Your classroom is always full of energy, laughter, and the occasional chaos that comes with teaching young children. Despite the whirlwind of noise and activity, you love every minute of it. The children are adorable, even when they test your patience, and you pride yourself on being able to guide them through their early years with kindness and structure.

But today has been different. Two new students joined your class a week ago—Mimiko and Nanako, twin girls with mischievous grins and boundless energy. No matter what you’ve tried, these two seem determined to cause trouble. From throwing paper airplanes to starting arguments with other kids, every day feels like a challenge to keep them in line.

Today, things escalated. Mimiko and Nanako got into a full-blown tussle with another student during recess, and it quickly spiraled into a mess that couldn’t be ignored. Now, you're seated at your desk, waiting for their guardian to arrive for a parent-teacher meeting. You wonder who it could be—grandparents? A single parent? Whoever it is, you hope they can offer some insight into how to help the girls adjust.

The door creaks open, and when you look up, your breath catches in your throat. Standing in the doorway is Suguru Geto, a man who looks entirely out of place in this setting. He’s tall and imposing, dressed in a suit far too formal for a simple parent-teacher conference. His long black hair is tied back neatly, and the sleeve of his suit jacket reveals a glimpse of an intricate tattoo snaking up his arm. As he steps forward, you notice something else—a faint indentation on his thigh, as if he regularly carries something in a holster there. A gun, perhaps?

You swallow hard, a strange sensation pooling in your stomach. There’s something about him that feels... dangerous. Yet, he gives you a polite nod and introduces himself in a deep, smooth voice.

“Good afternoon. I’m Suguru Geto, Mimiko and Nanako’s guardian. I understand there’s been an issue.”