Chapter 4: We’ve Never Met (Except We Have)

The classroom door slid shut behind her with a soft click.

Kaori Matsumoto turned to face us, smiling like a calm breeze. She wrote her name on the board in neat kanji, turned back to the room, and bowed.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Matsumoto Kaori. I’ll be your homeroom teacher and your literature instructor this year. I look forward to getting to know you all.”

You already know me, I said silently.

On the outside, I was a statue.
On the inside, I was reenacting my own funeral.

She scanned the room once. No pause on me. No flicker of recognition. Nothing. I was a perfectly unremarkable student to her.

Except she’d literally said “tell your mom I said hi” less than 24 hours ago.

Okay. She’s being professional. That makes sense. This is fine. Totally normal. Nothing weird about pretending a bookstore café heart-to-heart never happened. I am not overthinking this. This is called setting boundaries. This is mature.

Then she called roll.

“Yamada Haruki.”

“Here!”

“Nakano Ayaka.”

“Present.”

“Natsume Souji.”

My back straightened involuntarily.
She didn’t blink. Didn’t look at me.

“Noted,” she said, moving on.

...Okay, yeah, she’s doing this on purpose.

The rest of class passed like a fever dream.

Kaori—or Matsumoto-sensei, I guess—started with an overview of the semester’s reading list. It was well-balanced. A few classics, some modern authors, even a mystery-romance hybrid I’d already read over spring break.

I tried to focus, but my notes devolved about halfway through.

Intended notes:

Soseki: Kokoro, due week 4

Group project starts after Golden Week

Actual notes:

betrayal tastes like jasmine tea

she’s wearing the same cardigan from the store

this is emotional espionage

Around me, the class buzzed softly.

The girl one seat up and to the left leaned toward her neighbor and whispered, “She’s so pretty! I didn’t think teachers could be that pretty!”

The boy two rows over muttered something about “the hot teacher curse.” His friend snorted.

I ignored them.

Mostly.

Three more students caught my attention:

Seat 1A, by the window—girl with pink scrunchie, glitter pens, and a pencil case that jingles like a mascot festival. Currently gasping over the reading list like it’s a dating sim route menu.

Back corner, hoodie half-zipped, hair tucked behind one ear. Quiet. Still. Possibly sleeping with his eyes open. Mysterious aura. Could be a bookworm or a sleeper agent. Not sure yet.

Middle desk guy, already cracking jokes under his breath. Tried to flirt with the teacher during Q&A. Got verbally dunked in response. Might be a walking disaster.

I mentally labeled them:

Drama Arc Generator, Background Enigma, and Chaos Boy.

I kept my head down. Open book, pen moving. I looked like the perfect model student.

On the inside?

I was spiraling.

The bell rang.

Kaori—sorry, Matsumoto-sensei—smiled again. “That’s all for today. Don’t forget to check your schedule for tomorrow. And one note—our first assigned novel might feel familiar to some of you. Just remember: reading it and living it are very different things.”

Her eyes flicked my way.

For a half-second.

Maybe.

Okay. Nope. I imagined that. Definitely didn’t just get sniped by a literary threat cloaked in passive-aggression.

Class ended. Bags shuffled. Desks scraped.

Everyone stood to bow. “Thank you, Sensei.”

“See you tomorrow,” she said cheerfully, collecting her materials.

As I stepped into the hallway, I felt eyes on me.

I turned slightly.

Kaori stood at the podium, adjusting her papers. Then, just for a second, she looked up—right at me.

She gave me the tiniest, tiniest smile.

Not smug. Not teasing.

Just: You okay?

I nodded once. Cool. Collected. Unshaken.

I will now go to the bathroom and stare into the mirror until I feel real again.