Chapter 21 : Cultural Festival

The thing about cultural festivals is that they’re basically one giant trap.

Teachers call it “student expression.” Students call it “fun.” I call it a headache with decorations.

Naturally, Class 3-B decided on a café. Because apparently everyone thinks cosplay and overpriced instant coffee will somehow “bring us closer as classmates.” News flash: it won’t.

And then there was the cherry on top of this disaster sundae: Asuka-sensei was assigned to “help supervise.”

Translation: babysit us. Translation of the translation: babysit me.

---

I was stringing up some paper lanterns near the front of the classroom, pretending I cared about their alignment, when someone shouted, “Oi, Kazama, higher! No, more to the left! You’re tall, use your ape arms!”

I grumbled something about height discrimination but adjusted it anyway.

That’s when I heard it—the ominous creak. The death rattle of poorly hung festival decorations.

I looked up just in time to see a giant wooden signboard wobble dangerously above Asuka-sensei, who was cheerfully arranging flowers at a table.

Of course. The universe never misses an opportunity to mess with me.

“Sensei—!”

Instinct kicked in before thought. I lunged, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her out of the way just as the signboard crashed down.

Except… gravity hates me.

So now I was flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, with Asuka-sensei sprawled on top of me.

---

Silence. Deafening, suffocating silence.

And then—

“WOOOOOAHHHHHHHHHH!”

The entire class erupted like they’d just witnessed the grand finale of a romcom anime. Phones came out. Someone wolf-whistled.

I wanted to die. Right there, crushed under the weight of humiliation (and, okay, her body too, but we don’t talk about that).

Asuka scrambled off me, face redder than a stop sign. “K-Kazama-kun! I-I’m so sorry—”

I sat up, brushing dust off my uniform, refusing to make eye contact. “Tch. It’s fine. Not like I needed a spine anyway.”

Laughter. Endless laughter.

--

By lunchtime, the rumors had already spread beyond our classroom. Whispers followed me in the hallway:

“Did you hear? Kazama and Minazuki-sensei…”

“They totally fell for each other, literally!”

“Scary Kazama finally found a weakness—love!”

I wanted to punch every single person. But then I remembered prison wasn’t on my bucket list.

--

The day got worse at exactly 4:32 PM. That’s when Yume, Asuka-sensei’s pint-sized gremlin of a daughter, stormed into the classroom holding a juice box like it was a holy relic.

“Mama, Mama! I heard the big kids say Punch-kun saved you from a monster sign!”

Asuka nearly dropped her stack of papers. “Y-Yume, it wasn’t like that, it was just—”

Yume turned her wide eyes on me, dead serious. “Reiji… are you gonna marry Mama?”

Choke. Sputter. Death.

Asuka inhaled tea at the exact wrong moment, coughing violently. I think she almost passed out.

Meanwhile, every student within a three-meter radius froze, then exploded into laughter again.

---

Okay. Calm down, me. You’ve survived worse. Knife fights in alleys. Suspensions. Being called “Zombie-kun” by five-year-olds. This is nothing.

Except my ears were on fire, my stomach did this weird flip, and the sight of Asuka-sensei waving her hands desperately while Yume kept staring at me like a tiny judge in court… yeah, I was doomed.

So I did what I do best. I played it cool.

“...Marriage? Hah. I can’t even pass math, kid. Don’t aim so high.”

The class roared. Yume pouted. Asuka buried her face in her hands.

---

When the students finally dispersed, still buzzing about their “romantic comedy moment of the year,” Asuka pulled me aside.

Her face was still pink. “Kazama-kun… I’m sorry you got caught up in all of this. The students shouldn’t tease you like that.”

I shrugged, hands in my pockets. “It’s fine. I’m used to being the punchline.”

She frowned softly. “That’s not something you should be used to.”

For a second, her eyes lingered on mine, warm, sincere, almost enough to melt the sarcasm off my tongue. Almost.

I looked away first, muttering, “...Just focus on your flower arrangements next time. Leave the collapsing death traps to me.”

She smiled then. That smile—the one that always looked like sunlight sneaking past storm clouds.

And suddenly, I didn’t mind the rumors so much.

--

That night, as I lay in bed staring at my ceiling, the image replayed in my head: her face close to mine, the weight of her body against me, Yume’s blunt question echoing like a gunshot.

Marriage, huh?

I scoffed at myself. Idiot. What was I even thinking?

And yet, despite my best efforts, my lips tugged into the faintest smile.

This festival was going to kill me.

But… maybe that wasn’t the worst way to go.