Tuesday morning dawned with a chill that seeped into Shuichi Chiba's bones, jolting him awake from a restless sleep. His brow furrowed as a shiver ran through him, his legs numb and icy, particularly at the tops of his thighs. 'It's only October—how is it this cold already?' He thought groggily, his mind a jumble of half-formed ideas. 'Maybe it's time to crank up the heater.' Rubbing his bleary eyes, he tossed back the covers, expecting to find nothing more than a drafty room. Instead, his jaw dropped.
There, nestled in the tangle of blankets, was Tsuki Akiyama, casually munching on an ice cream cone. The sight was so absurd that Shuichi's brain short-circuited for a moment, his sleep-addled mind struggling to process the scene. 'Ice cream? In my bed? At this hour?'
His head throbbed with exasperation, and he pinned her with a glare, his voice sharp with irritation. "Tsuki, seriously?" Without waiting for her excuse, he launched into a stern lecture, his words punctuated by her sheepish giggles. The impromptu scolding ate up precious morning time, leaving him scrambling to get ready. After a hurried wash and a chaotic breakfast, the trio—Shuichi, Tsuki, and her sister An—rushed to the train station, swept up in the morning crowd.
The train was a sardine can of commuters, bodies pressed tightly together in the swaying carriage. Unlike their usual routine, Shuichi didn't shoo An away this time. Instead, he maneuvered both sisters to the far side of the car, near the door, shielding them from the crush. Tsuki stood with her back to him, her body pressed close, her warmth seeping through her uniform as she subtly shifted with the train's rhythm. An, facing them, was squashed against the glass door, her wide eyes blinking innocently as she clung to her sister.
"By the way," Tsuki said, her tone deceptively serious, "There's a safety drill today. Don't forget, you two." Her words were formal, but her body betrayed her, moving ever so slightly, rubbing against Shuichi in a way that felt anything but accidental.
Shuichi raised an eyebrow, his hand discreetly slipping under the cover of his schoolbag to graze the soft skin beneath Tsuki's skirt. "Safety drill? What kind—fire, traffic, or disaster prep?" His fingers teased the tender flesh of her thigh, his touch light but deliberate, drawing a faint flush to her cheeks.
An's eyes widened, her expression blank with confusion. "There's a drill?" She asked, turning to Shuichi, her voice tinged with worry. The crowded carriage kept her from seeing Tsuki's face, their heads misaligned as their cheeks nearly brushed.
Tsuki let out an exasperated huff, her movements growing bolder as she pressed closer to Shuichi. "An-chan, even if Chiba-kun forgets, you're the class rep! You're supposed to organize things. How could you not remember?" Her tone was scolding, but the gleam in her eyes suggested she was enjoying the moment far more than her words let on.
An pouted, her lips forming a perfect, aggrieved curve. "My memory's never been good, okay?" She mumbled, her voice small and petulant, her eyes glistening with mock hurt.
Shuichi chuckled, his hand shifting to rest protectively in front of An, shielding her from Tsuki's teasing. "Ease up on the class rep," He said, his tone light but firm. "Organizing isn't her strong suit." His fingers brushed against Tsuki's side, eliciting a subtle tremor from her, her face flushing a deeper shade of pink.
Tsuki's eyes sparkled with mischief, her voice softening. "Fine, since Chiba-kun's pleading her case, I'll let it slide this time." Her words were magnanimous, but the heat in her gaze told a different story.
An's face lit up with a goofy grin, and she mouthed silently to Shuichi, "Chiba-kun's the best~" Her clear, trusting eyes sparkled, oblivious to the undercurrent between her sister and Shuichi.
Emboldened by her innocence, Shuichi pressed closer to Tsuki, his fingers tightening briefly on her thigh. "So, what's the drill about?" He asked, his voice casual despite the tension building between them. "It's… a riot drill, right?" Tsuki's voice wavered, her eyes glistening with a mix of excitement and strain. "Timing's… unclear, but… when the alarm goes off, you both importh both… stay alert." Her breath hitched, her words faltering as she leaned into him, the train's sway amplifying their closeness.
Shuichi's fingers moved absentmindedly, a habit when he was deep in thought. "Who's playing the bad guy this time? The gym teacher again?" He asked, his tone teasing as he pinched her lightly.
Tsuki's reflection in the glass door revealed a flushed, almost secretive expression, her breathing uneven as she pressed closer. "Not… the gym teacher," She managed, her voice trembling with a strange intensity. "The principal… wants to… do it himself. Says the gym teacher… wasn't good enough. Too aggressive, bad escape routes."
An tilted her head, puzzled. "Wants to what?" She asked, her voice laced with curiosity as she noticed her sister's abrupt pause.
Tsuki's body shuddered, and she wrapped her arms around An, her face buried in her sister's shoulder as if overcome with emotion. 'Is she… crying?' Shuichi thought, exchanging a bewildered glance with An. But Tsuki's trembling was far from sorrow, her "sobs" silent and suspiciously rhythmic.
