Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Puppies Aren’t Disgusting At All

When someone is inexplicably insulted, what is their first reaction?  

Setting aside those with unconventional preferences (like masochists), most normal people would think: Is this person mentally ill?  

Or—Who the hell are you? Do we even know each other?  

But for Shimizu Sakuya, neither of these reactions applied. Her first instinct was simply hurt and bewilderment.  

She had chosen to plunge into the abyss without flinching, yet this one offhanded cruel remark cut deeper than expected.  

This was the person who, across countless starlit nights, had held her close regardless of heat or cold.  

In every worldline, Aoi had rarely spoken a harsh word to her—and even when she did, it was always in the heat of the moment, never deliberate.  

In other words, Sakuya had once been the treasure cradled in the palm of her hand. There was no way she would say something so vile to her.  

Yet the Ayase Aoi before her had become a stranger wearing a familiar face.  

Even as an initial remark to a newcomer, this was inexcusably rude—let alone to someone who had once been her closest companion.  

So even though Sakuya knew Aoi had changed in incomprehensible ways, hearing those words still sent her heart plummeting.  

The emotional gap was roughly equivalent to falling from heaven straight into hell.  

Though her mind raced, Sakuya’s expression remained neutral—her nature was too reserved to show much emotion outwardly.  

She met Aoi’s disdain head-on and asked calmly, “Why?”  

—Why have you become someone I don’t recognize?  

“No reason.”  

Aoi’s smirk deepened, her narrowed eyes gleaming like a predatory leopardess sizing up prey.  

“Some people like dogs. Others hate them. I hate you the way people hate dogs. That’s all.”  

She inspected the hand she’d just shaken with Sakuya, tsked in exaggerated disgust, then pulled an expensive gold-embroidered handkerchief from her blazer pocket.  

With deliberate slowness, she wiped each finger one by one, as if scrubbing off something foul.  

Strangely, Sakuya felt a weight lift off her chest.  

So it’s just a bad first impression? That made things easier.  

This version of Aoi was still too green. Compared to her 26-year-old self, she was laughably easy to handle.  

The mature Aoi would’ve already been chatting amiably while covertly gathering intel and plotting how to expel Sakuya from the class.  

At her core, this Aoi was just a sulky teenager—one who fancied herself worldly but couldn’t even control her own temper.  

For all her posturing, first impressions were fragile. Negative bias could be worn down with time.  

And reversing a stereotype was child’s play for someone who knew Ayase Aoi inside out.  

If she gave in now, Aoi would lose interest. But defiance? That would stick in her mind.  

Polarizing reactions often flipped fastest. Once their dynamic reversed, she could close the distance—and if she protected Aoi properly this time, maybe that painful ending could be avoided.  

Sakuya crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, deliberately needling: “Oh? Really? Puppies aren’t disgusting at all.”  

(Though this was also her genuine opinion.)  

Puppies waited eagerly by the door, circled around you with wagging tails, gazed up with adoring wet eyes—and when they dashed over for impromptu cuddles? Absolutely precious.  

The thought softened Sakuya’s expression, her attempt at a bullying-resistant glare melting into something warmer.  

“Ugh. Defending dogs while making that dog-like face yourself? You’re even more repulsive than I thought.”  

Aoi’s fake smile vanished. Her lips twisted into a scowl, every trace of civility replaced by naked revulsion.  

“What kind of creature follows people around, wagging its tail like an idiot for scraps of affection? Disgusting.”  

She flung the handkerchief at Sakuya like it was contaminated. “Move seats by today. I won’t repeat myself.”  

Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and stalked off, as if staying a second longer would soil her.  

The hallway was empty now, class about to start.  

“What if I refuse?”  

“Then I’ll throw you out—chair and all.”  

Aoi didn’t turn around, just waved dismissively over her shoulder—a silent threat.  

Sakuya picked up the discarded handkerchief. The fabric was luxuriously soft, edged with delicate gold embroidery. In one corner, a tiny sunflower was stitched.  

Watching Aoi leave, Sakuya’s lips curved unconsciously. She ran a thumb over the embroidered flower and chuckled.  

“Such a child.”  

—  

Class A’s homeroom teacher, Futaba Michiyo, was also their math instructor—a strikingly beautiful woman.  

Though she looked young and inexperienced, she held a master’s in mathematics from Waseda University and taught with brisk efficiency.  

Her warmth and sincerity made her popular among staff and students alike.  

(Unless someone mentioned ex-boyfriends or marriage. Then she’d morph into a vengeful spirit, muttering in the shadows: “Why won’t men just go extinct? My ex boyfriend is already in a coffin, why’s he haunting me? I’ll donate his organs to a lab…”)  

But today, the consummate professional stood at the podium in a fitted pencil skirt that accentuated her curves, a crisply ironed blouse, and her signature no-nonsense bob.  

“Open your textbooks to page 67. Today we’ll cover—”  

As she picked up the chalk, her gaze swept the room—and landed on Ayase Aoi, who lacked a textbook.  

“Ayase-san.”  

Aoi, slumped at her desk staring blankly into space, snapped to attention. “Yes, sensei?”  

Futaba-sensei leaned forward with a kind smile. “Your materials haven’t arrived yet, right? Share with Shimizu-san for today, okay?”  

Aoi’s spine stiffened instantly. Her expression twisted, as if internally wrestling with unbearable agony.  

“Is something wrong?”  

“…No.”  

“If you’re uncomfortable, just endure this one lesson. I’ll fetch your book myself afterward, alright?”  

“…Fine.”  

Even rebellious teens couldn’t out-stubborn their teachers.  

As Aoi grudgingly dragged her chair over, Sakuya had to bite her lip to keep from smirking. She fake-coughed into her fist to hide her amusement.  

Aoi slammed a pencil between them and carved a crooked line across the desk.  

“Cross this,” she hissed through a saccharine smile, “and I’ll have that tall bald guy outside toss you into Tokyo Bay.”