Sensei sat on the edge of Lina's bed, his expression unusually serious as everyone gathered around, their attention fixed on him.
"…And just like that, after the biometric authentication was completed, I gained control over Sanctum Tower," Sensei finished, folding his arms as if the conclusion was natural and unquestionable.
The room fell into silence for a beat.
Yuuka narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure you're not just making that up?" she asked flatly, leaning slightly forward with her arms crossed, clearly not buying the story at face value.
Across the room, Rin remained still. Her eyes closed, brows furrowed slightly—processing everything she had just heard. The acting president of the General Student Council was no stranger to bizarre events, but even by her standards, this one needed a moment.
Hasumi, standing beside the desk, glanced over at the dormant tablet resting there. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable, but the sharpness in her gaze betrayed deep thought. Whether she was trying to figure out the tablet's origin or what kind of power had just transferred to Sensei, it wasn't clear.
Suzumi… was still quietly holding a bottle of mineral water, staring at the label like it held the meaning of life. The slight tilt of her head made it hard to tell whether she was deep in thought or had simply zoned out.
Meanwhile, Lina—seated near the window—watched everyone watching him.
Seriously? she thought, glancing from one face to the next. They're actually buying that explanation?
The way Sensei described what happened while he was unconscious... it felt like one of those dramatic, half-baked openings to a mobile gacha game. Mysterious space? Talking AI loli? Biometric authentication? Tower control rights?
If you asked Lina whether she believed his story…
Well—yes and no.
Half of her screamed "That's ridiculous." But the other half looked at the cold, unresponsive tablet and the undeniable fact that Sanctum Tower's control had, indeed, transferred to the General Student Council—and that happened only after Sensei touched that thing.
So... maybe the story was true. Or half-true. Maybe even mostly true.
Still...
Lina squinted slightly, watching Sensei carefully.
She was pretty sure he had skipped a few details.
Important ones.
Lina's thoughts spiraled as she sat there quietly, arms crossed, eyes narrowing.
"Talking AI... okay fine. But loli?"
Her eyes widened slightly as the realization struck like a bolt of lightning.
"Wait. Loli?"
Her gaze snapped to Sensei.
"LOLI?!"
Her face gradually twisted into a mix of suspicion and disappointment, eyebrows twitching ever so slightly. Then came the stare—piercing, flat, deadpan—as if her soul had temporarily left her body just to judge him from the void itself.
Meanwhile, Sensei, completely unaware of the mental trial he was currently facing, continued chatting with Yuuka. But as he spoke, a strange chill ran down his spine.
"…So yeah, and after the biometric scan, it just kind of—" he stopped mid-sentence.
"…Is it just me or is it getting cold in here?" he muttered, instinctively rubbing his arms. "Like… weirdly cold."
Yuuka blinked. "Huh? The temperature's the same."
Chinatsu looked over, slightly concerned. "Sensei do you feel sick again?"
"No, no," Sensei said, frowning. "It's like... a bunch of invisible needles poking me. Or like I just got dumped into a bathtub full of Ices... and someone turned on the AC."
He shuddered slightly.
Lina didn't say a word.
She just continued to stare.
Expression blank.
Judgment eternal.
Inside her mind, a single line repeated like a broken record:
"Is Sensei a lolicon?"
And just like that, without a trial, without a lawyer, Lina the jury, judge, and executioner mentally sentenced Sensei to probation under extreme observation.
------------------------------
The hallway outside not far from the room was dimly lit, quiet save for the hum of fluorescent lights above and the sound of two voices rising steadily in intensity.
Lina stood with her arms folded tightly, her back rigid as she stared defiantly at the girl in front of her—Yuuka, the one person she couldn't quite figure out whether she wanted to hug or push down a flight of stairs.
Standing in front of the most annoying, most persistent, most nagging person in Millennium Academy.
That's what she told herself, though even she couldn't deny that somewhere, somewhere buried deep under all the frustration and shouting… she had a soft spot for Yuuka.
But that didn't mean she was going to just give in.
Yuuka's voice cut sharp like ice.
