Travis raised his hand, asking Ms. Okita if he could use the bathroom. She gave a distracted nod and turned back toward her desk, heels clicking against the floor as she stepped inside the classroom.
The hallway outside was quieter now, just the faint hum of distant chatter echoing from other rooms. Travis made his way toward the bathroom, pushing open the door to the smell of cheap lemon-scented cleaner.
'So far things are going pretty well,' he thought as he stepped into a stall, locking it behind him. 'Two arcs with two teachers already. That's… progress, I guess. But that also means I can't really avoid them. At least once a day, I'm gonna be in their classes, and they're not exactly subtle.'
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, letting his mind wander.
'I have to figure out how to talk to Judith, though… She's shy, but that can work in my favor. Just gotta find the right timing.'
After washing his hands and running some water through his hair to freshen up, he left the bathroom, heading back to class.
Inside, Ms. Okita was at the board scribbling something in neat, looping handwriting. Travis slid into his seat next to Eve, a girl with a quiet demeanor but sharp eyes that always seemed to notice everything. He pulled out his notebook and started sketching, his pencil moving quickly across the page until the familiar spiky hair of Goku began to take shape.
Eve glanced over, her eyes catching the details. "You watch anime?" she asked, her voice curious rather than judgmental.
Travis smirked slightly. "Of course. Why? Do you watch it too?"
"Yeah," she said, leaning in just a little. "So, what's your favorite series?"
He tapped the pencil against the paper, pretending to think, even though the answer was already loaded in his mind. "Dragon Ball, of course."
Her lips curved into a smile. "I enjoy One Piece. A lot of people complain about how long it is, but that doesn't mean it's boring."
"True," he agreed. "One Piece is pretty good. What's your favorite arc?"
"Dressrosa," she replied without hesitation.
"That's a good one," he said, leaning back. "Personally, I like Water 7. I used to be all about Whole Cake Island, but after rewatching, man… that arc drags. Honestly, after the Timeskip, One Piece's pacing kinda lost its grip."
She gave a soft laugh. "That's true. I don't really mind, though. The more episodes, the better, you know?"
"Yeah." He paused for a second, then added with a small grin, "I also heard you're one of the smartest in the class. High GPA and all that. How the hell do you manage?"
Eve shrugged, her expression modest. "I don't know. I just… do it. It's kinda like breathing, you know?"
"Wow." He let out a short laugh, realizing he didn't have much else to add. The conversation hit that comfortable lull where neither of them felt the need to force it.
...
While Travis was at school, Jenny's mind was fully on the plan she'd been cooking up all week. Today was the day she'd start making money off the site. She shut her bedroom door, locked it, and pulled out her phone to check the lighting. Satisfied, she grabbed the small tripod from under her desk and unfolded it, the metal legs clicking softly as they locked into place.
She positioned it at the end of her bed, tilting the camera slightly upward—just enough to catch every angle she wanted without showing too much she didn't.
On her nightstand, she had a folded black ski mask from last Halloween. She slipped it over her head, the fabric soft but snug, hiding every feature except her eyes and mouth.
"Okay… all set up. Now I just have to be my own sexy self. Which isn't exactly hard," she said under her breath, a smug smile curling her lips.
Climbing onto the bed, she positioned herself in the center, knees sinking into the mattress. She gave the camera a full view, leaning forward slightly as her back arched. With both hands, she spread her cheeks wide, brazenly exposing every inch, every intimate detail.
The remote shutter button dangled from a cord around her neck, but she wanted a little flair—so she brought it to her lips, holding it between her teeth. A small click, and the countdown on her phone screen began.
Five… four… three… two…
The timer flashed, and the picture snapped—crisp, clear, unforgiving in its detail. She slid off the bed and leaned over the camera, reviewing the shot. The high resolution picked up everything—skin tone, shadows, even the faint flush across her thighs.
Perfect.
She took three more, adjusting her poses, twisting her hips this way and that, tugging her panties halfway down in one, letting them pool around her ankles in another. Each image was just risqué enough to make someone want more, but carefully cropped to hide her face entirely.
Her account was ready, the paywall set. $3 for basic access. $10 for the "naughty" tier. $30 for the premium—the kind of shots she'd just taken.
When she posted, she didn't expect results so fast. The first notification popped up within seconds. $30 subscription. Then another. And another.
Her eyes widened. "Wow… the world really is full of horny men," she muttered, lips curling into a smirk.
She sat on the edge of the bed for a few more minutes, refreshing the page. The numbers ticked up like a slot machine hitting jackpot—each ding giving her a little jolt of satisfaction. Finally, she tossed the phone on the pillow and began pulling her clothes back on.
"I'll check again tonight," she whispered to herself. "See just how much I made by then."
Downstairs, Debbie lounged in the living room, curled up on the couch with Netflix playing. The series was a drama about a lonely wife whose husband was too busy for her… and the stepson who noticed. Debbie had started it out of curiosity, rolling her eyes at the cliché premise.
