[Soubu High School, Classroom 2-F — Mid-Morning]
The chalk dust hung in familiar drifts near the windows, mixing with the dry hum of the classroom heater and the faint sweetness of someone's strawberry milk from vending-machine break. Hozuki Nozomi had barely settled into his seat when Tobe Kakeru's chair scraped across the linoleum with an eager skreee, the gossipy boy leaning halfway across the aisle, eyes bright as a terrier who'd caught a scent.
"How was it, Nozomi-san? Did the ice-queen teacher scold you?" Tobe's voice pitched upward conspiratorially, one elbow planted on the edge of Nozomi's desk, fingers drumming against the fake wood grain. His uniform blazer sat wrinkled across his shoulders from where he'd clearly been craning toward the door, waiting for Nozomi's return.
Man, this guy looks way too composed. Did something actually happen? There's no way Kirisu-sensei let him off easy—she never does.
Hozuki Nozomi rolled his eyes with theatrical exasperation, leaning back so his shoulder blades met the rigid plastic of his chair.
"Tobe, why do you have such a misconception? I'm a good student. Kirisu-sensei praises me all the time—how could she possibly scold me?"
Tobe's face fell, the eager grin deflating into something closer to a sulky pout. He'd clearly been anticipating secondhand schadenfreude—the delicious thrill of watching the school's most annoyingly competent student get taken down a peg.
"How could that be? Everyone says Kirisu-sensei is cold and strict!" Tobe protested, scratching at his temple where his dyed-brown hair stuck up at an unfortunate angle. "It's said some students have been scolded to tears by her!"
Nozomi's expression remained placid, though a hint of something protective flickered behind his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest, fingers brushing the fabric of his blazer.
"I already said—I'm a good student. Why would I get scolded? On the contrary, I helped Kirisu-sensei last time, so she specifically called me for a private talk to thank me."
He paused, letting the statement land.
"Moreover, Kirisu-sensei may be a bit strict when guiding students academically. But that girl who supposedly 'cried'? She wasn't scolded at all. She cried because she was moved."
Tobe's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Huh?"
"When she was in junior high, family issues made her self-deprecating. She stopped caring about her studies." Nozomi's voice dropped into something quieter, sincere. "But Kirisu-sensei invited her for a private talk, patiently enlightened her—even took personal time to tutor her. That girl returned to class with red eyes because of gratitude. Somewhere along the line, someone twisted it into Kirisu-sensei 'scolding her to tears.'"
Tobe Kakeru's mouth hung slightly open, the gossip-hungry gleam in his eyes replaced by something closer to genuine surprise.
Holy crap. If that's true, then Kirisu-sensei is actually... really kind? Damn. I've been spreading the wrong thing this whole time.
"Is that really how it was?" Tobe breathed. "Then Kirisu-sensei is incredibly gentle!"
"Otherwise?" Nozomi fixed him with a level stare, voice serious now. "Tobe. Now that you know the truth, if anyone keeps spreading this, I hope you'll correct them."
Tobe straightened immediately, thumping a fist against his chest with renewed vigor. "No problem! Leave it to me!"
Where else would you find such a responsible teacher? She doesn't deserve those stupid rumors!
With the rumor defused, Nozomi rose and crossed back toward his usual seat, the faint scent of sandalwood and clean cotton trailing him—his own, mixed with something softer that clung to his collar from earlier.
Eriri Spencer Sawamura sat with her arms crossed, twin-tails draped over her shoulders like blonde parentheses framing her suspicious expression. Beside her, Shiina Mahiru's violet eyes lifted from a textbook, warm and attentive.
He told them about the dinner invitation at Kirisu Mafuyu's apartment that evening.
Mahiru nodded with easy understanding, no trace of jealousy darkening her serene features. Ogiwara Sayu, half-hidden behind her bangs, merely hummed an acknowledgment.
Eriri, however, leaned forward with a pout tugging at her glossed lips.
"Pervert. You're not trying to make a move on Kirisu-sensei, are you?"
He totally is. That stupid smirk—I know exactly what he's thinking. Ugh, why does he always—
Nozomi chuckled dryly, palms raised in mock surrender. "I didn't say that. But Kirisu-sensei insisted on thanking me for last time, and it wouldn't be good to refuse her."
