Chapter 1: Zako-sensei is a Dirty Old Bastard (…Or Is He?)

Kamizawa High School – Morning

“Three... two... one...”

Slide.

A chorus of gasps erupted as the faculty window opened just enough for three girls—peeking through the bushes—to get a glimpse of the school’s most infamous, most dangerous, most undeniably magnetic figure.

Takeshi Zakaki.

In the middle of the faculty room, he stood half-awake, shirt halfway off, cigarette dangling from his lips, belt unbuckled casually like he didn’t give a damn about the laws of professionalism… or gravity.

His back muscles flexed as he scratched lazily at his neck, letting the jacket slide off his shoulder. His white shirt was crumpled, the top three buttons undone, revealing a sharp collarbone and faint scars near his ribs.

“Pervert,” muttered Mitsumi Kageri, tightening her kendo ribbon and hiding her blushing cheeks behind a thermos of tea. “What kind of teacher just strips like that in the morning?!”

“He’s... so cool,” whispered Chihiro Arima, clutching her track jersey in both hands.

“His body fat percentage is 11.2%,” stated Minami Agatsuma, calmly recording the view in a notebook titled Observation Log: Subject Z. “Also, his shirt’s been inside out for two days.”

Mitsumi turned to her, aghast. “You’ve... been keeping records?!”

Minami didn’t answer. She was too busy zooming in with her phone’s camera.

---

Inside the Staff Room

“Zakaki-sensei, you’re late again,” groaned the Vice Principal.

Takeshi Zakaki exhaled a lazy puff of smoke and pulled out a bottle of canned coffee from the fridge. “Time is a social construct.”

“Homeroom starts in five minutes.”

“I’ll be there in six.”

Several female teachers giggled from the side of the room, whispering behind their hands.

> “He looks tired today… kinda hot.” “I wish he taught my class again.” “Even his unshaven look works somehow.”

Meanwhile, the male staff glared in silent hatred, especially the younger ones.

> “He’s such a show-off.” “Probably sleeps around.” “I heard he rejected the nurse last year.”

Rumors surrounded him like smoke — thick, persistent, and oddly alluring.

---

Class 2-B – Five Minutes Late

The classroom was buzzing. Girls were adjusting their uniforms nervously. Boys were muttering about how unfair life was.

Then the door creaked open.

“Yo.”

A single, exhausted greeting, as Zako-sensei dragged himself in like a samurai returning from battle. Loose tie. Coffee in one hand. Cigarette extinguished at the door.

All chatter stopped.

Eyes widened.

He looked up... and paused.

On the blackboard, someone had drawn a large cartoon of him — exaggerated messy hair, dark bags under his eyes, and a pair of pink panties hanging from his mouth.

The class froze.

Takeshi stared at it.

Then calmly walked to the board, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote underneath:

> “Wrong subject. That’s Health Ed, not Homeroom.”

Dead silence. Then explosion.

“PFFFF—!!!”

The boys burst into laughter. The girls squealed. Mitsumi banged the desk while trying to hide her face in her sleeve. Even Minami let out a soft giggle.

Chihiro beamed proudly. “Classic Takkun!”

Zakaki didn’t react. He just sipped his canned coffee, sat down on the edge of the teacher’s desk, and pulled out a notebook. “Attendance. Roll call.”

---

Three Girls. One Target.

Mitsumi Kageri, seat by the window, third row.

She tried to look away from him — from that stupidly unbuttoned collar, the way his voice dropped to a half-whisper when reading her name.

“Here!” she shouted, slamming her palm on the desk.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re loud this morning. Over-caffeinated?”

She turned away, muttering, “You’re under-caffeinated, you damn slacker.”

But her legs kicked under the desk rhythmically, like a girl too embarrassed to admit she liked the attention.

Minami Agatsuma, back row, far corner.

She answered without looking up from her book: “Present.”

But beneath her desk, her phone recorded every second of his movement.

“Light brown tie... crumpled again... wrinkle on right pant leg... belt loose...”

Her lips curled into a smile no one could see.

Chihiro Arima, front row, always too eager.

“Good morning, Zako-sensei~!” she chirped, waving both hands.

He blinked at her. “You seem... peppy.”

She grinned, leaning forward slightly — maybe too much — giving the front row a view down her loosely buttoned shirt.

“I had a dream about you last night! We were at a festival!”

Zakaki massaged his temple. “Please stop telling me these things in public.”

---

The Accident

As Zako turned toward the chalkboard again, something creaked above.

The old eraser — perched on top of the door — finally lost its grip.

THUMP.

It smacked him square on the back of the head.

He stumbled forward. Right into Mitsumi’s desk.

Or more precisely...

Right into Mitsumi's chest.

“WH-WH-WHA—?!”

Her eyes widened as her homeroom teacher’s face was squished between the modest mounds under her uniform.

A long pause.

Zakaki blinked, dazed.

The class went dead silent.

Then exploded.

“Kyaaaaaaaaaaa!!”

“Lucky bastard!!”

“I SAW IT—SHE’S GOT PINK LACE!!”

Mitsumi shoved him back with all her kendo-trained strength, her face bright red. “Y-You perverted gorilla!!”

Zakaki hit the floor, rubbing his nose. “It’s too early for this.”

Minami had stopped breathing. Her fingers dug into her skirt. Her pupils trembled.

Chihiro jumped to her feet. “Sensei! Are you okay?! You touched Mitsu’s boobs!! That’s not fair!”

He raised his hand from the floor.

“I didn’t mean to grope your classmate, Arima. The eraser did this.”

Mitsumi was covering her chest with both arms, trembling.

“You... you better take responsibility...” she whispered.

He sighed. “I’ll buy you melon bread.”

---

Later That Day – Faculty Room

Zako leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

He lit a cigarette (with the window open, of course), and muttered, “Why does every day feel like a dating sim made by perverts?”

He didn’t know that behind the bookshelf across the room…

Minami Agatsuma was crouched silently, notebook in hand, recording every word.

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