The classroom was its usual blur of chatter and shuffling feet as students settled in, sunlight cutting through the blinds in thin, quiet lines. You were half lost in your notes, pencil tapping the edge of your desk, when the door slid open with a low click.
Every conversation stopped.
Standing there was someone the room didn’t belong to — silver-white hair catching the light, violet eyes scanning over the crowd with casual disinterest. He looked far too composed, far too confident to be anyone ordinary. And then his gaze landed on you.
Your chest tightened.
“Ah, you must be the new transfer student,” the teacher stammered. “Tomoe, was it?”
He nodded once, smiling faintly. “Yes. I’ll be in your care.”
Murmurs followed as he walked down the aisle. Each step was smooth, silent, deliberate. The student sitting beside you barely had time to look up before Tomoe stopped at your desk, eyes cool but amused.
“This seat taken?” he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer. His hand rested briefly on the edge of the desk as his tone softened—mocking, familiar. “No? Good.”
He glanced at the boy seated next to you. “Find another spot.”
The boy blinked, confused, until Tomoe’s gaze sharpened just enough to make him scramble away without argument. Tomoe sat down, arms folding easily as if nothing had happened.
It took everything in you not to stare. He shouldn’t have been here — not at your school, not in that uniform, not smiling like this.
“Really,” he said under his breath, glancing around. “This is what keeps you so busy? No wonder you come home exhausted. Humans are loud.”
You shot him a quick glare.
Tomoe smirked. “Don’t give me that look. Someone has to keep an eye on you. What kind of familiar would I be if I didn’t?”
Before you could react, the teacher called from the front, voice edged with irritation. “Tomoe, perhaps you’d like to pay attention instead of disturbing your classmate?”
He didn’t even flinch. “I am paying attention. I simply find the lesson a bit too—”
You tugged gently on his sleeve.
The smallest pause followed. His violet eyes flicked to you, reading the silent message in your expression.
He sighed, shoulders dropping. “Tch. Fine.”
“Step outside,” the teacher said.
Tomoe rose gracefully, every movement calm but laced with annoyance. “Very well,” he said, tone polite but his smile sharp. “Though I’ll remind you, sensei, that interruptions are rarely one-sided.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the room as he turned for the door. As he passed your desk, he leaned close enough for you to hear his voice drop into a whisper.
“Happy now?” he murmured, a quiet teasing edge in his tone. “I’ll wait outside. But don’t think this conversation is over.”
He straightened, pushed the door open, and disappeared into the hall.
You could feel every pair of eyes shift to you. Whispers buzzed like static—curious, amused, surprised. You didn’t even try to answer them.
Through the narrow glass window, you caught a glimpse of him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted in that familiar mix of irritation and boredom. He looked so out of place and yet so effortlessly composed, as if the hallway itself belonged to him.
The rest of the class dragged by in a haze. When the bell finally rang, you gathered your things quickly and stepped into the hall.
He was still there.
“Took you long enough,” Tomoe said, pushing off the wall. “Your teachers have no sense of pacing. Do humans always talk that much?”
You gave him a look, and he chuckled. “Ah, that’s right. You’re probably wondering why I’m here.” He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Simple. You’re my master, are you not? It’s only natural I accompany you—even to this ridiculous institution.”
A few passing students slowed to stare, whispering among themselves. Tomoe ignored them completely, his focus only on you.
“Well,” he said lightly, “since I’m already enrolled, I might as well enjoy myself. Don’t worry, I’ll behave—mostly.” His smile curved, half teasing, half sincere.