Dummura just thought he'd eaten some awful spicy food—or maybe he just had a semi—and ignored whatever he could feel down below. Maybe the Viagra pills were starting to work, he thought to himself.
"Sir, we didn't drop it!" Hinata said, barely holding back a laugh. "It wasn't us."
The magical girls were laughing so hard they could barely focus, their eyes watering as black dust tumbled down from behind the teacher.
Burnt pubes and dingleberries rained down like sticky, black confetti, scattering across the floor and walls.
Silverfish darted frantically among the debris, their tiny bodies glinting in the light, while beetles clambered over the mess with gleeful determination.
Ants swarmed through the chaos, lifting the tiniest crumbs as if presenting them in some twisted ceremony.
The insects twisted and danced, collided and scuttled, celebrating with a manic energy that made it look as if a dark, grotesque wedding had erupted beneath the teacher's feet.
"Bullshit!" Mr. Dummura snapped, pointing at the pile of dust beneath him.
Sabrina said to Dummura, "It's not bullshit…" Then, leaning closer to Hinata, she whispered with a suppressed giggle, "…unless he… identifies as a bull…"
Both of them burst into quiet giggles.
Dummura got itchy balls and had to walk a little.
Now, instead of barking and wasting the magical girls' precious time, Elise transformed Dummura into a surprisingly useful tool—quite the upgrade from the utterly useless tool he had been before.
The smell got a bit too much for the magical girls, and they stumbled a few paces back. Oblivious to the broomstick firmly lodged where it shouldn't be, Mr. Dummura dragged it along as he lumbered toward the retreating girls.
The broomstick swept up the dust as he shuffled forward, like some overenthusiastic dog with a tail duster tied to its rear—and somehow far more efficient than any robotic vacuum cleaner. Mr. Broomstick really was collecting every speck of dust, missing nothing. It was one of those magical brooms where the dust was magnetised, zipping up the staff and getting stored inside.
Dummura twitched slightly, the broom up his bum making him moan softly. He had never felt anything so intensely… confusingly, in his life.
A low, drawn-out "Mmmhh~…" escaped him, followed by a shaky, almost involuntary "Ohhhnn~…"
"Sir, we didn't drop it!" Hinata said, barely containing a laugh. "It wasn't us."
"Bullshit." Mr. Dummura snapped out his trance, pointing at the pile of dust beneath him. But the dust was no longer there.
And Mr. Dummura scratched his head, puzzled. "...Huh?" he mumbled. "Where'd… where'd the dust go?"
Finally, whatever Elise—Raven Dementia Bloodrose—did with the broomstick in her dark world fully merged with reality, and the magical girls could only gape in disbelief at Mr. Dummura.
The corridor went eerily silent—except for the soft swoosh-swoosh of the magical broomstick, still firmly lodged up Mr. Dummura's backside, tirelessly vacuuming dust like a possessed Roomba with a PhD in humiliation.
Mr. Dummura kept turning around over and over, looking for the dust—or something on the floor he could blame the girls for—but found nothing and decided to shout at them for something else:
"WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?!" he bellowed.
"That… that scandalous… fox-and-cat nonsense isn't suitable for this school!
Miniskirts flaring like flames and leather hugging in all the wrong places—do you think this is some magical fashion runway?!
Your tails, your ears, all that ridiculous sparkle and jingling… ABSOLUTELY INAPPROPRIATE!!"
He puffed out his chest, gesturing grandly to his suit.
"BEHOLD! THIS is sophistication! Elegance! Pure, unassailable refinement!
Every crease carefully considered!
Every patch is a triumph of style!
The moustache—crooked? NO! It is a statement of authority!
The tie? A masterstroke of colour and placement!
Observe—the majesty of Mr. Dummura in his full glory!"
He gestured broadly, as if unveiling a masterpiece to the world. "This, girls, is what you should be wearing! Not your… flashy, tail-jingling, midriff-baring nonsense! Take note!"
Hinata frowned. "Are we even allowed to wear suits as students here? I didn't see anything about it in the student guidebook."
(The guidebook mostly showed students in bras and panties, instructing them on proper underwear—taking up over ninety percent of the pages. The photographer must really love their job.)
Sabrina scoffed. "And you're not exactly elegance personified. Your suit trousers are half down, your Y-fronts showing, and—" she paused, gesturing—"your butt crack is hanging out."
They both exclaimed in unison, unable to believe their own words: "Why do you have a stick up your ass today?!" Their eyes widened as they stared at the massive broomstick protruding from him, like a goldfish with a long, messy strand of dangling poop swinging grotesquely.
"I don't have a stick up my ass! I am just so sick of disobedient—no, no, utterly insufferable—girls who prance around thinking they know everything, waving their perfect marks in my face as if acing every exam somehow makes them queens of the academy! I am tired of your smug little smiles, your constant interruptions, and your ridiculous confidence! You think a bit of flair, a jingling tail, or a sparkling accessory makes you sophisticated? NO! I am sick of it, utterly, completely sick of it!"
Both magical girls blurted out together, "No… I mean, there's literally a stick stuck in your ass… jutting right out!"
"WHAT?!" Mr. Dummura shouted back, turning sharply and completely missing the broomstick. His neck protested painfully—he couldn't even bend it, not in the urinal, not anywhere—so he often ended up peeing over his own legs and feet.