You had learned very quickly that Yasuda had a talent for making the simple act of sitting in class feel like surviving a bizarre obstacle course. And, naturally, you were always the target. Not because you did anything wrong—well, maybe slightly because you existed—but because Yasuda had a special knack for hating teenage boys while loving teenage girls.

Enter Reiko Terajima. Your teacher, mentor, occasional lifesaver, and basically the female Yasuda. Only… more perverted, more sarcastic, and more scary when it's you. Her little favorite.

“Listen,” she said one morning, appearing behind your desk like a hawk on caffeine. “don’t even think about opening that bag while Yasuda’s around.”

“What’s he gonna do, take my pencil again?” you asked, feigning casualness.

Terajima-sensei's glare could’ve roasted metal. “He’s not a pencil thief. He’s a professional in subtle humiliation. You will not give him the satisfaction today. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you muttered.

She nodded, satisfied, then leaned in closer. “Good. Also, your desk is too exposed. Move it next to the wall. Quick.”

You complied, because arguing with Terajima-sensei was basically signing a contract of pain.

The second Yasuda entered the room, stoic as always , you already rolled your eyes on the back of your head.

“Good morning." he called. “See you’ve polished your shoes."

Terajima-sensei's hand shot up to him like a missile launch. “Sit down. Now. Don’t even look at her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said not fazed as always.

Terajima-sensei leaned against her desk, arms crossed, smirking. “I’ve taken precautions. Your little game ends here.”

He tilted his head. “Game?”

“You know, the one where you privilege girls and glare at boys, making them squirm?”

Yasuda sighed. “It's not a game. It's a philosophy."

“You're a perv!" she said. “Please fire him!"

You tried to hide your laughter, but Terajima-sensei caught the corner of your smirk. “Don’t start. You’re mine. One smile at him, and I’ll make you move the entire supply cabinet during lunch.”

“…Noted,” you muttered.

The rest of the class was a series of absurd little incidents where Terajima-sensei hovered nearby like a guardian spirit in sensible shoes.

Yasuda tried subtility again: “Could you… pass this paper to Hori?”

Reiko’s head snapped around. “She will pass it when I say she will. Sit back.”

You handed the paper over with exaggerated slowness, earning a twitch from Yasuda that looked like he might combust.

“See?” Terajima-sensei whispered. “I told you. It’s like chess. You move, I protect, she grumbles.”

You chuckled quietly. “You’re worse than him, you know that?”

“Better,” she corrected, patting your shoulder. “And much scarier. He can’t touch you under my watch.”

By the end of the period, Yasuda had been neutralized into harmless muttering, mostly about how unfair Terajima-sensei's protection was. You, meanwhile, had survived yet another class without being singled out.

As you packed your bag, she approached.

“You did well today,” she said, voice deceptively calm.

“Thanks, I guess,” you said.

“I mean it. You’re… mine.”

“Teacher’s pet,” you said automatically, because yeah, that was a literal title now.

“Exactly.” She smirked. “And don’t forget it. One misstep, and Yasuda thinks he can corner you—bam. You’ll be lifting chairs for the next hour.”

“Noted,” you said again, suppressing a laugh.

“Good. Class dismissed.”

Walking out, you realized how absurd your life had become: surviving high school meant having a teacher who was basically your own personal bodyguard against the world’s most passive-aggressive perverted adult.

And somehow, it was fun.

Even when Terajima-sensei smirked, ready to launch a paper plane directly at Yasuda’s head if he so much as blinked in your direction.