Monday rolled in after a chaotic weekend. I slipped into Class 2-B through the back door, noticing the window seat empty—Ryuji Sakamoto hadn't shown up yet.
"Hey," Satoru, seated in front of me, said as I dropped my bag. "Heard about those first-year punks? The ones with a rep? Apparently, they filed for a transfer this morning."
"First-years?" I played dumb, though I had a hunch.
"Yeah. Word is, they went out over the weekend, came back, and locked themselves in their rooms, refusing to go to school. Threw a fit, even."
I nodded, listening. Those were the kendo club rejects I'd Iron Clawed into submission. Guess I scared them straight—straight out of Ichijo Academy.
"Their parents stormed the faculty office, screaming about school violence, but it didn't add up. They left in a huff," Satoru continued.
"Probably had their reasons. Ones they can't talk about," I said, thinking self-inflicted karma.
"Bet they made plenty of enemies with their crap behavior," Satoru shrugged, closing the topic.
I cracked open the latest Jump I'd grabbed at the convenience store, letting the morning chatter fade.
***
First period was Practical English with Ms. Mizuki Nanae, our assistant homeroom teacher. Unlike grammar-heavy classes, hers focused on conversational skills, making it a student favorite. After a decade of English classes, most Japanese kids freeze up around foreigners—her approach was refreshingly useful.
"Between this and this, which one is cheaper?" Ms. Mizuki led, her pronunciation crisp.
The class echoed, "The apple on the left is 5 dollars cheaper than the banana on the right."
Mid-lesson, I noticed Rika dozing behind a propped-up textbook. I nudged her shoulder. She jolted awake. "What's up, Ryu-chan?"
"Teacher just eyed you."
Panicking, Rika wiped drool, flipped to the page I pointed out, and parroted the lines. Ms. Mizuki's gaze shifted away.
After finishing a passage, she scanned the room. "Since it's the 24th, how about the person behind number 24 reads the next one?"
Number 24 was Satoru Momochi. The seat behind him? Mine. "That's me," I said, standing, caught off guard but keeping cool.
Scrape. My chair drew eyes—being at the back, some kids turned fully to stare. I flipped the page and read, "This is James from England. He came to experience Japanese culture. Can I get a recommendation from a good place?"
Ms. Mizuki pounced. "So, what's a fitting response?"
I paused, then improvised, "I personally recommend Osaka. This is because it is a place where many foreigners visit, and it is a place rich in tourism resources such as Kyoto, Nara, and Kobe."
The room went silent. A beat later, Ms. Mizuki clapped hurriedly. "Well done! Perfect answer!"
The class joined in, applauding. I gave a slight bow and sat, feeling the heat of their stares. Next up: history with our homeroom teacher. Back-to-back classes with the assistant and main teacher? Whoever made this schedule had a vendetta.
***
Nanae Mizuki, 24, was a fresh-faced rookie teacher. Straight out of a regional education college, she'd chased her dreams to Tokyo, landing a job at Ichijo Academy—a prestigious school with a high academic ranking. Only six years out of high school herself, the campus stirred nostalgic vibes.
"I'm Nanae Mizuki! Nice to meet you!" she'd chirped, introducing herself to the faculty. She'd never forget that day—or her first assignment as assistant homeroom teacher for Class 2-B. Her students were special, her only class for now. Someday, she'd get used to new faces coming and old ones leaving, but for now, they were her world.
Yet, her early-semester spark had dimmed. One student terrified her.
Mizuki dreaded Mondays. Her weekly Practical English class meant facing him—Kim Yuseong, the so-called "Ichijo Academy's Strongest Man." His towering height, jacked physique, and stoic face screamed "born to dominate." No way he was a high schooler. As a teacher, she knew she should treat all students equally, but one look from him, and her resolve crumbled.
Rumors didn't help: heir to an apocalyptic assassination art, victor in a 50:1 biker gang brawl, a yakuza recruitment target. The gossip painted him as a walking nightmare. She'd even consulted Mr. Matsuda, the homeroom teacher and second-year dean, but he'd dodged her gaze. "Give up on that kid. Even I can't handle him."
Matsuda, a fiery, tiger-faced gorilla of a man, had thrown in the towel. If he couldn't manage Yuseong, what hope did she have?
Then, the incident struck without warning.
April 24 (Mon), First Period
Mizuki taught her Practical English class, pacing the lectern to avoid Yuseong's eyes. "Between this and this, which one is cheaper?" she called.
The kids followed, stumbling but earnest. "The apple on the left is 5 dollars cheaper than the banana on the right."
She felt a quiet pride, until she spotted Rika Kishimoto snoozing behind a textbook. Mizuki wanted to wake her but froze—Rika sat next to Yuseong. Instead, she stole glances, hoping Rika would stir. Then, Yuseong noticed her staring.
Eek! Eye contact! Mizuki screamed internally, heart racing. But instead of glaring, Yuseong nudged Rika awake, making her join the lesson. Wait, he's… nice? Mizuki wondered, her fear clashing with his unexpected kindness.
Emboldened, she pressed on. "Since it's the 24th, how about the person behind number 24 reads the next one?" she said casually, scanning the room.
Scrape. "That's me," Yuseong said, standing. His deep voice hit like a foghorn, drawing every eye. He read flawlessly, "This is James from England. He came to experience Japanese culture. Can I get a recommendation from a good place?"
His baritone oozed charisma, his pronunciation Hollywood-smooth, no bad habits. Maybe it's because he's Korean? Mizuki mused. Japanese kids grow up with Japanized English, hard to unlearn as adults.
"What's a fitting response?" she asked, voice trembling.
Yuseong didn't flinch. "I personally recommend Osaka. This is because it is a place where many foreigners visit, and it is a place rich in tourism resources such as Kyoto, Nara, and Kobe."
The class fell silent, stunned. Mizuki snapped out of it, clapping. "Well done! Perfect answer!" The students followed, and Yuseong sat with a nod.
Mizuki shook her head, scolding herself. Get it together, Nanae! You're the teacher, he's the student! She'd gone from terrified to charmed by his voice in seconds—pathetic. Regaining her composure, she wrapped up the lesson, oblivious to the bigger challenge awaiting her in two days.
***
Mizuki's rookie jitters are relatable, but her Yuseong phobia's hilarious. My one-punch knockout of Hayashi and Iron Claw on those punks sent them running—straight to a transfer. Karen's heartbreak still stings, but our karaoke session lightened her load. Ryuji's absence hints he's shaken too, maybe guilty over rejecting her. Naoto's yakuza crew saw me as some honor-bound beast, but I'm just trying to survive this manga world.
Class was a breeze, but Mizuki's panic when I spoke? Overkill. I'm not that scary. Next period's history with Matsuda—hope he doesn't dodge me like he did Mizuki. This extra's life is too wild for a Monday morning.