just knew of the news, Ms. Soumei told Maika about it and...
It's late evening. The class GC still says Class 2-A, even though they've moved on to 3-A.
She types,
"Hello my dear 2-A... or should I say 3-A now
This isn't easy to write, and I may cry halfway through, but I just want to say thank you.
Thank you for letting me be your teacher, your adviser, your quiz master, and sometimes your rant buddy.
Teaching isn't easy. You taught me that. But it's the moments we spent—even online—that made it worth it.
Kota, never stop questioning the world. Asahi, your energy is chaotic but beautiful. Gin, your calm presence held more power than you know. Enmei, you are proof that kindness always wins. And the rest, do your part and give your best.
You are not just students. You are sparks of potential waiting to ignite the world.
And even though I'm no longer your teacher, I will always, always root for you.
Farewell for now—but not forever. Stay curious. Stay kind. And if ever you need someone to help identify a weird mushroom or explain quantum mechanics badly, you know where to find me. And in case if I don't chat y'all in this GC the following days, Happy Breakfast, Happy Lunch, and Happy Dinner my babies!
With all my love,
Maika-sensei "
Some of the students react with crying emojis, some with memes, one with a picture of a candle and dramatic violin music.
The flashback ends.
Maika stretches her legs on the couch, snack bowl empty, as the anime credits roll with obnoxious J-pop. She grabs her phone just as a notification buzzes:
Ms. Soumei: "Maika-san, wanna go for some coffee at 1999 Studio Cafe or GenTea?"
She grins. "It's been a while, Fuyutsuki," she murmurs. She types, "Ok lezz go"
Slapping on her sneakers, she grabs her coin purse, hoodie, and the fox necklace she just made. She admires it in the mirror for a second before locking the door behind her.
Downstairs, she hops on the first bus headed toward the city. The scenery whizzes past—streets, trees, blurred people—like life itself moving on, but with little stops for coffee and connection.
And as the bus hums into the afternoon sun, Maika smiles to herself.
Maybe the experiment isn't over.
Maybe it's only just beginning.
It's a breezy late afternoon in the city central park, the sunlight filtered through the leaves like lazy gold confetti.
Ms. Soumei, in her typical calm but slightly disheveled manner, is standing near the statue of an eagle that someone once painted pink for some reason no one ever bothered to correct. Her beige coat is mismatched with her blue polka-dot flats, but she doesn't care. She checks her phone for the fifth time.
"Maika said she's on the bus... but which bus? The one that moves like a turtle or the one that breaks the sound barrier?"
Her stomach grumbles gently. She looks toward GenTea, her first pick for their reunion cafe spot. It's only 750 meters away from the 1999 Studio Cafe. She shrugs and walks towards it, the heels of her shoes clacking against the cobblestones.
"750 meters", she says. "That's like... four and a half tracks of an album of the girl who composed You Belong With Me."
Finally reaching GenTea, she reaches out for the doorknob, already imagining the warm tapioca pearls and roasted brown sugar milk. But the moment she sees the handwritten sign on the glass:
"Sorry for the inconvenience, we will be back tomorrow. -GenTea Fam"
She lets out a dramatic sigh so theatrical it could've earned her an award.
"Of course. The one time I leave the school early, the tea shop decides to rest. Figures."
Turning on her heel, she starts her trek back—another 750 meters to 1999 Studio Cafe. While walking, her thoughts begin to drift like lazy clouds on a Sunday sky. She then flashbacks to the year 2019.
A younger, messier Fuyutsuki Soumei stands in front of a full-length mirror. Her bangs are lopsided, her blouse half-tucked, and her eyeliner looks like it was applied during a 7.0 magnitude earthquake.
"Alright. Today's the day. Interview at Shinomiya High. Just... smile, Fuyutsuki. Smile like someone who hasn't eaten two-day-old takoyaki last night."
Then boom. Lockdown.
The whole city freezes like a paused video. Her interview is moved online. She frantically clears her desk—half-stacked manga on the left, empty ramen bowls on the right. Her laptop is propped up by three dictionaries.
Principal Fukushu appears on screen. His webcam is too high, showing mostly his forehead.
"Ms. Soumei, I see you have applied for the position of English instructor."
"Yes, sir!" she squeaks, trying not to look at the stray onion ring sitting under her chair.
He squints.
"Please tell me more about yourself."
"I'm Fuyutsuki Soumei, graduate of the University of Tsukuba, Communication Arts and English major. I've worked on campus papers, and I... uh... own a cat named Valjean."
Silence. Then a chuckle.
"I think you'll do just fine."
She joins Shinomiya High in 2020, in the weird, chaotic, yet strangely comforting atmosphere of online teaching. Her English classes are full of both learning and memes—students sending random GIFs during discussions and her occasionally replying with Shakespearean insults like: "Thou spongy boil-brained knave."
