Chabashira-Sensei's Dark Past

(Third Person's POV)

Curiosity gnawed at Ayanokoji as he retrieved his phone and the confiscated flash drive. He connected them with an OTG cable, eager to unravel the secret weapon Chabashira had surrendered.

With a few clicks, the contents of the drive materialized on the screen. A single video file stared back at him. He pressed play, a frown creasing his brow as the footage flickered to life.

The grainy video displayed a younger Chabashira, barely out of her teenage years, surrounded by a group of friends.

Their youthful energy crackled through the screen as they documented a trip to a friend's basement workshop. The room itself had an unsettling aura, cluttered with metal tools and bathed in harsh fluorescent light.

Ayanokoji watched as the group ventured deeper into the workshop, their voices echoing off the bare concrete walls.

They stumbled upon a large, lumpy sack, a dark red stain spreading ominously beneath it. The shape of the sack sent a jolt through Ayanokoji – it undeniably housed a human body.

Before Chabashira and her friends could investigate further, a man with a steely glint in his eyes entered. He was presumably the owner of the workshop and the father of Chabashira's friend.

He approached them with a forced smile, his voice carrying a hollow ring. "It is just a deer," he mumbled, gesturing dismissively at the sack.

The friends exchanged uneasy glances. The shape of the object inside the sack clearly wasn't a deer.

But trapped within the confines of politeness and perhaps even fear, they opted to believe him. After a few awkward exchanges, they made their escape, leaving the unsettling discovery behind.

The video ended abruptly, leaving Ayanokoji with more questions than answers. Why would Chabashira consider this a career-ending secret? It lacked context, leaving him adrift in a sea of speculation.

He decided to delve deeper. He then utilized the browser on his smartphone to launch a quick online search. He typed in keywords – 'metal workshop murder Japan' – hoping to find a missing piece of the puzzle.

Moments later, An article detailing the horrific crimes of a serial killer, Shiba Tenzen, materialized on the screen.

Seven victims, their bodies disposed of in his basement workshop – the location eerily similar to the one in the video.

The police stumbled upon the gruesome scene while investigating Shiba Tenzen's suicide. The article went on to explain how his family remained blissfully unaware of his atrocities. The missing body parts, later discovered to be smuggled for profit, added a layer of sickening depravity to the case.

A cruel understanding dawned on Ayanokoji.

The video, seemingly innocuous at first glance, held a hidden truth. It captured a moment in time, a moment where Chabashira and her friends witnessed a potential crime scene.

If this video were to surface, it would paint Chabashira in a damning light.

Sure, legal repercussions might be minimal, but the court of public opinion would be a different story. She could face a media firestorm, her career forever tainted by a web of doubt and suspicion.

The weight of the flash drive in his hand felt heavier now. He wasn't just holding evidence; he held Chabashira's future.

The implications were clear – a delicate balance of power had shifted. He now possessed a potent weapon, a tool to manipulate Chabashira's actions at will.

~~

Days bled into each other, a monotonous routine punctuated by the usual classroom activities. Yet, beneath the surface, a storm was brewing.

Ryuen saw an opening and lunged for it with the ferocity of a starved predator.

His target? Karuizawa Kei. the seemingly carefree queen bee of Class C.

A curt message arrived on Karuizawa's phone – a cryptic summons to the rooftop of the special building at 2 PM sharp.

Unsuspecting, Kei ascended the stairs, her perfectly styled hair catching the winter sun.

Little did she know, the rooftop was a trap set up by Ryuen and his classmates who supported him.

Ryuen waited on the rooftop, a twisted grin plastered across his face. He'd taken the liberty of spray-painting the security cameras, shrouding the scene in a cloak of secrecy. Three of his lackeys – Ishizaki, Ibuki, and Albert – flanked him, their faces devoid of any amusement.

The winter air held a biting chill, a stark contrast to the heat simmering in Ryuen's eyes.

Without preamble, Ryuen launched his assault. Buckets of water, icy cold against the biting winter wind, drenched Karuizawa. Her teeth chattered, her body convulsing with each downpour.

"Who's your puppet master, Kei?" Ryuen taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "Spill the name of this X of yours, or shall we continue this little baptism?"

Ryuen, with a manic glint in his eyes, accused her of being a puppet, her strings pulled by the enigmatic 'X'. He weaved a tale, a far-fetched yarn blaming 'X' for the Manabe incident on the cruise ship, the incident that had turned Kei's life upside down.

The icy buckets kept coming, one after another, each drenching a piece of her resolve. Ishizaki and the others joined in, their faces contorted into sadistic grins. Karuizawa, on the verge of collapse, could only whimper, her defiance crumbling under the relentless assault.

Suddenly, the rooftop door creaked open. Ayanokoji stood framed against the afternoon light, his expression unreadable. Relief washed over Karuizawa, a beacon of hope in this chilling scene. But before she could even utter a word, Ryuen let out a guttural laugh.

Relief battled with lingering fear in her eyes. Ayanokoji, unaffected by the scene before him, locked eyes with Ryuen. The tension crackled, thick and suffocating.

