Chapter 49: Snack Request
The next morning at School unfolded like any other—on the surface, at least.
The corridors buzzed with groggy students dragging their feet toward homeroom, and teachers shuffled between classrooms holding lesson plans and coffee mugs. But beneath that ordinary rhythm, a current of tension lingered in the air. Whispers from the assembly still hung in the hallways, and more than a few sideways glances followed Naoya, Shun, and Haruki.
Inside Class 2-B, Hana Nakamura stood at the front of the classroom, dressed immaculately in her pale lilac blouse and navy skirt. Her tone was light, her instructions clear as she explained the day's math lesson.
"And if you shift the equation on the x-axis," she said, drawing a smooth curve across the board, "you'll notice how the shape changes—but not the size. Just like perspective, class. Sometimes a change in view reveals a lot more than you expected."
A few students chuckled lightly. Others took notes.
In the back row, Naoya sat slouched with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed not at the board, but at Ms. Nakamura herself. His mind wasn't on the lesson. It was still stuck on yesterday—the video, the humiliation, the bread.
He hadn't slept well.
As she turned back to the class, Hana's gaze swept across the room with her usual calm—then landed on him. She smiled.
"Naoya," she said sweetly, "could I ask a small favor?"
The room froze slightly. Shun and Haruki turned slowly toward him, their faces a mix of dread and disbelief.
Naoya stiffened. "What?"
"I've been so swamped this morning," she continued lightly, "I didn't get a chance to grab anything from the canteen. Would you mind popping down to get me a bag of shrimp chips? The pink bag."
A couple of students snickered.
Naoya's lips twitched. "Are you serious?"
"Very," she said, tilting her head with a serene smile. "I'll pay you back, of course."
Naoya looked at her hard, then asked flatly, "Are you... using me?"
The air in the classroom tightened. Even the pencil scratching stopped.
Hana giggled softly, as if he'd just made a light-hearted joke. "Oh, Naoya," she said, "of course not. That would be unprofessional."
Then she added, with just a flicker of mischief in her tone, "Unless you're saying you like being in... compromising positions. Though, I suppose that's more of a club thing, right?"
The room burst into muffled snickers.
Naoya's face turned crimson.
Haruki turned away to cover a cough that was clearly a laugh. Shun bit his lower lip hard.
Hana continued, her voice pleasant. "Just the snack, please. I'm teaching fifth period without a break, and I'd appreciate it."
Naoya stood up stiffly, grabbing his wallet. "Fine."
"Thank you!" Hana called cheerfully as he exited the room.
The moment he was gone, she turned back to the board without missing a beat. "Now then—who can tell me what happens when we reflect the function over the y-axis?"
Students slowly relaxed again, some whispering to each other with wide grins. The tension had cracked—but only slightly.
And somewhere down the hallway, Naoya muttered curses under his breath.
He was starting to realize something terrifying.
He was losing control.
—
Lunch hour rolled around like a storm cloud on the horizon.
Naoya slammed his tray down onto the table in the far corner of the cafeteria, barely touching the food. Shun and Haruki followed behind him, a mix of frustration and unease scribbled across their faces.
"I can't believe she did that in front of everyone again," Naoya muttered. "Does she think this is some kind of game?"
"Maybe it is to her," Haruki offered carefully. "She's been two steps ahead since day one."
Shun plopped into his seat with a growl. "We should've just walked out. Let her teach her math problems to the whiteboard."
Naoya shook his head, raking his fingers through his hair. "Every day, she pulls something else. The video. The bread. Now shrimp chips? What's next, making me hold her umbrella when it rains?"
Haruki reached for his juice box and said quietly, "She's just a sub, remember? She won't be around much longer. Once her temp time's up, she'll disappear."
"Yeah," Shun agreed. "And she already said she deleted the video. She got what she wanted. That's the end of it."
But Naoya didn't answer. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the edge of the table.
No matter how many times they tried to reassure him, something in his gut twisted tighter.
He didn't believe for a second that Ms. Nakamura was done.
—
Later that evening, Naoya and the others arrived at his house, backpacks slung and exhaustion written across their faces. They were expecting a quiet retreat from the chaos of school—but what they found instead stopped them cold in their tracks.
The sound of laughter echoed from the living room.
As they stepped inside, Naoya's mother peeked out from the hallway, her smile radiant. "Naoya! Just in time. Come say hello."
And there, sitting comfortably on the cream sofa with a teacup in hand, was none other than Ms. Nakamura.
"Good evening, boys," she greeted with a graceful nod. "I hope I'm not intruding."
Naoya froze, his heart lurching in his chest. "W-What... what are you doing here?"
Before she could answer, his father clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "Ms. Nakamura was kind enough to stop by. We ran into her at the neighborhood market, and your mother invited her over. What a delightful woman! You're lucky to have a teacher like her."
"She's so poised and smart," his mother added cheerfully. "Really makes me feel at ease knowing you have someone like her guiding your class."
Shun and Haruki stood behind Naoya, equally stunned, eyes darting between the parents and the predator in disguise sipping tea like she owned the place.
Naoya forced a laugh. "Yeah. Super lucky."
Ms. Nakamura met his gaze over the rim of her teacup and offered a polite smile. "I was just telling your parents about how well you're doing lately. So responsible. Very mature."
She set the teacup down and continued with a playful tone, "And of course, we shared a little laugh about the challenges of modern youth. All this clubbing, fashion, late nights..."
