Mahou Shoujo Ikusei Keikaku - Volume 5 - Chapter Pr

PROLOGUE

Even a heart toughened and rid of shame by a year of life as a teacher would still feel sad if wounded. That was true of anyone. Nozomi was no exception.

It had happened that day at lunchtime. Some students had been enjoying themselves, hanging out and chatting on the stair landing. The door to the roof was locked, so the kids couldn’t go there whenever they wanted, but nothing prevented them from going to the landing below the roof. It was rather larger than the others, but few students would gather at this location. Nobody would pass through aside from those who had business there, and they liked that particular quality about it.

When Nozomi walked down the nearby hallway, heading to her next class, she heard boisterous laughter coming from that landing, even though lunch break was almost over.

It seemed like a good idea to call out to them. Nozomi steeled herself and set her foot on the first step of the stairs to the roof.

“Oh, right, we’re about outta time, huh?”

“For real? Oh, you’re right. Lunchtime’s almost over.”

It seemed there was no need for her to even say anything. She stepped down from the stair, and then, right when she was about to be on her way again—

“What class was next, again?”

“It’s the Monster, isn’t it? I think.”

“Oh, Japanese?”

“We don’t have to hand in the homework yet, right?”

“If you mean the book report, we just have to do that by the weekend.”

“What a pain in the ass.”

Namiyama Middle School was a private school. Every single one of the students had made it through strict entrance examinations. No matter how much of a “pain in the ass” they found it to be, it was unusual to find any brave souls who would skip class.

Nozomi let the two students rush by down the stairs, cackling as they went. Looking at their backs as they headed toward their classroom, she noticed their hairstyles looked familiar, and their voices sounded familiar, too.

Both students were from class 2-B. As Nozomi surreptitiously watched them go, she saw them arrive at the classroom she herself was about to enter. So she wasn’t mistaken, after all. She turned the fact over in her mind, digesting the implications, and as she listened to the bell that signaled the end of break, Nozomi’s heart was broken.

Teachers got nicknames. This was not at all unusual. That had happened back when Nozomi had been a student, too. On the kinder side, there was Mrs. Kobayashi, called Mrs. K, and Mr. Watanabe, referred to simply as Nabe. Plenty of teachers had been awarded horrible nicknames from boys and girls who were as cruel as you’d expect them to be at that age. But teachers like that would get their cruel epithets for a reason. These “bad teachers” were unpleasant, the sort who constantly reprimanded students for unfair reasons, or creeps who ogled the girls. Some were actually quite excellent, just very strict even knowing they were hated. But that didn’t change the animosity their students had for them.

That pair’s conversation clung tenaciously to her thoughts.

“What class was next, again?”

“It’s the Monster, isn’t it? I think.”

“Oh, Japanese?”

Even if it was your least favorite subject, you wouldn’t call a Japanese class a “monster.” Those two were clearly referring to Nozomi, the Japanese teacher, personally. From the way the other kid hadn’t questioned the nickname, she could also deduce that the nickname Monster was entrenched.

Monster.

From her time as a student to her year as a teacher, she’d never had such a cruel nickname. The simple sharpness of it cut deep, a keen edge that could slice the heart of its target to shreds.

Nozomi wasn’t the type to scold students harshly. She tried to be gentle in her reprimanding. And she could swear she was very careful about the way she taught her class, too. She didn’t get her kicks trapping students with malicious trick questions. Some might call her useless as a teacher because she was too compromising with students, but she was fine with that. She knew just how much harder her job would get if her students hated her.

And yet she was hated, perhaps detested, even. The nickname Monster was that damaging. It meant they didn’t even regard her as a fellow human being. They were treating her as some completely alien creature. This was beyond the fence that stood between student and teacher—it was the thick wall that divided humans from other things. It was doubtful anyone could break through that.

Though her heart ached after this intense shock, Nozomi did her job. A teacher couldn’t abandon her post just because her students hurt her feelings—not even a full-time adjunct who had yet to be officially appointed.

Besides, Nozomi’s ordeals weren’t over yet. Further unpleasantness was still ahead. She had another job after school: overseeing a meeting of the Cultural Festival Clean-Up Committee. All she had to do was be there and give advice if needed, but this time around, one of the committee members was the biggest troublemaker in the school. Nozomi was just praying the girl wouldn’t cause her any problems.

She heaved a deep, deep sigh. Their grade’s head teacher, who sat three seats away from her, expressed some concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Nozomi responded with a smile that was surely not very convincing. She doubted she looked “fine.” The other teacher glanced back at Nozomi with worry.

After school, Nozomi dragged herself to the science room. Sliding open the door, she found it completely empty. Inside were the long white table and three chairs that were kept in there. Since the school didn’t have a science club, there were no students around.

For some reason or another, her steps grew more cautious. As she was a Japanese teacher, the science room was out of her territory. And on top of that, she’d never even entered the science prep room up ahead. Wasn’t it normally locked anyway? Dangerous chemicals and experimental apparatuses were stored in there, so students couldn’t enter without permission. The same was somewhat true for Nozomi, even though she was a teacher; she was basically an intruder here.

Why were they meeting in the science prep room? The student council should have made the decision, but it hadn’t taken much responsibility in handling the matter. The president had laughed, saying, “It just kinda ended up that way, you know?” So then who made the decision, if not you?

The door to the prep room was at the back of the science room. The small entrance was hidden in the shadow of the cleaning-supplies locker. Unlike the other classrooms, this door wasn’t a sliding one, and you had to turn a knob for entry. Since the prep room had been added to the building only twenty years ago, it looked more modern than the other, older rooms…or so she’d heard from the principal.

Nozomi put her hand on the knob and twisted. It moved. It wasn’t locked.

There were already people inside. One, two, three, four, five in total. They were all staring at Nozomi.

The one poking the anatomical model was Umi Shibahara from class 2-C. She was incredibly athletically talented and had set prefectural records for the hundred-meter dash and the triple jump or something. Perhaps she just had too much energy, as her antics featured heavily in the rumors around here. She was one of the most famous people in the school.

Umi Shibahara turned around suddenly, and her ponytail whapped someone on the nose…Kayo Nemura, also in class 2-C. She was often seen hanging out with Shibahara.

Peeking into the tortoise aquarium was Mine Musubiya, the representative for class 2-D. An excellent student, favored by teachers and popular with the other kids, too. She was neither a jerk nor an unwilling appointee—she was the proper sort of class rep.

The two sitting in chairs in the corner were both first-years. The one in the glasses was Tatsuko Sakaki; the one with long hair was Kaori Ninotsugi. Their timidity wasn’t unexpected, given they were among older students, but even then, they seemed particularly shy, from the way they tied their hair to the strictly dress code–adherent length of their skirts. Nozomi didn’t teach first-years, so all she knew of them was their names.

Eyes jerking to her wristwatch, Nozomi checked the time. It was five minutes until the meeting was to begin, so she wasn’t late.

The Cultural Festival Clean-Up Committee was in charge of deciding who would do what when it came to tidying up. Compared to the presentations and staff refreshment booths, the stars of the show, this job had a reputation for being boring and unpopular.

What’s more, the role would sometimes draw uncalled-for resentment from other students. Even if you assigned tasks as equally as possible, some kids would always complain, “How come we’re the only ones slaving away, here?”

That was the other reason that nobody ever chose to be on the cleaning committee. Ask for volunteers all you wanted, but nobody would raise their hands. Still, you couldn’t run a festival without one, so Nozomi was told that the student council would randomly select students to be the sacrificial lambs.

She was shocked, then, that all of these kids had gathered five minutes early. Maybe even sacrificial lambs could be motivated, in their own way.