Chapter 42: The First Step
The morning light crept through the slats of the blinds in Miho's small apartment, washing over the modest living room where a half-folded school bag sat on the floor. The apartment was unusually quiet. On the kitchen counter, a kettle hissed lowly as steam curled upward. Miho stood in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His school uniform was ironed, collar stiff, tie loose around his neck. He'd combed his hair the way his mother used to when he was younger, but his hands trembled as he adjusted it.
His reflection didn't show a student. It showed a boy on the verge.
In the next room, soft footsteps padded across the worn wooden floor. One of the team had stayed behind to watch over him.
There was a pause. Then the bathroom door cracked open a few inches. Miho peeked out, shoulders drawn tight, the hesitation etched across his face.
Outside the door, soft footsteps approached.
"Miho?" Audrey's voice was gentle. "You okay in there?"
There was a pause. Then the door creaked open a few inches. Miho peeked out, shoulders drawn tight.
Audrey gave him a soft, encouraging smile, stepping a little closer. "I know this feels impossible right now," she said gently. "But sometimes, courage doesn't come before the step. It comes after."
Miho looked down at his shoes, voice trembling. "I'm just so tired of being afraid. Of going there and pretending I'm fine when I'm not."
Audrey nodded slowly. "I get that. I do. But today, you're not pretending. Today, you're showing up for yourself—and you don't have to do it alone. We'll be right there, every step of the way. Just take this one step. The rest... we'll figure it out together."
From the hallway, Damian called out, "Miho, buddy, we packed your lunch with extra chocolate. If that's not motivation, I don't know what is."
Audrey rolled her eyes affectionately and stepped closer. "Look, I won't lie to you. Going back there... it's going to be hard. But you're not alone anymore. Not today. Not ever again."
Miho bit his lip. "I'm just... so tired. Tired of being bullied. Tired of waking up and having to go to that place."
Audrey knelt to his level, meeting his eyes with a calm steadiness. "Then we start by standing with you. If anyone tries anything, they'll have to go through us first. You're not alone anymore, Miho. Not today. Not any day after this."
From behind them, Hana stepped forward, slipping a folded piece of paper into Miho's bag. "Emergency note," she said simply. "If anything feels wrong, send this. We'll be there before the bell rings."
Miho blinked. "You're serious?"
Hana crouched down beside him. "Completely. I've seen that look in someone's eyes before. You're braver than you know. But if you need backup, you have it."
Damian appeared with a dramatic flourish, waving a protein bar like a flag. "And if things get really wild, I'll show up claiming to be your judo coach who forgot to sign your permission slip. We'll improvise."
Miho let out a nervous chuckle.
"We're not just saying this," Hana added, her voice softer. "You're not alone. This time... someone is choosing to stand with you."
Miho let out a small laugh despite himself.
Kenzo leaned in from the kitchen, sipping tea. "And Miho... whatever happens today, you're not alone. We're with you. Every step."
Miho looked around at all of them. His shoulders didn't drop entirely, but something in his eyes shifted—less fear, more resolve.
"Okay," he said. "Let's try."
The walk to school was quiet but comforting. Audrey and Hana flanked Miho, each offering quiet presence rather than chatter. Damian drove ahead to scout the school gate. Kenzo stayed at the safehouse with his surveillance rig live, eyes tracking online feeds, security footage, and internal school systems.
As they reached the front of the school, Miho hesitated. The building loomed large, too familiar.
"They'll see me. The same people who watched everything and laughed."
Audrey placed a gentle hand on his back. "Then let them see someone who came back stronger."
Miho took a breath. Then another.
He stepped forward.
Inside the halls, Miho kept his gaze low, heart thumping hard against his chest. The hallway was filled with the usual morning rustle—lockers slamming, chatter echoing—but it felt heavier today. Familiar faces glanced his way and quickly turned back. No open jeering yet, but the air buzzed with tension.
Miho's steps slowed as he passed his classroom. The door was open, voices drifting out. He hesitated.
Audrey gave a subtle nod from the hallway corner where she lingered just out of sight. Hana leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed but watchful.