"Lina, let's go back to Millennium Academy."
"No." Lina's voice was flat but firm.
Yuuka narrowed her eyes. "Lina Astra. Don't make me repeat myself."
"I said no!" Lina snapped, her voice louder this time.
Yuuka took a breath, visibly trying to keep calm, but her fingers curled slightly, her patience thinning. "Lina, which part didn't you hear?! I said let's go back! Everyone is worried about you! And your punishment is not over yet!"
Lina flinched, not at the threat—she could deal with those—but at the word everyone. Something in her chest tugged, but she quickly buried it beneath her stubbornness.
Why now? she thought bitterly. Why drag her back just when she was starting to feel… normal again?
Working odd jobs, sitting on rooftops with nothing but the breeze for company, not having to pretend like she had her life together—it wasn't perfect, but it enough for her to grieving alone.
"Now you're threatening me?! I said I won't! I won't!" she shouted, her voice echoing down the hall. "Which part of no do you not understand, huh?!"
Silence fell for a moment after that outburst. Harsh. Heavy. It lingered like storm clouds overhead.
Lina's shoulders rose and fell with each breath, her hands clenched tight. She wasn't even sure if she was mad at Yuuka anymore… or just mad that the world kept pushing her when all she wanted was to be left alone.
Yuuka stared at her—not angry, but hurt. Disappointed maybe. Or maybe just tired.
"…Why do you think we care, Lina?" she said, voice quieter now. "Because of your grades? Because of some punishment? You think we dragged you back this far just to tick some disciplinary box?"
Lina didn't answer. She looked away. Guilt curled somewhere in her stomach.
"…If Sensei didn't show up," Yuuka continued softly, "how much longer were you going to keep hiding?"
That hit harder than Lina expected.
She bit her lip.
"I…"
Lina gritted her teeth, fists clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms.
She wanted to say it. She wanted to scream it—to finally let it out, to make Yuuka understand.
That she wasn't trying to be difficult.
That she wasn't trying to run away.
That she just… wanted to be left alone.
That the silence, the distance—
It was the only thing that didn't feel like it would shatter her if she touched it.
But the words wouldn't come. Not through the lump in her throat. Not through the heat in her chest.
And then—
She felt it.
A tear slid down her cheek before she even realized she was crying.
She wiped it away quickly, angrily.
Then she turned on her shoes and ran.
"Wait, Lina!!" Yuuka called out, reaching toward her—
—but Lina was already gone, feet pounding down the corridor, vision blurring as more tears slipped free.
Just then, the door to the room creaked open.
Sensei stepped out, blinking at the sudden movement.
"Lina?"
He caught only a glimpse of her as she flew past, wind trailing behind her like she was running from the world itself. His eyes followed her, then drifted to the end of the hallway—where Yuuka stood, arm still half-outstretched, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"…Ah."
Sensei didn't need her to explain.
Not really.
He could piece it together from what he has observe ever since he meet Lina.
She was headed for the rooftop. That much was clear.
Yuuka's shoulders sagged, guilt shadowing her expression as she turned to him. "Sensei, I…"
"It's fine." Sensei cut in gently, offering her a calm smile. "Leave it to Sensei."
Yuuka looked like she wanted to protest—but after a pause, she nodded slowly.
Sensei stepped past her, his pace unhurried, but his eyes focused. He glanced up toward the staircase ahead.
The stairwell was dim, the fluorescent light flickering faintly overhead. Each of Sensei's steps echoed softly as he climbed.
By the time he reached the rooftop door, it was cracked open just a little.
Beyond it, the world stretched wide and dark under a blanket of stars. The breeze was cool—gentle, but it carried the faint sting of spring's fading chill. And there, standing at the edge of the roof, gripping the railing with both hands, was Lina.
Her back was to him, but the tension in her shoulders, the way her head was tilted down just slightly, said more than any words ever could.
Sensei didn't speak yet. He let the moment settle, let the wind say hello first.
Then, in a voice softer than usual, he said, "You like rooftops too, huh?"
