The halls of the school were nearly empty by the time Koshi Sugawara finally pushed back from his desk.

The last rays of orange sunlight filtered through the classroom windows as he stacked the final pile of graded papers into neat rows. It had been one of those days—three quizzes, two meetings, and a class that seemed determined to test every ounce of patience he possessed.

With a tired sigh, Sugawara slipped the papers into his bag and switched off the classroom lights.

“Home at last,” he muttered.

The hallway was quiet except for the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Most teachers had already left, and the students were long gone. He was halfway down the corridor when a raised voice stopped him. The voice came from the classroom next door.

Sugawara paused.

It wasn’t yelling exactly, but there was obvious frustration behind the words. Curious and slightly concerned, he approached the partially open door.

*Inside stood a parent—you.