Chapter 23 : Night Before

The night before a school festival is basically unpaid labor disguised as “school spirit.”

Everyone was buzzing around Mishiro High like caffeinated bees—painting signs, stacking chairs, spilling glue on the floor and pretending it was “artistic.” I was stuck carrying boxes because apparently my “muscles” were good for something besides fighting.

By the time the chaos finally died down, the sky outside was pitch black. My back hurt, my hands smelled like paint thinner, and my soul wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed and pretend tomorrow didn’t exist.

But of course, she had to appear.

“Ah, Kazama-kun—you stayed late too?”

Asuka-sensei’s voice. Bright, cheerful, oblivious to the fact that I was one more chair away from committing homicide.

I grunted. “Someone’s gotta do the heavy lifting.”

She tilted her head, smiling. “Then you’ve done more than enough. Why don’t you come by for dinner? It’s late, and Yume will be happy to see you.”

Dinner. At her place.

My brain froze. My body betrayed me. “...Sure.”

Idiot.

---

Her apartment was warm, smelled faintly of miso soup, and felt… normal. Too normal.

Then she stepped out of the kitchen.

Not in her neat teacher’s blouse and skirt. Not even in the cardigan she sometimes wore when she was tired. No—tonight it was a loose-fitting T-shirt that slid a little too far down her shoulder, paired with shorts that could barely be classified as “legal.”

I looked once.

Then looked away.

Then looked again, because my survival instincts apparently hated me.

She noticed, of course. She always notices.

“Mm? Something wrong?” she asked innocently, adjusting the shirt like she didn’t just weaponize casual clothing.

I coughed into my fist. “N-no. Just… hot in here.”

It wasn’t. The air conditioner was running. I wanted to strangle myself.

---

Dinner was fine—good, even. Yume was her usual bundle of chaos, shoving rice into her cheeks and demanding I tell her stories about “punching bad guys.”

Asuka scolded her gently, I grumbled about being a role model, and somehow the three of us ended up laughing at the same dumb jokes.

For a moment, I forgot. Forgot that she was my teacher. Forgot that I was the angry idiot kid who didn’t belong in this kind of warm light.

It felt… dangerous.

Later, Yume finally crashed, curled up in her futon like a little cat. The apartment quieted. And that’s when the real danger started.

---

We sat on the couch, the TV on but neither of us paying attention. She leaned back, tucking her legs under her, hair loose around her shoulders. Casual. Comfortable. Too comfortable.

I glanced at her, then away, then back again. My chest was pounding so hard it hurt.

She caught my stare and smiled softly. “You’ve been helping so much lately, Kazama-kun. Thank you.”

“...It’s nothing,” I muttered.

“It isn’t nothing.” Her voice was low now, serious. “You’ve been kinder to me and Yume than… than I expected anyone would be.”

The silence stretched. My throat went dry. Our eyes locked—and stayed there.

I leaned a little closer. So did she.

Her lips parted. My hand twitched on the couch cushion.

And then—

KNOCK KNOCK.

“Sorry to bother you, Minazuki-san!” A neighbor’s voice through the door. “Do you happen to have some sugar? I’m out!”

We both froze. Inches apart.

Asuka blinked, flustered, and scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over the coffee table. I leaned back, shoving my hands in my pockets, pretending my soul hadn’t just been ripped from my body.

She returned after handing over the sugar, face slightly red, pretending nothing happened.

--

Later that night, after Kazama-kun had left and the apartment was quiet again, I sat alone on the couch where we had almost—almost—crossed the line.

I pressed my fingers lightly against my lips. My heart was still racing.

It scared me.

Because I knew.

I already knew.

I had fallen for him. For my student. For the boy who carried too much anger but also carried my groceries without being asked, who knelt down to bandage Yume’s knee without hesitation, who looked at me like I was someone worth protecting.

I tried to laugh it off. Told myself it was loneliness, or gratitude, or just the warmth of having someone around.

But I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.

I loved him.

And that terrified me more than anything Kazuma ever did.