"Hmph!" Eriri's cheeks flushed faintly pink. "Anyway—be careful! That's a teacher!"
Nozomi nodded, smile easy and unrepentant.
But inwardly?
Teacher, huh.
He thought about Mafuyu's slender waist beneath that prim cardigan. The way her skirt hugged the curve of her hips when she turned toward the whiteboard. Twenty-something years old. A woman in her absolute prime—soft in all the places that mattered, sharp where it counted.
Bold enough, and she'd be on maternity leave by year's end.
He wasn't going to let the lovely Kirisu Mafuyu end up with anyone else.
Otherwise, what was even the point of transmigrating?
The gymnasium smelled of rubber mats, floor polish, and accumulated sweat—sharp and familiar, the particular musk of competition. Sneakers squeaked against hardwood as Class 2-F lined up along the painted track for the hundred-meter dash assessment.
April sunlight poured through high windows, catching motes of dust and casting long rectangles of warmth across the indoor track. The PE teacher's whistle shrieked—PHWEEEET—and bodies launched forward.
Nozomi tried to hold back. He genuinely did.
But his legs carried him across the finish line first anyway, breath barely elevated, while the second-place finisher crossed two full seconds later.
That finisher was Shiina Mahiru.
Her violet hair clung to her temples in damp tendrils, chest rising and falling beneath her gym shirt, but her time had improved—noticeably. Dramatically.
My power's finally taking effect, Nozomi realized, watching her stretch her calves with easy grace. Their physical qualities are strengthening. Eventually... their lifespans too.
He wouldn't become like Frieren—closing off his heart because he feared loss.
He wanted to stay with Frieren and Fern for centuries. With Mahiru. With all of them.
Nearby, Hayama Hayato stared at the results board with something hollow behind his golden-boy smile. Third place. Behind Mahiru. Behind several girls, actually.
What the hell is happening to me? Hayama's jaw tightened, hands balling into fists at his sides. I used to dominate these. Now people are whispering—
Some classmates exchanged glances. Someone muttered about whether Hayama had "gone soft" since getting a girlfriend.
Free activity period found Nozomi distributing tennis rackets near the storage shed, Mahiru efficiently checking inventory beside him. The air smelled of sun-warmed rubber and fresh-cut grass from the soccer field beyond.
Once Miura Yumiko and her group wandered off with their equipment, Hayama Hayato approached.
He sighed.
His expression was complicated—resentment and reluctant curiosity tangled together beneath that practiced pleasant facade.
Nozomi glanced at him, utterly unbothered.
"Hayama. I'm not into guys."
Hayama's face darkened instantly. "Thanks. Neither am I."
"Haha, just kidding." Nozomi grinned, lazy and insufferable. "So—what do you want?"
Hayama took a steadying breath before speaking.
"Have you heard? The nation's heart is coming to Soubu High School."
"The nation's heart? What's that?"
Nozomi's confusion was genuine.
Hayama rolled his eyes, exasperation bleeding through. "You're Haruno-nee's fiancé, at least. Can't you bother learning inter-zaibatsu knowledge? I really don't know what Mrs. Yukinoshita was thinking, promising both Yukino and Haruno-nee to a good-for-nothing like you!"
This bastard. Showing off constantly. Having everything handed to him—
Nozomi shrugged, unbothered, a hint of smugness curling his lips. "My excellence isn't something you can learn, Hayama. If the madam insists on me, what can I do? Anyway—I couldn't bear to refuse beauties like Yukino and Haruno."
Hayama's teeth clenched. This guy was openly gloating. And there was nothing he could do except swallow the dog food.
He exhaled slowly, forcing patience.
"The Shinomiya Family is a massive zaibatsu—connections in both legitimate business and the underworld. Their only heir is a young lady named Kaguya Shinomiya. When I say the nation's heart is coming, I mean she's transferring here."
"To Soubu?" Nozomi's interest sharpened. "Heirs like that usually attend Shuchiin Academy—the aristocratic school."
"Exactly." Hayama nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's the first choice for noble children. Because of Kaguya Shinomiya's presence there, other families send their kids just hoping to befriend her. But now..."
He trailed off, gaze drifting toward the gymnasium doors as a group of first-years jogged past, their laughter echoing faintly across the spring air.
Nozomi pocketed his hands, already thinking three moves ahead.