Principal Ishida stood at the entrance. Always. His hand rested on the railing, and his gaze—cold, black, expectant—always lingered on her. Never on the other students. Only on her.

"Ohayō, Nika," he said softly, his thin lips curling into a smile that was more like a grimace.

She felt his presence in the classroom, too. Even when he was teaching, he always glanced her way. Her answers were highly praised, even when she knew she didn't deserve it. And the others… they whispered, envied, looked suspiciously.

Every day it was the same: his eyes on her, his hands clasped behind his back, his steps heavy and slow, as if he were monitoring her movements.

After class, she gathered her courage. She approached him when he was left in the empty classroom.

"Principal," she began, quietly but firmly. "I'd like to leave. Change schools."

Ishida froze, then slowly rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, as if to buy time. His eyes glittered strangely, anxiously. "Leave?" he repeated. "Nika..."

He reached out his hand toward her, as if to brush her arm. She took a step back. A chill ran down her spine.

Ishida's face darkened. The smile vanished, his brows furrowed menacingly. "Come to me." His voice was a command, not a request. "To my house. On the outskirts of town. We need to talk... in peace."

That evening, when she arrived at the address, he opened the door—in a black bathrobe, his hair still damp from the shower. He smelled of expensive soap; his presence was heavy, unavoidable.

"Come in, Nika." He smiled, wider this time, almost triumphant.

The house was spacious, lavishly furnished: a dark, soft sofa, a heavy oak table, paintings and bookshelves on the walls. Every piece of furniture seemed to speak of his position, his power.

Ishida sat down, gesturing for her to sit beside him. On the table lay a folder of documents. Her documents. But he didn't touch them. His hand rested on them, as if guarding them from her.

"Nika..." he began softly, almost in a whisper. "You don't understand how beautiful our relationship can be. You don't have to love me. I will love you... for two."

His gaze was feverish, and his fingers tightened on the edge of the folder, as if he held her fate in his hands.