Lina stood at the edge, both hands gripping the cool railing tightly. Her head was bowed, bangs hiding her expression, but the slight tremble in her shoulders hadn't quite gone away.
She didn't answer.
"The air's so fresh up here," Sensei said casually, his voice light, like he was talking about the weather. His footsteps were soft against the concrete, not rushing, not threatening—just there.
Still, Lina didn't say a word. She didn't even move.
Sensei didn't seem surprised. He reached into his coat and quietly pulled out his tablet, whispering something into it. His voice was too low for her to catch, but she didn't care. She didn't want to care.
There was a faint blue glow from the device. It flickered once, then dimmed again.
Without another word, Sensei stepped up beside her—not too close, just enough that she could feel his presence. He leaned lightly against the rail, his eyes cast toward the dark canvas of the city skyline.
"Lina," he began gently, "you might feel like Yuuka's been pushing you too hard. That she's being cruel. But…" He paused for a moment, exhaling slowly. "That's just her way of worrying."
The breeze picked up, sweeping through Lina's hair. Still no response.
Sensei glanced down at his tablet, which was quietly glowing on his forearm, a faint hum of activity resonating through the air. He didn't look at her, but kept his gaze forward.
"The punishment Yuuka and Acting President Rin mentioned? It wasn't a command. Just a request. From Yuuka herself." His voice was steady but soft, like someone delivering a truth. "She asked them to put it into official terms because she didn't know how else to bring you back."
The silence between them stretched. It wasn't uncomfortable, but heavy—like the calm before a rainstorm.
"You're probably wondering why I'm even saying all this," Sensei continued, the faintest smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Why I'm getting involved at all."
He finally turned to look at her—not as a teacher, not even as an adult. Just someone who wanted to understand.
"It's simple. I just wanted you to know what Yuuka's really trying to do. That she never gave up on you, Lina. Not even once."
His voice was quieter now, carried gently by the wind.
The city kept glowing beneath them. The stars above watched in silence. And in that suspended moment, it was as if the rooftop had become a little island floating between two worlds.
The wind picked up again, tugging lightly at the ends of Lina's hair as she stood motionless, her knuckles white from how tightly she gripped the railing. Then, in a voice barely louder than the breeze itself, she spoke.
"I didn't hate her…"
Sensei turned his head slightly, eyes focused on her silhouette beside him. Her bangs still veiled her expression, but her words carried a rawness, trembling yet honest.
"I just want someone to understand…" she said, her voice cracking like fragile glass under pressure. "I just want to be left alone…"
Sensei's gaze softened. He didn't move yet—just watched her, letting the silence hang naturally for a few seconds.
"Lina," he finally said, gently. "If you don't mind… can you tell Sensei what's really going on? I'll listen. I promise."
There was a pause.
"You wouldn't understand…" she murmured.
Sensei sighed. "But if you don't explain… how could I even begin to understand?" He stepped closer, not enough to invade her space, just enough to let his voice be warm and close. "It's okay, Lina. If you feel like talking, just say whatever you want. I'll hear it all. I'll be here."
At that moment, Lina lifted her face.
Her eyes met his—and for the first time since he'd arrived, he saw them clearly.
There was pain in them. Deep, complex pain that seemed far too heavy for someone her age to carry. It wasn't just sadness—it was isolation. It was the kind of look that said "I've been shouldering this alone for too long."
"You wouldn't understand!" she suddenly shouted, voice cracking as if something inside her finally broke through. She turned away and took a few hurried steps, trying to put distance between them.
But before she could walk any further, Sensei reached out and gently caught her arm.
"Lina."
He didn't pull her back. His grip wasn't forceful—just firm enough to stop her from running.
And in that moment, Sensei felt something stir in his chest. That expression… those words… they hit too close.
It was like staring into a mirror he didn't remember breaking—like seeing his own forgotten pain reflected back at him in her eyes.
"…You're right," he said quietly. "Maybe I don't understand. Not yet."
He lowered his voice.
"But if you give me a chance… maybe I can."
The rooftop remained still. The wind quieted. The city below felt far, far away.
(A/n: K-drama ending '도깨비' Ost )