Kai entered a spacious, clinical-looking room. Two other panellists sat in the middle at a large laminate table. The woman in the centre might have been in her late twenties and sat candidly at her desk, wearing a well-rehearsed smile.

Long legs crossed beneath the desk, accentuated by a tailored black skirt and sharp blazer over a crisp white blouse. Her shoulders were proud, the angles precise, giving structure to a body that knew how to command attention. Her long black hair flowed in soft, deliberate waves — not just styled, but weaponised — full and voluminous, cascading past her shoulders with the kind of effortlessness that only came from intense control. Teardrop-shaped glasses framed piercing red—no, hazel—eyes. He thought they were red at first. A trick of the light, surely.

Her presence in the room wasn’t just commanding — it was cultivated. She didn’t need to raise her voice or even stand. It wasn’t arrogance. It was… practiced power.

She appeared to be judging him silently, her knowing stare sizing him up without so much as a blink. She held an open hand to the seat in front of her. As she spoke, all he could focus on were the instructions formed by two very confident lips and the faint, unreadable smile that followed.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Fukami. My name is Akane Takahashi. Hmm?"

She glanced to her right with a slightly different smile toward the man beside her. It was subtle, but enough for Kai to come a little to his senses. Something in it — a hint of irritation, perhaps — flickered briefly, then vanished.

"Ohh, yes, School Principal, Mr.—"

"Nakayama. Shin Nakayama," he interrupted with a smile. He appeared to be a man in his mid to late fifties, shaved head and a tidy grey moustache, dressed in a teal suit with a green tie sporting the school emblem. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Fukami."

Kai replied appropriately, though something kept drawing his gaze back to the woman — Takahashi. He caught a flash of cold, sharp contempt aimed at Nakayama, though only for a split second, before she pivoted forward again with a tilt of her head and another professional smile.

"Though our program is officially independent from the school, we share a contractual duty to comply with their policies, so Mr. Nakayama will be a part of today’s interview panel. Please, be seated."

"You're most certainly correct, Miss Takahashi." The principal gave Kai a generous smile before shifting to a more serious tone.

"When I was informed we might be allowing just anyone within our school walls—"

"This is not the ti—" Akane attempted to interject, a sharp glance in his direction.

"—I was angry. I’ve always valued studious staff with only the very best qualifications. BUT, when I saw how things turned out with several of our previous teachers, I realised I needed to broaden my mind. So I'll allow the interview... if it's a matter of having the right personality—"

Kai was surprised at the open conflict unfolding before him, but what concerned him more was another momentary death-stare from Miss Takahashi. Again, it lasted only an instant, but he could’ve sworn her eyes were about to burst out of their sockets.

"Do you like baseball, Mr. Fukami?" The principal looked at him expectantly, almost hopeful, gently lifting a bat that had been leaning against the desk.

Kai paused, caught off guard. "Eh—I can’t say I would know, sir."

His moustache twitched slightly in disappointment, but he went on with a shrug.

"It’s a team sport, like any other, but quite popular here. On a world stage, though, it’s not really taken seriously. The Olympics refuse to accept it on a professional level. I know the committees have their reasons… but someday, I’d love to see it recognised. It deserves a chance. Much like the children Miss Takahashi represents. And perhaps… much like you."

Mr. Nakayama smiled warmly at Kai, who was a little taken aback by the unexpectedly kind analogy. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, thank you, sir."

"Very good," Miss Takahashi responded in a dry undertone, one eyebrow raised as she shuffled some papers on the desk. "I think we will proceed now."

"Oh yes, of course," Mr. Nakayama replied politely. "Your qualifications are not particularly strong, but I’ve verified their authenticity. Here you go, Miss."

"Yes, good." She scanned through the documentation quickly before shuffling to the next page.

Kai began to answer their questions. The veritable hum of bureaucracy dulled his senses as he went through the motions of the interview. He smiled when appropriate, used his hands to occasionally emphasise his points, and tried to appear enthusiastic — just as he’d rehearsed. But behind the effort, his eyes were dead and lifeless.

"Final question, Mr. Fukami. Are you happy to sit through a psych test? These students, you must understand, are, hmm... well..." She smiled for a moment, then continued, a little slower. "They need stability. Or there’ll be a problem."

"Oh, uh, of course," Kai responded automatically — but then he saw it again. Just for a moment, her eyes changed. Barely contained emotion beneath. And then it was gone.

Scary.

He was now rethinking the job entirely. Maybe they were just desperate. Maybe he was walking into—

"Oh, you're so cooperative with my requests, Mr. Fukami. I have a good feeling about you." She stood with a smile and gestured to Mr. Toki, who had been mostly silent. Come to think of it, he’d really just observed and taken notes.

"Mr. Toki will see you to the room next door for testing and then see you out."

"Thank you for your time. I look forward to a favourable outcome," Kai replied, standing straight and giving a polite nod.

No, he didn’t. What on earth was this place? And what was he thinking, even considering the job?

As he stood to leave, he noticed the principal rise and exit. Miss Takahashi, however, remained seated — her eyes never leaving Kai. Even as the door closed behind Mr. Toki, she watched.

Then, alone, her pouty lips stretched into an eerie smile across her face. Wicked. Cruel. Calculating.