After a moment, she lifted her head, her voice steadier. "The principal's playing the rioter. He thinks he can do better." She waved a hand dismissively, her focus clearly elsewhere as she shifted against Shuichi, using the conversation to distract An.
Shuichi snorted, withdrawing his hand and wiping it on her skirt, earning a soft whimper from her. "The old man's got to be pushing sixty. He's really out here playing thug? Not worried he'll keel over?"
Tsuki shrugged, her lips curving into a sly smile. "He insisted. The teachers couldn't say no, and the student council didn't bother fighting it. It's not a big deal." Her tone was nonchalant, but her eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Whatever," Shuichi said, giving her a playful pinch that made her squeak. "Time to switch trains." He guided them through the crowd, An glancing back at the glass door, her brow furrowing at the foggy imprint of Tsuki's face. 'That's a weird expression,' she thought, puzzled.
…
After second period, Shuichi headed to the restroom during the break, only to spot Sumire Nagase at the corridor's corner. A grin spread across his face, and he quickly dismissed Uchida with a wave, his attention locking onto the nervous teacher. He sauntered over, his posture deliberately imposing as he cornered her.
Nagase clutched her files tightly, her arms crossing protectively over her chest. "W-What do you want now?" She stammered, her eyes darting around, wary of passing students.
Shuichi rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall, his arm blocking her escape. "Relax, Nagase-sensei. What's with the guarding? You think I'm after something?" His tone was teasing, but his proximity made her squirm.
"You—!" Nagase's face flushed with indignation. "If you've got nothing to say, I'm heading back to the office!"
"Oh, I've got something," Shuichi said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "How's Hajime-sensei doing? Feeling better? I put in some serious effort comforting her yesterday." His grin was wicked, his arm now fully pinning her in a near-kabe-don.
Nagase's legs shifted nervously, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Hajime-sensei… she seems better, I think. Her smiles aren't as forced today." Her voice was soft, tinged with unease, as she avoided his gaze.
"Good to hear," Shuichi said, nodding approvingly. "Anything else?"
"I'm busy!" Nagase snapped, her tone bordering on a plea. "Let me go."
Shuichi's grin widened, sensing her discomfort. "You keep asking if I've got something. Sounds like you're 'hoping' I do, Sensei. Want me to make it interesting?" His voice was playful, but his eyes gleamed with challenge.
"No way!" Sumire huffed, her cheeks burning, but her eyes flickered with something less certain. Since last Friday, her dreams had been plagued by bizarre scenarios—sometimes replaying that day's events, other times swapping places with Tsuki, her cheeks touched by the mischievous student council president. Tsuki's strange smile haunted her, jolting her awake in a panic. Worse were the dreams where Tsuki held her from behind, guiding her, or pushed her in a rolling chair while Shuichi teased her, his touch lingering on her flushed face. The most unsettling part? Sometimes she saw herself from the outside, her expression a shocking mix of vulnerability and something darker. 'That's not me!' she thought, horrified.
"Sensei? Hello?" Shuichi's voice snapped her back, his tone mocking. "This isn't the drill. Hugging your head like that won't help."
Sumire jolted, realizing she'd been lost in her thoughts, her arms wrapped around her head in a defensive crouch. "N-Nothing's wrong!" She blurted, scrambling to her feet, her face scarlet.
"Oh, now there's definitely something," Shuichi said, his voice low and teasing. He gently lifted her chin, forcing her to look down the corridor. "The riot drill's starting. That guy in the black pantyhose mask—gotta be the principal, right?"
Sumire's heart raced, her mind flashing to her dreams as Shuichi's touch sent a jolt through her. The sight of the principal, wielding a baseball bat and flanked by two "henchmen," charging down the hall with a mob of students in pursuit, only heightened her panic. 'This looks so bad!' She thought, mortified at the thought of being caught in this compromising position.
Fury overtook her embarrassment, and she yanked free from Shuichi, her files scattering to the floor. Without a word, she stormed toward the principal, her face a mask of righteous anger. Shuichi blinked, too stunned to stop her.
"Chiba-kun, help hold him!" A voice called from the pursuing group. A familiar sports student—one who'd once offered to set Shuichi up with a girl—waved a riot fork, urging him to join.
Shuichi glanced around, spotting a fire cabinet nearby. 'A bit much?' he thought, but his hands were already moving, muscle memory from past fire drills kicking in. He grabbed the fire axe, its weight solid in his grip.
The principal, his face comically obscured by a black pantyhose mask, was in his element, reveling in his role as the "rioter." He'd always thought the gym teacher's performance was lackluster—too brute, not cunning enough. 'Finally, my chance to shine,' He thought, barking orders to his two "henchmen." "Stick close, don't scatter, or they'll pick you off!"
But as he turned, a flash of red barreled toward him. Sumire, in her red tracksuit, launched a flying kick with startling precision, sending the principal sprawling. The bat clattered away, and he lay groaning on the floor, the wind knocked out of him.
His henchmen froze, gaping. "Whoa, Sensei, it's just a drill!" One stammered, their eyes wide with shock.
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