Miho drew a breath and stepped through the door, bracing himself.
The room quieted—not completely, but enough. Students looked up. Some blinked in surprise. Others just stared. No one said a word.
Miho walked straight to his seat, heart pounding. But this time, he didn't sit hunched or small.
He took his chair with a quiet firmness.
Today, he had backup—even if no one else could see it.
Miho found his seat. Shun, Naoya, and Haruki weren't there yet.
Hana, watching from a discreet distance, kept her eyes on every movement.
As the bell rang, Miho gripped his pen tightly, his knuckles pale.
The bullies swaggered into the room like they owned it—Shun with his ever-arrogant smirk, Naoya tossing his backpack onto a desk that wasn't his, and Haruki trailing behind, spinning a pen between his fingers like it was a weapon. They hadn't seen Miho yet.
Miho lowered his gaze instinctively, his breath catching.
Shun's eyes scanned the room lazily—then zeroed in. "Oh, look who crawled out from whatever rock he was hiding under."
Naoya snorted. "Didn't think you had the guts to show your face again."
Haruki cracked his knuckles. "This'll be fun."
Miho tensed. His fingers curled around his pen like it was a lifeline.
Around them, classmates froze. A few looked away. A couple shifted uncomfortably, but no one said a word.
Shun sauntered toward Miho's desk, his tone syrupy and cruel. "What? Did the teachers drag you back? Or did Mommy beg the school not to expel her little crybaby?"
Miho didn't answer. He just sat there, eyes on his notebook, lips pressed tight.
Naoya leaned in from the side, flicking Miho's eraser off the desk. It landed with a soft tap.
"Pick it up," he sneered. "Isn't that what you're good for? Picking up what we drop?"
Miho didn't move.
Haruki laughed once—sharp and cold. "He's got that look again. The one before he ran last time."
Shun bent slightly closer. "Don't forget your place, Miho. This school's a food chain. And you? You're barely a bug."
Miho's hands trembled under the desk.
Then, from the hallway, a presence—quiet but commanding. A soft rap at the door. The classroom quieted as the teacher entered.
But it wasn't just any teacher. Miho's heart jumped in his chest as he saw her.
"Good morning, class," the woman said, setting her notes down at the front desk. Her voice was crisp, measured. "I'm Ms. Nakamura. I'll be your substitute for the week."
Miho's breath hitched.
It was Hana.
She didn't make eye contact, but her presence was like steel wrapped in velvet. There was calmness—but also weight. Enough to still the room.
Shun slouched deeper into his chair, clearly unimpressed. Naoya scoffed under his breath, already pulling out his phone. Haruki leaned back, arms crossed, a mocking grin forming.
Miho dropped his gaze quickly, shoulders shrinking, fingers curling tight around his pen. He could already feel the sneers behind him, even if no one had spoken yet.
Hana walked the rows with deliberate ease, her gaze sweeping the classroom. "In this room, we respect each other. There will be no exceptions."
The class stayed quiet.
Shun's jaw twitched. Naoya picked at his sleeve. Haruki tapped his pen too fast.
Miho swallowed. The pressure in his chest didn't disappear, but something solid rooted beneath it. A presence. A promise.
The bell rang, echoing through the quiet classroom.
Students began pulling out their bento boxes and shuffling toward the hallway. Miho stayed in his seat, clutching his notebook tighter than before. The classroom emptied slowly, pockets of laughter and footsteps drifting out.
He rose quietly and made his way to the front desk where Hana was arranging her materials. He hesitated, hovering just at the edge.
"Ms. Nakamura?" he asked, voice soft.
Hana looked up and gave a faint nod. "Miho."
He glanced at the door, then back. "You're... the substitute teacher?"
She offered a small smile. "Surprised?"
Miho nodded. "Yeah. I mean... how? Why?"
Hana glanced around the now-empty room, then leaned in slightly. "Because sometimes the best way to protect someone is from the inside. We knew today would be hard, so I made sure I'd be here."
Miho looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you. I don't know how to say it right, but... thank you."
"You don't have to say it right," Hana said gently. "Just keep standing. That's more than enough."