But somewhere between episode three and four, she caught herself leaning in—her eyes narrowing, her lips pressing together as she watched the woman on screen give in to her desires.
Her mind drifted to Travis. She thought about the way he'd grown lately—broad shoulders, deeper voice, a certain confidence in his walk. The thought unsettled her… and intrigued her in equal measure.
"I wonder if Travis sees me like he sees his stepmother," she murmured under her breath. "God, I hope he does. I mean… this isn't some dumb scripted drama. This is real life."
She shook her head, blaming it on the show, on society's warped fixation with stepfamily scandals. And yet, the question lingered in her chest like a slow burn—did he see her as just his stepmom… or as a woman?
Her lips felt dry. "I should get a drink… calm my nerves," she sighed, pushing herself up from the couch. But even as she walked to the kitchen, she knew no amount of wine was going to stop those thoughts from coming back.
The last few minutes of class passed in a blur as Travis and Eve kept tossing anime takes back and forth, completely ignoring whatever was on the whiteboard. The bell finally rang, that metallic echo bouncing down the halls. Students scraped chairs, zipped bags, and poured into the hallway.
Travis and Eve walked side by side, still deep in debate, their voices blending into the noisy tide of students. Their next stop was History—Travis's personal definition of torture—but he had no problem dragging his feet when the conversation was good.
"After this, it's break time. I'll give you a tour of the school," Eve offered, her tone light and almost playful, her dark eyes catching the fluorescent light above them.
"Could we reschedule that? I need to grab something from the office," Travis replied casually. "Actually… I'll just grab it quickly and come back to you. Where can I find you?"
"Why don't I just come with you, if you don't mind?" she suggested, arching a brow.
Travis smirked. "I don't mind at all. Now, tell me again why you think Whitebeard could solo Naruto?"
[A/N: We all know that's false.]
The banter carried them up the stairs, their footsteps echoing on the tile. By the time they reached the third floor, the air felt different—quiet, hollow. Only a handful of students milled about, their footsteps and whispers bouncing faintly off the walls.
"Alright, Eve, keep guard while I go inside, okay?" Travis said in a low voice.
She blinked, clearly confused, but before she could respond, he was already slipping through Mrs. Smith's office door.
Inside, the smell of old paper and lemon cleaner filled the air. The sunlight from the blinds sliced across the room in neat, golden lines, illuminating the walls lined with framed photos of smiling students. More than a few featured Eve—laughing, posing, caught mid-speech.
Travis ignored them, heading straight for her desk. The first drawer gave a faint wooden groan as it opened, revealing a single piece of paper with a code scribbled in blue ink. He memorized it instantly, tucking the number away in his mind.
A glint of metal caught his eye—a locker key. He palmed it quickly, slipping it into his pocket. Then his attention drifted to a stack of manila folders labeled in neat handwriting. Curiosity got the better of him.
Flipping one open, his brows knit together. Castration cult?
"What the fuck…" he thought, snapping a few quick pictures with his phone before closing it. He didn't need the whole story—just the receipts.
Travis slipped out of the office, the door shutting with the softest click. Eve was leaning against the wall, arms folded.
"Why were you sneaking into Mrs. Smith's office?" she asked, her lips tugging upward in a teasing grin.
"I just wanted to take my AirPods back," he lied smoothly, holding them up like a trophy.
"Ohh, so she got you on your first day? That's some bad luck," Eve laughed, covering her mouth.
"I know, right? Well, now that we're done, let's start our tour, shall we?"
Eve led him down the hall, pointing out the art room—a door painted with wild splashes of color, the smell of paint faintly leaking into the corridor. "It's always a mess in there, but the projects are amazing!"
"Sounds like my kind of place," Travis said with a chuckle, imagining a chaos of brushes and clay.
They moved on to the library, a hushed space with shelves stretching high and narrow aisles lined with the faint scent of dust and paper. Eve's voice softened automatically as she looked around. "This is where I come to escape."
"Any recommendations?" Travis asked.
"Definitely! But first, let's check out the gym. It's where all the real action happens." She winked, already moving toward the stairwell.
The gym was massive, echoing with the sound of basketballs hitting the polished floor. The bleachers sat empty, their metal rails cool under the hand. They didn't linger long—Eve was already leading the way back toward the cafeteria, the smell of food growing stronger with each step.
When they reached the dining hall, it was buzzing with noise—laughter, the clink of trays, the murmur of a hundred conversations. They found a table off to the side and sat down.
"So what else does this school have?" Travis asked, glancing around.
"Well, there are these two people who always stir up drama. Dexter and Roxxy—short for Roxanne. I'm sure you remember them. They're literally comedy central in real life. You'll probably witness one of their arguments soon enough," Eve said with a knowing grin.
"Oh, those two. Never liked them, especially Dexter, that dumb fuck. Anything else I should know?"
Eve leaned in a little, the cafeteria noise fading into the background. "Oh, there's plenty more… but you'll see for yourself soon."
TO BE CONTINUED