[MashUp] Ch 3: Such A Cute Sensei~

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Ichinose Academy

"The dictator, Oda Nobunaga's ambush at the Battle of Okehazama wasn't some reckless gamble."

"It was a precise reading of Imagawa Yoshimoto's arrogance—one that completely overturned the balance of power at the time."

At the podium, Mafuyu Kirisu held the chalk steady, her voice as cool and composed as ever. She looked every bit the flawless, unshakable Icy teacher.

But her thoughts were far, far away.

This morning's image refused to leave her mind.

That shameless boy, draped in her oversized bathrobe, moving casually about her kitchen as he cooked breakfast after he did that all night…

What was he doing now? Rummaging through her things?

Or had he already grown bored—and slipped out without a word?

The thought alone made her chest tighten.

An unfamiliar restlessness gripped her.

"…By reading his opponent's nature so precisely, then overturning the situation with an unreasonable strike…"

She tried to drag her mind back to the lesson.

"Therefore, we can conclude that Takuma—"

Her whole body froze. A sharp cough covered the slip.

"Oda Nobunaga's success was possible only because…"

But heat was already creeping up her neck, spreading across her cheeks and burning to her ears.

Her eyes darted quickly over the classroom.

Thankfully, every student was bent over their notes. No one seemed to have noticed.

In her entire career, Mafuyu Kirisu had never once drifted off in class this badly.

...

Between periods.

She had just sat down in the office when the literature teacher strolled over, teacup in hand, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

"Kirisu-sensei, you seem… different today."

Her eyes swept over Mafuyu's face like a scanner, sparkling with mischief.

"Your skin's glowing, your whole expression's brighter… looks to me like you've been properly cared for."

Her tone lingered on the last words, loaded with implication. "Well? Did you secretly get yourself a... boyfriend?"

"(⁄ ⁄°⁄‿⁄°⁄ ⁄) "

Mafuyu's heart lurched, her face flushing scarlet in an instant.

"N-no! Don't be ridiculous!"

Her denial came so fast—and so loud—that it only confirmed her colleague's suspicions.

"Ara, ara… blushing like that? That's as good as a confession."

The woman's grin widened before she leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Mafuyu… take some advice from someone with experience."

"After the first time, it's always smarter to stick with flats. Especially if he's good—your legs will be shaky at first, but if he's that good, it's worth it."

"…...."

Mortified beyond words, Mafuyu ducked her head, pretending to shuffle through her lesson plans.

But her crimson ears betrayed her completely.

Time had never felt so painfully slow.

At last, freedom. The final bell rang.

Normally, her golden rule was ironclad: finish every bit of work at school, never bring it home.

Work and private life—strictly separate.

But today…

Her eyes lingered on the thick stack of lesson plans.

The thought came unbidden: If she had work to bury herself in, she wouldn't have to face that boy directly.

She could avoid the suffocating awkwardness.

Before she realized it, she was packing the entire stack into her bag. The leather strained at the seams, the zipper barely closing.

For the first time in years, Mafuyu Kirisu broke her own rule—because of someone else.

Her walk home was faster than usual, though she didn't notice. Not until she reached the apartment building and stopped dead.

Her eyes lifted to her own window.

The lights were on.

Which meant… he was still there.

Relief flickered. Then confusion.

She lingered at the entrance far too long before finally dragging herself upstairs and unlocking the door.

The entryway light glared against the unfamiliar sight: Men's sneakers, sitting neatly by her shoe rack.

Like a flag planted on occupied territory.

In the living room, the TV chattered with variety-show laughter.

And on her couch, stretched out in that same bathrobe—her fav bathrobe—was the boy.

As she stepped in, he casually sat up and switched off the screen.

Silence fell.

Mafuyu stood frozen at the door, clutching her overstuffed bag.

All the lines she'd rehearsed—"Who are you really?" "What are you after?" "Fuck off"—evaporated when she met his eyes.

Takuma's eyes seemed to say: "Teacher, drop the act. I can see right through you."

He rose and stepped closer.

"You're back."

So natural, so easy—like a husband welcoming home his wife.

"…Mm."

The sound squeezed out of her throat. Her gaze dropped, refusing to meet his.

His eyes lowered to the bulging bag she hugged in front of her chest.

One brow lifted. His smile deepened. "Oh? You brought work home, sensei."

The way he lingered on "sensei" dripped with mockery.

"Trying to use lesson prep as armor… to keep me at a distance?"

Her head shot up, eyes wide, stunned and furious.

How... how could he know?!

Her flimsy defense was laid bare with one sentence.

And Takuma only smiled wider at her flustered expression.

Then, with a shift of tone: "The fridge is empty."

Her pulse jumped.

Was this a complaint? A hint for money?

She opened her mouth—ready to say, "I'll buy something later," or the harsher, "Here's cash, get your own food."

But he cut her off. "Let's go shopping together."

Together?

The word struck her like a jolt—warm, unreasonably intimate.

But maybe that was okay. Their situation wasn't landlord and stray, nor teacher and student.

Something else. Something better.

Her defenses cracked.

Then her eyes flicked over him: bathrobe, bare feet.

And a ridiculous thought slipped out before she could stop it.

"You… you're not seriously planning to go out dressed like that, are you?!"

Her voice carried both indignation and—without her realizing it—concern.

Instant regret followed. Her cheeks flamed.

Takuma caught it all, chuckling softly. "Sensei, are you… worried about me?"

Her breath hitched.

Clutching her car keys like a lifeline, she forced her tone into icy formality.

"Don't flatter yourself. You're ten years too early to expect me to care about you."

"I simply refuse to let someone without a shred of decency walk out of my apartment. It would damage my reputation."

It was the perfect excuse—a veneer of principle masking what she couldn't admit.

Before he could respond, she spun on her heel.

"…Follow me."

The words were sharp, but beneath them lay a frantic retreat.

Behind her, Takuma's grin turned sly.

---

Inside the red Toyota

Mafuyu gripped the wheel as if it were a lifeline, eyes fixed on the road.

She'd regained control. She was the one taking charge, driving him to fix his appearance.

Yay. She had won that round.

That fragile illusion steadied her. And the car rolled smoothly toward the city.

They passed several affordable clothing chains along the way, but she never slowed.

Her goal was clear: the largest department store downtown.

Reputable, safe, impossible to misstep.

Just as the car turned into the parking lot, his voice broke the silence.

"Sensei. That Uniqlo we passed would've been fine."

Her heart skipped. Her grip tightened on the wheel.

He turned, eyes glinting as they studied her rigid body.

"Driving all this way, just for somewhere like this…"

The deliberate pause, the silence that followed—it squeezed tighter than any accusation.

Her mind scrambled for an answer.

But before she could speak, a warm hand reached across. It landed on her left thigh, over the smooth black tights.

"Ahh~!"

Her gasp was muffled, strangled, the car jerking slightly under her hands.

Even through the fabric, the heat of his palm sank in, sharp and unbearable.

His fingers brushed lightly, lazily, approaching her private area.

"Just admit it, sensei."

His voice was low, coaxing.

"You didn't drag me here just for the sake of clothes. You did it because—without even realizing it—you already care about what I think. You want the best for your man."

"Such a cute sensei~"

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