Miho's eyes flickered with something fragile but strong. He nodded again, just once.
Outside the classroom door, Audrey watched through the small glass window, her arms folded over her chest. Just a few hours earlier, she had stood beside Hana as her friend closed her eyes and focused, tapping into the quiet storm of her ability. Hana's gift wasn't loud or flashy—but it was precise. A few well-placed memory shifts, a subtle rewriting of procedure, and suddenly she was on the substitute roster without raising a single red flag.
The team had made a choice: they couldn't protect Miho from a distance. Not this time. They needed to be present. Embedded.
Audrey smiled faintly as she watched the quiet exchange inside the classroom. But the moment broke when the door slammed open.
Three figures swaggered in—Shun, Naoya, and Haruki. Their voices loud, their laughter edged with menace. They didn't spare a glance at Audrey through the window, but their presence filled the classroom like smoke.
Hana had just returned to the desk when their footsteps stopped. Shun's eyes locked on her.
"Great. A sub," he scoffed, his voice rising. "What happened, old teacher ran away too?"
Naoya chuckled, throwing his bag down loudly. "Bet she doesn't last the week."
Haruki leaned over to Miho as he passed, dropping his bag too close. "You've got a fan club now? Cute."
Miho flinched slightly but didn't look up. Hana, still flipping through the attendance folder, lifted her gaze calmly. "That's sweet of you to notice," she said with an innocent tone, her voice soft and kind. "But let's focus on lunch, alright? I wouldn't want any of you to miss it."
Shun paused, thrown off by the lack of sarcasm. He frowned slightly, confused. "You're weird."
"Maybe," Hana answered gently, still not looking up. "But weird people tend to remember things that others forget. Like who was kind, and who wasn't."
Naoya scoffed but said nothing more. Haruki raised an eyebrow but slumped into his chair with a sigh.
As they shuffled away, Miho glanced up at Hana, just in time to catch her gaze. Her expression softened as she offered him a quiet nod. Her smile was gone, but her presence spoke volumes.
Miho sat up a little straighter.
For now, it was enough.
The late afternoon sun spilled over the cracked pavement outside the school gates as students dispersed into the street. Miho had left already—alone, as usual—but not before glancing once over his shoulder, as if expecting something. Or someone.
Shun cracked his neck with a lazy roll of his shoulders and pushed his hands into the pockets of his blazer. "Well, that was boring as hell," he muttered. "Did you see how stiff that new sub is? Like, who talks like that? 'But weird people tend to remember things that others forget'—seriously?"
Naoya walked beside him, slinging his bag over one shoulder with a snort. "Yeah, but she's kinda hot though. You know, in that strict-but-pretty way. Kinda like the cold librarian types. Makes you want to see what's underneath all that discipline."
Shun chuckled. "You're disgusting. But not wrong."
Haruki trailed a few steps behind, earbuds half in, head low. He didn't laugh. Not this time. His eyes flicked back toward the building.
"Think she's married?" Naoya asked casually.
"Definitely not. She's too… clean. Like she walks through the rain and doesn't get wet. Probably still lives with a cat or something."
"What if we tried something fun?" Naoya grinned. "I mean, think about it. We get her to let her guard down. Have a little chat. Maybe she's the type who gets flustered if you push the right buttons."
Shun raised an eyebrow. "You want to flirt with the substitute teacher? That's your plan?"
"Not just flirt. Play her a bit. See if she slips up."
Haruki glanced up at them, uneasy. "Maybe we shouldn't mess with her."
"Why not? You scared she'll report us for making her blush?"
Haruki didn't answer. He just shook his head and adjusted his bag.
Naoya bumped shoulders with him, grinning. "Come on, man. Lighten up. We've been running this place for months. Some new teacher walks in and you go all nervous? She's just another adult trying to pretend she matters."
Shun clicked his tongue. "She's just here for the week anyway. Might as well make it interesting."
As they rounded the corner and crossed the intersection, the golden haze of the sun cast long shadows behind them. Shun felt that familiar hum of power beneath his skin—the kind he got when he knew he had control. They were the top of the food chain here. Always had been.
They just had to remind everyone.