Chapter 20: I'd Marry Shizuka-sensei If She Weren't So Old
Forty minutes later.
PE class ended.
Kazama returned to the classroom. The moment he removed the English dictionary, he saw that usually worthless divine beast—who normally only ate and slept—now curled up in the desk corner, rolled into a trembling ball like late-stage Parkinson's.
"What's wrong?"
Kazama frowned.
"Muscle cramp? Battery leak?"
"Wahhh! Kazuma! That woman! That woman is terrifying!"
Kerberos burrowed into his clothes, clutching his shirt desperately. The trembling transmitted clearly through the fabric.
"What woman? Speak clearly."
Kazama frowned, extracting the snot-and-tears mess and stuffing it into his backpack.
"That new teacher! Kaguya! She came in while you were gone! And she... she touched my belly!"
Kerberos lowered his voice, fear saturating every word.
"She knows who I am! And her magical power... it's terrifying! Like encountering Clow Reed himself!"
"What did you say?!"
Kazama's expression actually changed.
That new history teacher knew about Kerberos?
His earlier instinct had been correct. Not imagination. That woman really had been watching him—more deeply than he'd realized.
And now she'd proactively approached to demonstrate her power. This wasn't mere suspicion anymore. She'd put a knife to his throat.
Most critically, he knew absolutely nothing about this woman.
Was this character in the original series? No. Neither Cardcaptor Sakura nor any other slice-of-life anime featured anyone named Ougihoshi Kaguya.
Meaning she was a complete unknown variable. And in information warfare, unknown equaled death.
Kazama's brain raced.
Fight? Impossible. If Kerberos was this scared, his half-functional Windy card would just be delivering himself on a platter.
Negotiate? If she'd already adopted this cat-and-mouse attitude, she clearly had no intention of equal dialogue.
That left only one option.
"Understood."
Kazama stuffed Kerberos back into his pocket.
Since he'd been marked, waiting for death wasn't an option. Direct confrontation was impossible—she was an unknown quantity, and reckless action would only accelerate his demise.
The only solution: if you can't fight, flee. Get out of her line of sight. At minimum, buy some breathing room.
He grabbed his bag and walked straight out of the classroom.
Ten minutes later. Faculty office building.
Hiratsuka Shizuka's desk overflowed with documents and half-eaten cup noodle containers. She was chewing her pen, irritably grading assignments.
"Knock knock."
"Come in."
Kazama entered.
"Oh, it's you. What's up? Need the rooftop again to contemplate life?"
Hiratsuka set down her pen and rubbed her temples.
"Did someone bully you again? Or are the police causing more trouble?"
She actually cared about this student. Sure, the kid was sharp-tongued and had a dark personality, but ultimately he was a victim.
"Sensei."
Kazama approached and bowed deeply.
"I'd like to request a class transfer."
"Huh?"
Hiratsuka froze. She cleaned out her ear, certain she'd misheard.
"Transfer? Now?"
"Yes. As soon as possible."
Kazama raised his head.
"You know my situation in Class G. The bullying has temporarily stopped, but the isolation and hostile atmosphere hasn't changed. Moreover... I constantly feel like someone's watching me. For my mental health and ability to study properly, I need a different environment."
He paused, then deployed his trump card.
"I heard your class has an excellent atmosphere. If possible, I'd like to transfer to your class."
Hiratsuka fell silent.
She looked at this thin boy.
True enough, this kid was a living target in his current class. First bullied, then dragged into a murder investigation. A fresh environment might genuinely be the best choice.
But...
"Do you know how difficult this is?" Hiratsuka sighed, pulling out a cigarette, then remembering this was the office and stuffing it back. "Those fossils at the academic affairs office hate spontaneous changes. Cross-class file transfers are a nightmare."
"I know."
Kazama didn't back down.
"That's why I can only ask you. In this entire school, you're the only teacher who genuinely cares about students."
The flattery landed perfectly.
Hiratsuka's expression immediately softened.
This kid had been silently enduring malice that even adults couldn't handle. And his current request? Simply wanting a different environment.
If she refused and something else happened, she'd regret it for the rest of her life.
"...Fine."
She slammed the desk and stood up.
"I'll handle this! It's just a class transfer, right? For a student's mental and physical health, this is a legitimate request! If those old geezers dare refuse, I'll rip off their toupees!"
"Wait here."
With that, she grabbed her white coat, threw it on, and charged out of the office like a battle-ready warrior.
Through the closed wooden door.
Kazama soon heard roaring from the hallway's end.
"What do you mean 'doesn't comply with regulations'?! Regulations are dead, people are alive! If my student can't even guarantee personal safety in that class, what's the point of this school?!"
"Do you know what that child has been through?! If we keep him in that environment and something happens, who takes responsibility?! You?!"
"I don't care! You're stamping this approval today! Otherwise I'm sitting here until you do! None of you are leaving work!"
The desk-pounding shook the entire floor.
Kazama sat in Hiratsuka's swivel chair.
He listened to that woman arguing fiercely to protect him—a student full of lies.
The feeling was... strange.
Though noisy. Though these methods weren't particularly honorable.
But thinking about that white-coated woman roaring without dignity to protect a student...
Kazama's hand in his pocket gently rubbed together.
"Hiratsuka-sensei... really is an idiot."
This type of passionate teacher who'd clash with superiors for an unrelated student was practically an endangered species in this cold world.
"Seriously, why do I find this teacher unexpectedly cute?"
...
Half an hour later.
Hiratsuka returned.
Her hair was disheveled, her face still flushed from arguing. She waved a red-stamped application form in her hand.
"Done!"
