The sound wasn't loud, but it rippled through the quiet classroom like a pebble dropped in a still lake.
It was as jarring as a thunderclap.
In an instant, every classmate's gaze snapped toward Kyosuke. A few girls in the front row covered their mouths. Kobayashi, sitting beside him, gaped, eyes wide as bells, his expression screaming, "You're done for."
And, of course, Teacher Kinoshita, who had just turned to continue the lesson.
Her chalk-holding hand paused mid-air, her face expressionless, but her usually warm eyes now calm and unwavering, locking onto the source—Kyosuke—like a spotlight.
Kyosuke's face flared red, brighter than Pikachu's electric cheeks. His blood rushed to his head, his heart pounded like a drum, and his ears buzzed, drowning out all other sounds.
He fumbled to press the power button, desperate to hide the traitorous gadget. But in his panic, his fingers slipped, brushing the Poké Ball's smooth shell.
It was too late.
Kinoshita stopped lecturing, and the classroom fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. Even the cicadas outside seed hushed by the tense atmosphere.
Her face showed no clear emotion—no anger, no joy.
She just looked at Kyosuke, then stepped forward, her heels clicking "tap, tap, tap" on the wooden floor.
To Kyosuke, each sound was terrifying, striking his heart, making breathing difficult. Ti stretched endlessly; with every step, another bead of sweat ford on his brow.
He wished he could dig a hole and vanish—or turn into a real Pikachu and zap himself with a Thunderbolt.
Kinoshita reached his desk, unhurried.
Kyosuke buried his head, nearly touching his open Japanese textbook, his ears red enough to bleed. He didn't dare glance at her shoes.
He felt her gaze on him, heavy as a physical weight.
The expected storm didn't co. The air held a suffocating calm.
Kinoshita leaned down, her voice still soft, like a spring breeze over a lake, yet it made Kyosuke tremble harder.
"Kyosuke, you really like your new friend, don't you?"
His head sank lower, nose almost grazing the page, as he mumbled a faint "mm," unsure if he'd even made a sound.
"But during class, it needs to stay quiet, just like us."
Her tone carried a faint, almost imperceptible smile, firm yet gentle, stating an obvious rule.
"You can't get distracted in class. How about handing it to for now?"
She extended a hand, her slender fingers with neatly trimd nails hovering by his desk.
"After school, co to my office, and we'll talk about it."
Kyosuke's eyes stung. Reluctantly, with trembling hands, he placed his Pikachu electronic pet in her open palm.
As the cool Poké Ball left his hand, it felt like a piece of his heart was carved out, leaving an aching void.
"Mm…" he whispered, still unable to et her eyes, fearing disappointnt or severity.
Kinoshita took the Pikachu, holding it gently, then straightened, smiling faintly at the class as if the incident was a minor ga.
"Alright, let's continue. We were on this kanji…"
It was as if the heart-stopping mont never happened. But Kyosuke was already lost.
The rest of the day felt like torture on a scorching griddle.
Without Pikachu, his pocket and heart felt empty. He kept reaching to touch it, only to grasp air.
He couldn't focus on lessons, his mind replaying the scene: Kinoshita's calm gaze, classmates' stifled giggles, Pikachu's chirp.
What would she do?
Would she lecture him for an hour on morals like Yamada-sensei from the next class, confiscate it for a week, and demand a 500-word apology?
Or worse, call his mom? The thought of her disappointed, angry look made him shudder.
Was Pikachu okay? Would Kinoshita mishandle it, erase his progress, or toss it into a drawer, never to return?
Worries swirled like relentless flies in his mind.
He fretted Pikachu might be hungry, a berry icon flashing for help, or that Kinoshita might drop it, cracking its shell.
This restless anxiety burned in his chest, keeping him fidgety until the final bell.
"Ding-a-ling—"
The dismissal bell sounded more like a death knell, signaling his "judgnt."
He packed his bag slowly, each move in slow motion, trudging toward the teachers' office, heart sinking with every step.
The office door was half-open, filled with teachers' chatter and the rustle of grading pens.
Kyosuke stood at the threshold, palms sweaty, taking a deep breath before knocking.
"Co in," Kinoshita's calm voice called.
He pushed the door open. Several teachers glanced up—so curious, others dismissive—before returning to work.
The air felt thick, stifling. His cheeks burned again.
Kinoshita sat at her desk, grading, her red pen moving swiftly with a soft "swish."
Seeing Kyosuke, she looked up, beckoning with a gentle smile, unchanged from usual.
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