What followed was a brutal display of dominance. Ayanokoji moved with a blur of controlled violence, dismantling Ryuen's carefully orchestrated torture session. Ishizaki, Ibuki, and Albert crumpled under his onslaught, their faces contorted in a mixture of pain and shock.

Ryuen, the confident leader, was no match. Ayanokoji's blows rained down, each one a silent testament to his superior strength and martial arts prowess. Fear, a primal emotion rarely seen on Ryuen's face, flickered in his eyes.

With a final blow, Ryuen crumpled to the floor, whimpering like a defeated dog. The rooftop fell silent, the only sound Karuizawa's ragged breaths and the distant hum of the city.

Ayanokoji, with an indifference bordering on coldness, helped Karuizawa to her feet. Her body trembled uncontrollably, a chilling aftermath of the ordeal. As they walked back to the dorms, a peculiar light flickered in Ayanokoji's eyes.

He had witnessed Karuizawa's unwavering loyalty, her refusal to betray him despite the pressure.

As they continued to walk, Ayanokoji knew he had secured a valuable asset – a tool that wouldn't betray him.

~~

(Ayanokoji Kiyotaka's POV)

I returned to the staffroom, the events on the rooftop playing on a loop in my mind.

Chabashira was already there, a knowing glint in her eyes. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air – about the rooftop incident.

Without preamble, I stated my purpose. "Maintain confidentiality regarding the rooftop incident."

A hint of surprise colored her expression before settling into a mask of professionalism. "Understood," she replied. "However," she continued, a hint of challenge in her voice, "how certain are you that Class D, specifically Ryuen, will keep quiet about their… thrashing?"

"He won't," I stated simply. "Defeat isn't a story Ryuen would be eager to share."

Chabashira leaned back in her chair, the tension in the room seemingly dissipating. "Now, to more pressing matters," she stated, her voice shifting back to its usual professional tone. "Have you examined the contents of the flash drive?"

The question required a calculated response. I paused for a beat before offering a single, resolute nod.

"The contents were… satisfactory," I allowed.

A flicker of surprise crossed her features before a sigh escaped her lips. "Then, as promised, I won't intervene in maintaining Class C's current standing."

Disappointment flickered in her eyes, a response I anticipated. "However," I continued, my voice maintaining its neutrality, "incentives could sway my decision to invest some effort in Class C's advancement."

A frown creased her brow. "Unfortunately, my actions are limited. Private points awarded by a teacher are closely monitored. As for special exams, the suggestions come from all teachers and are ultimately approved by the administration. Facilitating your advancement through cheating or foreknowledge is impossible."

I shook my head in negation. "Such measures are unnecessary. My needs are simpler."

Confusion flickered in her eyes. "Simpler? Then what do you require?"

I met her gaze, my expression devoid of emotion. "Information. Access to the school database and intel you can gather on specific individuals – students and possibly even some administration figures. When needed."

Surprise gave way to understanding in her eyes. This request was within the bounds of her capabilities. She wouldn't be breaking any rules, merely utilizing her resources in a way that served my purposes.

"I can do that," she stated, a hint of resignation in her voice. "Consider it done."

A satisfied feeling settled within me. This was the arrangement I sought.

Soon, I rose from my chair, satisfied with the outcome of our conversation. "I'll take my leave," I announced, my tone neutral.

Chabashira eyed me for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. "Actually," she started, then hesitated. "Would you like some company on your walk?"

The suggestion was unexpected. However, the opportunity for further observation presented itself. "Certainly," I replied, my expression unchanged.

We exited the staffroom together, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the school grounds. As we walked, Chabashira launched into a monologue about Class C. Her voice held a hint of grudging respect as she analyzed the students' recent growth.

She spoke with a hint of grudging respect, outlining the unexpected improvement of Sudou, Ike, and even Horikita. Sakura Airi's blossoming leadership potential was also mentioned.

As she spoke, I listened attentively, analyzing her observations. Her perspective, often laced with veiled criticisms of my methods, was nonetheless valuable. Each piece of information added another layer to the complex puzzle I was trying to solve.

Suddenly, Chabashira's voice trailed off, replaced by a startled gasp. Her stride faltered, and she shot a sideways glance at me. I met her gaze, my face as unreadable as ever.

"Why did you stop?" I inquired, my tone devoid of accusation. "Continue with your thoughts on Class C's potential."

Her cheeks flushed a faint pink, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. I noted the tremor in her voice as she attempted to resume her previous topic, her words halting and strained.

I had placed my hand on her buttock, a firm grip that left no room for interpretation. It wasn't a fleeting touch, but a deliberate exploration, a blatant assertion of dominance.

Her predicament was clear.

Chabashira, forced into a precarious game, choked back a gasp. Her voice, when she spoke, held a tremor barely concealed by professionalism. Our conversation, now heavily punctuated by her struggle to maintain composure, resumed.

As we parted ways, a flicker of defiance sparked in her eyes. She wouldn't be easily controlled. However, the seed of doubt had been planted, a reminder of the precariousness of her position.