The next morning, Mizuki arrived at school early.
Earlier than usual.
The rain had given way to a cloudy, still dawn, and the quiet air felt like the pause between notes in a song—subtle, expectant. Mizuki stepped into the building with a familiar click of her heels, but her shoulders were tighter, her gaze more alert. The events of the night before lingered like dew on a windowpane.
She had barely set her bag on the faculty room desk when the vice principal called her name.
"Sensei Ayane," Vice Principal Okabe's tone was clipped, his glasses reflecting the harsh white lights of the hallway. "A word."
Mizuki's stomach turned.
She followed him down the corridor to the administrative office, noting how quiet the school felt before the rush of students. The door shut behind them with a soft but final click.
He motioned for her to sit. She did.
"I'll come to the point," he said, folding his hands. "There's been talk."
"Talk?"
"About you. And a student. Takashi Arata."
Her breath caught.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. "Several students reported seeing him walk you home last night. And others have noticed his frequent presence around you."
Mizuki maintained her calm expression, though her fingers curled slightly in her lap.
"Are you implying misconduct?" she asked quietly.
Okabe lifted a brow. "I'm not implying anything yet. I am, however, reminding you of your position. We both know perception can be just as damaging as fact."
She swallowed her frustration. "Takashi helped me carry council files. It was late, and raining. I didn't feel safe walking alone."
"Of course," Okabe said, though his tone was unreadable. "Still, boundaries, Ayane-sensei. They matter. And so does your reputation."
His words echoed uncomfortably in her chest. Reputation. Boundaries.
"Understood," she said, rising.
But something else burned under her skin. Not guilt. Not shame. Anger.
She walked out of the office with carefully measured steps.
---
By lunch, the whispers had grown legs.
A few second-year girls giggled when she passed the lockers. One of them leaned toward another and said, not quite softly enough, "Sensei has a type."
In the hallway, a couple of boys muttered something about Takashi "getting special treatment."
Mizuki heard it all. She didn't react.
But in the classroom, when Takashi entered—later than usual, eyes guarded—she felt the shift in the air.
He sat in his usual seat. Said nothing. Avoided her eyes.
When the bell rang and students filtered out for lunch, she looked up.
"Takashi."
He froze at the door.
"Stay a moment."
The room emptied slowly. Only when the door closed did he speak.
"I didn't mean to cause trouble."
"You didn't," she said.
He glanced up. She met his eyes. There was a flicker of something vulnerable there—worry, shame.
"They're talking," he said. "I tried to ignore it, but…"
"I know."
He looked down. "Do you want me to stop—helping? Talking to you?"
Mizuki walked slowly around her desk and sat on its edge, arms folded loosely.
"No," she said. "I want you to keep being you. But we have to be careful."
He nodded. "I understand."
Her voice softened. "You haven't done anything wrong. Neither of us has. But sometimes, that's not what matters."
He clenched his fists slightly. "It matters to me."
A silence passed between them, unspoken frustration hanging in the air.
"I'll be fine," he said, turning toward the door.
But before he left, Mizuki spoke again. Firmly.
"You shouldn't have to carry this alone."
He stopped.
She added, "If anyone questions your integrity, I'll speak up."
He didn't turn, but she saw the pause in his shoulders.
---
The next day, Vice Principal Okabe called her again.
"I've spoken to a few parents," he said, tone clipped. "They're asking questions."
Mizuki straightened. "I'd like to make a formal statement to clarify any misunderstandings."
He blinked. "That's not—"
"As Takashi Arata's homeroom teacher, I've asked him to assist with student council organization. Any time we've spent after hours is strictly school-related. There is no inappropriate conduct."
"Do you think that will convince them?"
"It should. And if it doesn't, they're welcome to observe my conduct themselves."
Okabe leaned back, frowning slightly. "You're awfully quick to defend this boy."
"He's a student. A good one. I won't let rumor tarnish his efforts. Or mine."
He stared at her, searching.
Finally, he sighed. "Be careful, Ayane-sensei."
"I always am."
---
Despite her efforts, the whispers didn't stop. They only changed form.
By the end of the week, the student body had divided.
Some believed the rumors.
Others defended her quietly—especially students who had benefitted from her guidance. Still, the balance had shifted.
Even other teachers had grown cooler. Some offered tight smiles, others avoided her altogether in the break room.
She bore it with grace, but every glance burned.
Takashi, for his part, withdrew. Not from class, not from studies—but from her. He stopped lingering. He asked questions only when needed. He avoided walking near her.
It hurt more than she expected.
But she understood. It was safer.
---
Friday afternoon, the school was half-empty when she found him in the art room.
Alone, sketching.
She hesitated at the doorway, then knocked.
He looked up, surprised.
"I won't stay," she said. "I just wanted to say something."
He set his pencil down.
"I know you're keeping your distance. I understand why. But I want you to remember this—none of this is your fault."
He gave her a long look. "It doesn't feel that way."
She walked slowly into the room, stopping at the table beside him.
"Let them talk," she said softly. "People are loud when they don't understand something."
He studied her face, looking for cracks. There were none. Only steel beneath the calm.
She added, "You're a good person, Takashi. Don't let them make you doubt that."
For the first time in days, he smiled. Barely.
"You too, Sensei."
She turned to leave.
And as she reached the door, he spoke again.
"Thank you."
She didn't turn back.
But her hand paused on the frame. Just long enough to say everything that didn't need words.
Outside, the clouds parted briefly.
And though the rumors still circled, Mizuki stood tall—unflinching.
She would weather this storm too.