The school bell rang with the kind of finality that usually brings relief. Not for me.
I sat frozen in my seat, staring at the slip of paper on my desk like it was a death sentence. In a way, it might've been.
"See me after class. – Natsuki-sensei"
That was it. No "please." No emoji. Just a calm, almost surgical order scribbled in that dangerously elegant handwriting.
I could hear my classmates chattering and shuffling out, the wooden desks squeaking across the floor, but it all sounded distant. My body wouldn't move. My brain was too busy running simulations of every possible outcome. Most ended in humiliation. One involved getting scolded until my spirit left my body.
What did I do wrong?
Wait—was it the essay? I did write that weird emotional growth assignment half-asleep while watching a romance anime. Maybe I overshared. Maybe I accidentally plagiarized a confession scene. Or maybe—
...Maybe she found out what I thought about her yesterday.
Oh no. Oh no.
I slapped both cheeks gently with my palms.
"Stop it," I whispered under my breath. "You're overthinking. Again."
Which would've been a fine pep talk if my brain didn't immediately betray me with an image of Natsuki-sensei leaning over her desk, her blouse pulling tight, her expression soft but scolding—
I stood up with a jolt.
A chair screeched.
Someone looked at me.
I forced a fake cough and marched toward the door with the confidence of a man walking into a bear cave holding a fish.
The staff room was oddly quiet for a Friday.
There were a few teachers shuffling papers, but most had gone home early. The air smelled like coffee and dry markers. I stepped in quietly, like a burglar with social anxiety.
And there she was.
Miss Natsuki.
My homeroom teacher. Late twenties. Cool, strict, always dressed just a little too well for a high school setting. Today's outfit? A silky white blouse, dark pencil skirt, glasses that somehow made her scarier when she smiled.
She looked up at me and adjusted her glasses.
"Haruma-kun. Sit."
She said it like she was commanding a dog, and for some reason, I obeyed instantly.
I took the chair across from her desk, stiff-backed like I was about to be interrogated. Her desk was immaculate—neatly stacked papers, a steaming mug of tea, a framed photo turned face-down.
She picked up my essay from the pile and tapped it lightly.
"This," she said, "was... surprisingly emotional."
"I– uh—thank you?"
"That wasn't a compliment."
I swallowed.
Miss Natsuki leaned forward just slightly, resting her elbow on the desk. Her eyes scanned the paper again. Her blouse shifted. One button looked strained. Just one. Hanging on for dear life.
Don't look.
Don't notice it.
Don't think about how one tug could—
"Haruma-kun."
Her voice snapped me out of it like a slap.
I met her eyes. Mistake. They were sharp. Curious. The kind of eyes that made you feel like your thoughts were being read in real time.
"Are you okay?" she asked, tone neutral.
"Yes. Fine. Totally fine. Never better," I said in the voice of someone who was definitely not fine.
"Because you seem distracted."
"I'm focused," I lied, sweating.
She raised one eyebrow and folded the essay neatly.
"This reads like you've been experiencing some... intense feelings."
"Oh, I just made stuff up for the assignment," I said quickly. "All fiction! Not real. Nope."
"Interesting."
She placed the essay down. Then, for reasons unknown to science or God, she stood up and walked to the filing cabinet behind me. I heard her heels click softly on the tile floor. My survival instincts told me not to turn around. So I didn't.
Until she spoke again.
"By the way, Haruma-kun... are you aware you were muttering to yourself in class yesterday?"
I turned around slowly. She was bent slightly, searching a drawer, her back to me. The blouse was tucked neatly into her skirt, but her posture... I looked away.
"Oh, uh... no?" I croaked. "Was I?"
"You said—and I quote—'Just one button. Just one, please.'"
I wanted to die. On the spot. Just crumple into a husk and vanish from Earth.
"J-joke?" I offered weakly.
She straightened up and turned around, holding a folder. There was a very small smile on her lips. Not kind. Not cruel. Just... knowing.
"It's normal," she said, walking back toward her seat. "Teenage boys and their imaginations."
"Ahaha... yeah... brains are weird... lots of, um, chemicals."
She placed the folder on the desk but didn't sit. She remained standing, hands on hips.
"Haruma-kun."
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Stop thinking about my chest."
I froze. Time froze. My heart froze. My soul froze. My ancestors froze.
"I–I–I'm not! I wasn't! I—!"
"You were," she said calmly, like she was stating the weather. "And now you're panicking, which is very cute."
Cute?
My brain completely broke.
And then—the button popped.
No, really. A soft ping echoed in the room. The top button of her blouse came undone, like fate itself had a sense of humor.
We both stared at it.
Her expression didn't change.
"...I see," she said.
"I SWEAR I DIDN'T DO THAT WITH MY MIND," I yelled, practically falling out of my chair.
Miss Natsuki simply walked to the door, opened it, and glanced over her shoulder.
"Go home, Haruma-kun."
"Y-Yes, Sensei."
"Oh—and be careful what you imagine next time."
She shut the door behind me.
As I stumbled out into the hallway, legs weak, face red, heart pounding, only one thought echoed in my head:
"What the hell is happening to me?!"
And deep in the staff room, behind that closed door, Miss Natsuki smirked.