Ms. Mizuki's desk was right by the faculty office door, the draftiest spot—prime real estate for the newest teacher, apparently.
"Hello, Ms. Mizuki," I said, stepping in.
"C-come in!" she squeaked, craning her neck to meet my eyes. Tiny to begin with and seated, she nearly toppled backward. I sat quickly to save her neck.
Her head returned to a human angle. I scooted my chair back for her comfort. "We're at eye level now, so feel free to start."
"R-right, hold on…" Flustered, she fumbled with my student record.
"Take your time," I said.
"I'm not nervous or anything!" she blurted, flipping through pages until she hit mine. "Phew… Let's see. Japanese: A. Math: A. English: A. PE: A…" Scanning my grades, she shut the file like there was no point. "So, Kim-kun, what's your career goal?"
I rubbed my neck. "Not sure yet. If nothing pans out, I might take over my parents' business."
Her eyes went wide. "If it's not rude, what do your parents do?"
"They run a small diner in Setagaya."
"A diner?" she echoed.
"Yeah. Problem?"
"No, no! I'd love to visit sometime." Her tension eased, the first-time counseling jitters fading.
"What's your strongest subject?" she asked.
"Math or science, probably. Japanese is tricky with all the tough vocab—always a close call."
She scribbled notes, muttering, "Math and science, got it. Maybe an engineering major?"
My face hardened. "No. Definitely not."
"Huh?"
"Picking a job just because I'm good at something is lazy. I want to do what I want to do." No engineering. Not this life. My old grad school grind flashed like a PTSD trigger.
Mizuki blinked, rabbit-like, at my bluntness. "R-right. My bad. Being good at something doesn't mean you love it." She laughed awkwardly, closed her notebook, and leaned forward, serious. "Actually, I didn't always want to be a teacher."
That piqued my interest. I leaned in. "What did you want to be?"
"Don't laugh, okay? It's embarrassing."
"I won't."
She exhaled, then whispered, "I wanted to be a voice actress. In middle school, I was obsessed with this male character from a robot anime."
"Got it." I could picture it.
"Anyway! When I brought it up during counseling, my teacher said, 'Mizuki, you can pursue hobbies later, but first, get a stable job.' I was a top student—guess she thought my grades were too good to 'waste.'"
I nodded. Same boat—pressure to match your potential to a "safe" path.
"I thought following her advice was obvious," Mizuki continued. "But in college, I regretted it. It's my life, not someone else's. I decided my future too easily based on one opinion." She met my eyes, voice steady. "So, Kim-kun, think hard about what you want to be. This is advice from a life senior, not just your teacher."
"I'll keep that in mind." Technically, my pre-isekai self was a couple years older, but her words hit home. If I could redo my old life, I'd skip grad school for a job—or maybe a fried chicken shop.
An awkward silence settled. Mizuki scratched her head, sheepish. "Sorry, I rambled. Talking with you brought back memories."
"No, it was helpful." Her vague question to Rika about my dreams echoed—now I had a chance to rethink my future. I don't know what I want yet, but I'll find it before graduation.
One last question before leaving. "Do you like your job now?"
Without hesitation, she nodded. "Yeah. Teaching kids feels rewarding in a weird way."
Scrape. I stood, satisfied. She popped up too, and I bowed slightly. "I'm off to club activities."
"See you!" she said, waving with a gentle smile. She'll be a great teacher someday.
***
Mizuki's epiphany hit when I mentioned my parents. When I said I might take over their business, she'd pictured a yakuza empire—thanks to my rep and looks. Her prejudice had fueled her fear.
"What do your parents do?" she'd asked, voice shaky.
"They run a small diner in Setagaya."
The answer floored her. A diner? Not a crime syndicate? She felt like an idiot. The rumors—yakuza prodigy, biker gang crusher—were absurd. A moment's thought would've debunked them. I wasn't a delinquent; I was a kid proud of my parents' hard work.
Her misunderstanding cleared, she relaxed, chatting with me naturally. My size and stoic face still threw her, but the terror was gone. The session stalled only when she suggested engineering. My sharp "no" jolted her, dragging up her own high school memory.
Seven years ago, her teacher had said, "Hobbies can wait; get a stable job." Looking back, it was lazy advice. If Mizuki were in her shoes, she'd tell kids to chase dreams, not settle for safety to avoid regret. She wanted me to hear that, so she spilled her story, rambling but earnest. I listened, start to finish.
Afterward, she cringed, embarrassed by oversharing. "Sorry, I went on too long."
"No, it was helpful," I said, meaning it.
Relieved, she let me go, but I asked one last thing: "Do you like your job now?"
"Yeah," she said instantly. "Teaching feels rewarding." I left, and she stared at my empty chair, vowing never to judge students by appearances again.
Mizuki's not so bad once you talk to her. Her yakuza panic was pure comedy, but she's got heart. Karen's holding up, and Rika's back to her manga-pushing self. Ryuji's keeping low, probably still processing the park drama. Naoto's goons are out of sight, but I bet they're lurking.
Counseling got me thinking—what do I want? Not engineering, that's for sure. Mizuki's voice actress dream and regret hit close. This manga world's my second shot—I'm not wasting it on a path I hate. Time to figure out what's next, one step at a time.