Then she meets Maika.
The science teacher is meticulous, sharp, and always smells faintly of cinnamon. They click immediately—like a match igniting. They would often sit together in the faculty room during breaks, Maika always fiddling with something crafty, while Soumei babbled on about the latest web novel she was reading.
By 2023, she's promoted to adviser of the campus journalism club. Students flock in—Mamoru, Kota, Asahi, and Takeshi, each of them energetic, passionate, and, in Takeshi's case, alarmingly addicted to yakisoba.
One day, while Soumei is organizing newsprint samples, Maika approaches her. Her face is calm but eyes heavy with decision.
"Fuyutsuki... I'm resigning."
Soumei nearly drops a stack of club proposals.
"What? Why?"
"The opportunity came, and... I've been thinking. Maybe it's time I tried something else. Rest. Explore. I need that."
Fuyutsuki, though shocked, breathes deeply.
"Follow your heart, Maika. Your decision will benefit you more. As for me... I've been wanting to resign, too. But not yet. Not until my nephew graduates junior high."
She places a hand on Maika's shoulder.
"Until then, I'll watch over your class. I'll guide your students. I'll continue your legacy."
They hug. It's the kind of hug that feels like a bookmark in the pages of life.
And as they pull apart, Maika smiles and says,
"Even if I'm not in school anymore... let's have coffee sometimes, okay?"
"Always," Fuyutsuki replies.
Then the flashback ends.
Now standing in front of 1999 Studio Cafe, Soumei lets out a puff of breath. The wind smells like roasted coffee beans and caramel syrup. She opens the door and is welcomed by a warm chime.
Just five minutes later, Maika finally enters, slightly out of breath, her scarf flapping like she just ran out of a drama scene.
"Fuyutsuki!"
"Maika! I thought your bus fell into a time loop!"
They hug again, clumsy and genuine. A waitress leads them to a cozy corner booth. They order: iced caramel macchiato for Soumei, hot hazelnut latte for Maika, and a shared slice of dark chocolate mousse.
As their orders arrive, Soumei places her cup down and grows serious.
"Maika, there's something I need to tell you. It's about... Kota and Akiko."
Maika's brows furrow.
"What happened?"
Soumei sighs, stirring her drink absentmindedly.
"They're missing. Not just absent. Not just skipped. But missing. No one's seen them since yesterday afternoon. Their phones are off. Kota didn't check in with the Prefect of Discipline. Even his best friends don't know."
Maika sits back, her mind racing.
"How did this happen?"
Soumei leans forward.
"There was tension in the class after the incident with Dr. Yamada. Then Tengen and Hanako's behavior has been... strange. Kota seemed shaken days before. Then, we have the Kota and Akiko incident in which from what I witnessed was a student from junior high Class 2-A calling them perverts, and then Tengen and Hanako blaming them. We also have the scam-video incident in which someone claimed that the hooded figures are Kota and Akiko, but we analyzed it, and it doesn't match them. And now? Both he and Akiko are gone. However, Assistant Principal Tomaru excommunicated Kota and Akiko from school for 2 days."
"Excommunicated? For 2 Days?"
"Yes. Apparently, during the time at the incident, Principal Fukushu wasn't in the office since he was sick, and Assistant Principal Tomaru was the one who was there. If Principal Fukushu was present there, he would have taken Kota and Akiko's side, but again, it's the different way. For now, they have been missing for a week."
Maika silently processes this. She takes a sip of her hot latte and gently sets it down.
"Then I'll help. Whatever it takes, Fuyutsuki. I may not be in the faculty anymore, but those students—our students—matter to me. Especially Kota. That boy... he always asked the right questions."
Soumei smiles softly.
"You really haven't changed."
Maika smirks.
"Well, I do melt metal and make jewelry now. So maybe I've leveled up."
Soumei chuckles.
"What are you? A chemistry idol now?"
"More like a science housewife," Maika winks.
The two sip their drinks, letting the moment settle between them.
Outside, the sky turns orange with the setting sun. Maika opens her phone and begins scrolling through her contacts.
"If we want to help, we should start asking questions. I still have contacts in Shinomiya. I'm sure Principal Fukushu would be willing to meet."
"I can talk to the journalism kids too. They're sharper than most adults I know."
They tap their cups together in a light-hearted toast.
"To coffee and chaos," Maika says.
"To students and stories," Soumei adds.
And so, the duo—former teachers, current caffeine enthusiasts—begin their mission.
Outside the cafe, the city glows. Lights flicker on one by one. Somewhere in the distance, a train rattles by. Somewhere else, secrets still lie hidden.
But for now, two women with fierce hearts and grounded minds sit in a cozy booth, ready to find the truth.