Negative -Girls: To Live And Die - Chapter 40

It was an hour ago Mei had disappeared from my view and I have yet to come up with something to do. I can go home, sleep or watch TV and shit, as I should have on now but today I’m feeling different. I feel to do something.

And that’s why the image of Carrie dragon’s eyes flashes before me.

What’s the story on her side? Did she gets gaming overdosed if that’s a thing? Or just want to stay in her bedroom and console, feeding in the dopamine. I have read that we can choose pleasure over hunger to die for and I’m not surprised if I see Carrie appears on the news these days around. Skinny and dried as if gaming had sucked all of her life force.

I have to know about her. Or else I’d be pulled back to live in seen-scene again.

My foot raises as I’m entering White Book High building. This time without permit or job. The teachers would not like to see me here. I’m different anyway, and also get a higher pay than them (if Sohee’s weird tease has it truth.) Ironically, their office is where I head to.

On my way there (a minute of being lost) I had keep my eyes controlled and not to harassing any of chatting and reading girls around the hallway. I don’t know any of them but they’re all pretty and cute. In fact this school could be a harem’s overlord mansion something. If you ask me, I do like harem and I couldn’t help it. Tell me if I’m wrong but who scrolls porn websites and only clicks on uploaded videos of one women everyday. No one. We prefer many over one, just like problems. I suppose if you’re out there, you can be a loyal person. But majority of us, the more female we see, the harder we are.

It’s a sad thing, one of the many you can find in this world.

The teacher’s office is cold and spaceful. I could even hear the teachers footsteps echoes around. Typing. Low whisper. And the their face, I can tell by always looking at a mirror, seems dead and blank. Tired. We’re not so different. But yet unlike me, they have to worry about death. Many people are, which is another sad thing you can find.

Now I have to ask, as they say, shy and not ask then die and lost.

“Excuse me,” I stop a big man who I assumed is a PE teacher. He seems to be in a good mood, “where can I meet the homeroom teacher for Class H-one?”

“The new teacher? Hm, who are you?” outs his booming voice, itching my ear bud. I hate him just because he’s too loud. It can’t be help, I think my preference of gender grew when in my childhood as other personality should. To be frank, if I were to choose to sleep on a lap as they read out Alice In Wonderland story as a kid then I chose the nurse.

The school rings. The PE teacher seems to be in hurry so he drops the question and point at a messy table with a munching female teacher. “You’re searching for Miss Xiao. Now if you excuse me.”

He walks out.

Thuds.

“Ah!”

From the fallen file the paper slides on each other, stretching on the floor as if someone puked.

Hm, I’ve seen her before.

In the mist of workaholic and tired teachers, a familiar female in white dress stands out. She crouches down and start to pull in the paper by paper onto her desirable hand. If you know me, I like them smooth and small. She sighs as if beating herself over the fact she’s too careless to be a teacher. Her eyes sweep around but lucky for her, the teacher doesn’t give a fuck.

Her yellow eyes find me.

Her hand froze.

It’s now or never. I come up to her and start to kneel down as I look at her suggestively, “you need help.”

Her cheek blushes and gulps whatever she had on her jaw, “Ummn. Uh, I–I’m suppose?” She pulls another paper with her shaky hand.

She must have hope this happened, a boy meet girl type of situation but goddamn if I’m one of the male lead in nice romance story girl fantasized about. To put more salt into her hope, I help her with the papers.

It’s a minute of silent. I hand her all the papers I caught, each paper is a step to the future of our bedding. Despite the future benefits, I need somewhat good impression from her. I have to ask her to speak out a bunch of maybe-secret information.

She puts a strand behind her ear as she glances at me, “th, thank you.”

“Are you Miss.Xiao?”

She jerks upward as if someone slap her back and give a wry laugh, “ah yes, yes. Though the ‘miss’ part is little too…formal.”

You just don’t like to sound old.

Her eyes blink and her sunflower pupils slides up and down to me, “ah, I remember you,” she says and hold her mouth as if afraid to let out a laugh, ‘Mister biology is psychology tutor.”

…

Ah, the day where I apologized to biology with Shizuka, that’s where I’ve seen her sunflower eyes. But at the time, her yellowness is dimmer than now. “Ah, you’re the teacher who saved me.”

Oops, slip of tongue. You can’t blame me, I’m both consciously and unconscionably speaking every seconds and then. As if anyone could actually hear me my mind. Other than Life and Death.

“Save you?” here comes the doubt.

And I don’t think she cares enough about me to pursuit the truth so, “don’t worry about it,” is all I need to say to make her gets off from it.

“Did Shizuka gets to answer the simple questions?”

“Well, yes.” Technically, yes. I just give her chunk of answer. It’s up to her if she’s learning or not really.

She nods with a smile, “you’re a good tutor then.”

I shrug, I wouldn’t tell you your mistake there. You should never assume somebody bad or good that quickly, but I guess even teachers are learning too.

“Anyway,” her eyes squint, “tutor don’t have the need to come school this early hour…what are you doing?”

A quest from God.