She turned to Naoya's parents with a conspiratorial smile. "I even joked about how it's a miracle more students aren't caught up in... well, compromising situations."
Naoya's eyes widened.
"Like what we see in those scandalous club videos these days," she added with a breezy tone, sipping her tea again. "Terrible stuff. You never know who's watching, right?"
Haruki made a choked sound beside him. Shun's hand clenched into a fist.
Naoya's mother laughed lightly, oblivious. "You're so funny, Ms. Nakamura! But it's true—youth today needs more guidance. Thank goodness for teachers like you."
Ms. Nakamura gave a gracious nod. "Just doing my part."
She looked at the boys again, smiling warmly.
Just then, Naoya's father glanced at his watch and stood up. "Ah, shoot. We have that dinner meeting downtown. We should get going."
Naoya's mother grabbed her purse and turned to Ms. Nakamura. "Would you mind staying a bit longer? You three can chat while we're gone. Dinner will be here around seven."
"Of course," Hana replied sweetly. "I'd be happy to keep them company."
Once the door clicked shut and silence settled over the house, the air changed. Ms. Nakamura leaned back on the couch, slipped off her heels, and stretched like she belonged there.
She looked toward the boys. "So... now that it's just us. Let's talk."
Shun and Haruki stiffened. Naoya didn't sit; he stayed standing, arms crossed, every muscle in his shoulders tight.
Ms. Nakamura reached for her teacup again, her tone light but deliberate. "You know, it's been a busy week for me. Teaching, adjusting, keeping track of... students. But you know what I really need?"
She tilted her head, sipping slowly. "Money."
The boys blinked.
"Excuse me?" Naoya snapped, his voice strained.
"Money," she repeated, casual and crisp. "Quite a bit of it, actually. I thought—you three look pretty comfortable. A little financial gesture from three well-off young men? Shouldn't be too hard."
Shun's face twisted. "So this is blackmail."
Ms. Nakamura gently set her teacup down, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Blackmail is such an ugly word. I prefer gratitude. I didn't send that video to the police, did I? No one else has seen it. That was rather kind of me, don't you think?"
Naoya's face flushed red. "You're insane."
Her expression didn't waver. "No. What would've been insane is what might've happened to your university applications, your parents' reputations, or your social standing had that little... misunderstanding reached the proper authorities."
She leaned forward just slightly, her tone almost motherly. "So really, boys—you should be thanking me."
Her smile was razor-sharp now. "Just a little cash. I'll even accept it in envelopes if that makes you feel more... discreet."
Shun opened his mouth but couldn't find words. Haruki's throat bobbed with a swallow.
Naoya clenched his fists. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because," she said simply, standing up and brushing invisible lint off her blouse, "for once, I'd like people like you to understand what it feels like to be completely powerless."
She gave him a sideways glance. "Now. You can think of it as repayment, or you can think of it as a donation. Your choice. But let's not forget—"
She tapped her phone, her smile widening. "—that I still have backups."
The boys stood frozen, completely cornered.
Ms. Nakamura gave a satisfied hum, stretched again, and padded over to the window as if admiring the view.
"It's going to be a lovely evening," she said lightly. "I suggest you enjoy it. Before things get more... complicated."
And none of them could breathe properly until she turned her back.
—
Saturday afternoon, the trio huddled inside a dimly lit internet café, a half-empty tray of fries and soda cups scattered across their small booth. The glow from their computer monitors lit their tense expressions.
Naoya's foot tapped rapidly against the base of the table. Shun clicked aggressively through open tabs while Haruki kept checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching.
"We need money," Naoya muttered. "Fast. She's serious."
"How serious?" Haruki asked, barely above a whisper.
"She tapped her phone like it's loaded with nuclear codes," Naoya hissed.
"She probably has backups of the backups," Shun said, eyes scanning an article. "God, why did she even come to my house? Like, can't she stalk someone else?"
"What are the laws here?" Haruki asked. "Like, if someone underage is caught drinking or in that kind of situation—like the club thing?"
Shun pulled up a government site, and the words hit them like a punch to the gut: contributing to delinquency of a minor, criminal record, police intervention, fines, parental involvement, and worst of all, juvenile detention.
"We could go to jail," Shun whispered.
Naoya's face went pale.
Haruki's hand hovered over the mouse, trembling slightly. "This isn't just about school reputation anymore. We're talking criminal records. Real consequences."
Naoya slammed his palm on the desk. "I'm not getting locked up because of one substitute teacher. We have to figure something out. Now."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Shun and Haruki exchanged glances, their anxiety mirrored in each other's faces.
Naoya's fingers twitched slightly against the plastic table, and then he leaned in, voice low. "I have a plan."
Haruki blinked. "What kind of plan?"
Naoya's jaw tightened. "I know someone—an older guy. He... deals with things. Gets people out of tight spots. He owes my brother a favor."
Shun frowned. "Like a lawyer?"
"No. More like... someone who knows how to clean things up."
Haruki's expression darkened. "That sounds shady."
Naoya met their gazes evenly. "It is. But if it keeps us out of jail, I don't care. I'm not going down for a mistake we didn't even mean to make."
Shun rubbed his temples. "Are you sure this guy can be trusted?"
"No," Naoya said. "But it's the only lead we've got."
The air around them thickened with dread. Their futures felt like glass under pressure—fragile, close to shattering.
And Naoya, fists clenched, was ready to gamble everything to keep that from happening.