She slapped the paper in front of Kazama, grinning like a victorious general.
"Starting tomorrow, pack your things and report to Class F! That's my class! With you under my watch, let's see who dares bully you!"
She stood with hands on hips, chest heaving dramatically, wearing a "praise me now" expression.
Kazama looked at the form.
The weight in his chest finally lifted.
Though just a class change couldn't completely escape Kaguya, distancing himself from her was definitely the right move.
"Thank you."
He lowered his head, voice quiet. This gratitude was genuine, without any pretense.
"Ha! That's it?" Hiratsuka pointedly turned her ear. "I argued with that balding department head for hours! My voice is hoarse! And I get one 'thank you'?"
Kazama raised his head, looking at this woman who—despite being past thirty—maintained a certain pure, girlish quality.
"If Hiratsuka-sensei weren't so old, I might propose marriage to show my gratitude."
The words hung in the air for exactly three seconds.
Hiratsuka's expression cycled through pride, confusion, shock, then froze in a twisted combination of embarrassment, fury, and disbelief.
That word "old" stabbed like a precision blade into the most vulnerable chamber of an aging single woman's heart.
And the following "propose marriage" was like dumping Pop Rocks into the wound.
"You... you..."
Her face instantly flushed crimson. Steam practically rose from her head.
"You little brat! Who's old?! And who asked you to propose?! Do you have a death wish?!"
"BAM!"
A fist full of loving violence crashed down on Kazama's head.
The impact wasn't gentle. Stars exploded across his vision.
"Ow—"
Kazama clutched his skull, genuinely pained.
For someone who could apparently "pulverize concrete" with her fists, she'd definitely held back. Otherwise his skull would be paste on the floor.
"That's what you get!" Hiratsuka stood over him, face still red, breathing hard. "Calling your teacher old! You've got some nerve!"
But despite the angry words, her expression held no real malice.
Just embarrassment. And maybe the slightest hint of... was that pleasure?
Kazama rubbed his aching head, watching her try to compose herself.
This woman really was ridiculous.
Getting that worked up over an obvious joke. Hitting students despite being a teacher. Completely lacking professional distance.
But...
"Hiratsuka-sensei."
"What?!" She glared at him, still flustered.
"Thank you. Really."
This time his voice was even quieter. Almost a whisper.
"For fighting for me. Even though I'm just... me."
Hiratsuka's anger deflated like a punctured balloon.
She looked at this thin, sharp-eyed student who'd been through hell and somehow managed to keep functioning.
Who made cynical jokes to hide genuine gratitude.
Who trusted her enough to ask for help.
"Yeah, well." She turned away, suddenly finding the window very interesting. "That's my job. Looking out for students who need it."
A pause.
"And you're not 'just you.' You're my student now. Class F. Remember that."
She grabbed her coffee mug—now cold—and took a sip to hide her expression.
"Now get out of here. Go pack your stuff. And if anyone in your old class gives you trouble about transferring, you come straight to me. Got it?"
"Got it."
Kazama stood, shouldering his bag.
He walked to the door, then paused.
"Sensei."
"What now?"
"When you do get married someday... your husband will be a lucky guy."
He didn't wait for a response. Just walked out, leaving Hiratsuka frozen with her coffee mug halfway to her lips.
For a long moment, she sat completely still.
Then her face erupted in crimson again.
"That... that little...!"
She grabbed a thick folder and hurled it at the already-closed door.
"BRAT!"
But she was smiling.
Despite the embarrassment, despite the teasing, despite everything—she was smiling.
Because for once, she'd actually helped someone who needed it.
And that student—that cynical, damaged, sharp-tongued student—had shown her genuine gratitude.
Not the empty thanks of obligation.
Real appreciation.
"Stupid kid," she muttered, retrieving the folder from where it had bounced off the door. "Making me go soft."
She settled back at her desk, looking at the mountain of ungraded assignments.
Then she pulled out her phone and sent a quick message to the Class F homeroom chat.
"New student joining tomorrow. Kazama Chiba. Transferred from Class G. Anyone who gives him trouble answers to me personally."
She hit send, then added:
"And I mean it. I will END you."
Satisfied, she set down the phone and returned to grading.
Tomorrow would be interesting.
Getting Kazama settled in a new class, away from those bullies, under her direct supervision.
Where she could actually keep an eye on him.
Make sure he stayed safe.
Maybe even help him heal, just a little.
"Lucky husband, he says," she muttered, marking a particularly terrible essay with an aggressive red X. "Stupid kid doesn't know what he's talking about."
But her ears were still red.
And she was still smiling.
Meanwhile, Kazama walked through the hallway, Kerberos shifting nervously in his pocket.
"Did that actually work?" the guardian beast whispered.
"It worked."
"Will changing classes really keep that scary woman away?"
Kazama's expression turned cold again.
"No. But it buys time. And right now, time is all we need."
He thought about Kaguya's overwhelming power. Her knowledge of Clow Reed and the Guardian Beasts. Her casual dominance.
One class transfer wouldn't escape someone like that.
But it would make direct observation harder. Force her to be more careful. Create distance.
And distance meant opportunity.
Opportunity to gather information. To grow stronger. To find weaknesses.
Kaguya wanted to play games?
Fine.
He'd play.
But on his terms, at his pace, with every advantage he could scrape together.
Starting with getting out from under her immediate watch.
"Tomorrow we start investigating," Kazama murmured. "Find out who she is. What she wants. Why she's here."
"And then?"
"Then we figure out how to survive this."
Because one thing was certain: Kaguya hadn't revealed herself just to watch.
She had plans.
And Kazama needed to understand them before those plans included his corpse.
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