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After school is generally a middle-of-the-road time of day for Tsuchigomori Ryuujiro. It beats the actual school day, which is spent teaching middle schoolers and trying not to lose his mind, but there are certainly better things for him to be doing than grading assignments and reviewing lesson plans and printing out the incoming pop quiz that he will definitely be needing to get new red pens for.
Unfortunately, if Ryuujiro wants to still have a feasible cover and be employed as an instructor— which he needs to be, since he literally can’t leave campus— he has to do the tedious work. Like getting new red pens.
His back hurts. He’s not even halfway through grading. He can’t find his regular grading pen.
The nice thing about his classroom, at least, is the view of the sunset. The sun’s light stains the entire room orange and gold. He huffs out a sigh and adjusts his glasses as he watches. Who cares about the eye damage— he’s dead anyway.
Nice, quiet. Serene, even. The sky is gorgeous. There are no kids pestering him.
There’s equal parts bad and good about this time.
When he finally blinks away the persistent spots in his vision, though, he sees Aoi Akane standing in the doorway and knows his peace is ruined.
Aoi steps wordlessly into the room and shuts the door behind him. It seems sort of disrespectful for the vice president of the student council not to address a teacher, but whatever.
Ryuujiro leans back a little in his chair, regarding him impassively. He notices, then, that Aoi doesn’t have his glasses on. “Aoi-kun. Do you need something?”
In a silent answer, Aoi pulls out a familiar golden pocket watch. The ticking grows ever louder, filling the space between them— and then halts entirely.
The sun freezes in its descent.
Ryuujiro’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice is flat when he says, “No. 1.”
“No. 5,” the First School Mystery, Clockkeeper of the Present, replies, equally toneless.
The worst thing, Tsuchigomori decides, about being here for all eternity is: the other School Mysteries.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I need a favor.”
“No,” Tsuchigomori says bluntly. “I don’t even like children.”
“You’re a teacher,” No. 1 replies. He says it slowly, like Tsuchigomori is the weird one and No. 1 is trying to figure out exactly what screws have gone loose in his head.
“Which means I don’t have time to watch brats when I’m not being paid to do it. And I’m not even being paid well in the first place.”
“You’re dead,” No. 1 points out. “What do you need a salary for? And it’s just one day.”
“One day,” Tsuchigomori deadpans, “with that thing? Me? What world are you in that you think this is a good idea, kid?”
“Don’t call me that.”
But for once the Present Clockkeeper looks humbled, and he actually seems to consider the implications of his decision making. His eyes shift somewhere to the side, and one gloved hand fiddles with the end of his long ponytail. “The old man spouted off some bullshit riddle and disappeared on me. Mirai needs to be watched because she’ll get bored. I’m busy. There’s no way I’m asking any of the other Mysteries.”
“The fox could do it,” Tsuchigomori says. “She’d love that kid.”
“No,” Present says immediately, scowling. “Mirai is always bouncing off the walls when she comes back from seeing No. 2.”
“That stupid fox can actually handle that thing?” he asks incredulously. He didn’t realize she was capable of anything but pining after that one Mi-something guy from however many centuries ago it was that she was alive.
“She’s not a thing. The point is I need you to watch her. One day. That’s all.” No. 1 stares at him. Tsuchigomori can’t tell if there’s something supposed to be happening in this kid’s expression besides utter dread and total exhaustion, but maybe he’s starting to feel slightly sympathetic. Those eye bags sure are impressive, especially in supernatural form. He can relate, though, because he knows from experience that exhaustion persists even in death— or technical half-death, in this case.
It’s not enough to budge him, though. “What plans are so important that you can’t reschedule around something you already do routinely, anyway?”
No. 1 stiffens. Looks away. “That’s personal.”
He doesn’t know what he was expecting from No. 1, but a better head on his shoulders was probably one of them.
Tsuchigomori shrugs lazily, chair creaking as he leans back further. “Hm. Well, then good luck.”
“What?” No. 1 gapes.
“What?” he echoes back, arching a brow slowly. “You think I’ll do what you want just because? For free? Give me something substantial to work with and maybe I’ll think about it.”
“Something substantial?” No. 1 sputters, which is pretty funny. It never gets old, watching people flounder, but a School Mystery? He should know better. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You already know what it means, Clockkeeper.” He grins, all teeth, and points a long, clawed finger straight at him. No. 1 stares down the sharp nail with a frown as Tsuchigomori continues. “Information is the lifeblood of the 4 PM Bookstacks.”
He’s not expecting anything earth shattering, to be honest. Despite being part-time supernatural, No. 1 is still a kid, same as the rest of his students, so odds are he’s not actually that much more interesting. It’s just that teenagers would rather die than reveal embarrassing personal details about themselves, and Tsuchigomori needs some entertainment every now and again.
“A secret for a service,” he offers, still grinning. “A secret worth babysitting that creature for one full day. Three tries. Deal?”
He doesn’t think anything will justify looking after the Clockkeeper of the Future.
No. 1 looks like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. His fingers tighten around his stopwatch. He stands there, not saying a word, sweating and deliberating.
Tsuchigomori’s eyes narrow. Is this that difficult of a decision? Or is he just stubborn?
Probably the latter. He waits.
“I don’t have all day,” he says after a couple beats of silence.
No. 1 throws him a look. “You have an extra five minutes from me. You don’t even have that much to do. You’re stuck here anyway.”
“Watch your tongue or I’ll fail you for talking back. But don’t change the subject. It’s a deal or nothing, kid,” Tsuchigomori says flippantly. Oh, there’s his grading pen— it’s tucked partially beneath a student’s homework. He picks it up and twirls it in his fingers.
“Don’t call me that,” No. 1 snaps, then gives a resigned sigh. “Fine. Deal.”
“Then good luck, No. 1.” Tsuchigomori narrows his eyes. “Maybe you’ll surprise me.”
He’s met with crossed arms and a roll of the eyes. “Just get on with it.”
Tsuchigomori shrugs. “People opt for secrets of their romantic life, others for selfish desires, others their most shameful mistakes. What about you, No. 1? Is there anything you’re ashamed of? Anyone you hate?”
“I hate…” No. 1 grits out, “I hate… Minamoto Teru.”
Silence.
“You’re more disappointing than I thought, No. 1. That’s not even a secret. Strike one.”
No. 1 doesn’t bother protesting.
“Try again,” Tsuchigomori tells him.
He doesn’t. He frowns and frowns and frowns some more.
“If you really can’t think of anything, I’ll ask you something I want to know,” Tsuchigomori butts in, because he’s starting to think No. 1 isn’t even present in the conversation anymore with how he’s staring off into space. “What are you doing that’s so important you’re skipping out on your job?”
“Looking after Mirai isn’t my job,” No. 1 retorts, annoyed. He fiddles again with his ponytail.
“Do you want a babysitter or not?”
“Student council assignments,” No. 1 answers thinly. “They’ve been piling up and I don’t have time to finish them all before the next deadline.”
Lying to the School Mystery who has an entire library of information about every person in existence at his disposal is certainly a choice.
It’s not a wise one, though, so Tsuchigomori replies: “Lie. Strike two. One more chance.”
“Fine,” No. 1 snaps, “I’m going to a festival.”
Tsuchigomori stares at him blankly.
“A festival.”
“Yes.”
He’s not lying.
“Have fun with Future.” Tsuchigomori turns back to the stack of homework on his desk. Now that he’s found his regular grading pen he can get through his work without nuisance. Thank god; this is the only pen where the ink works reliably. For some reason every other pen he can find is shitty and runs out of ink mid-grading and he has to get up and find a different pen— and the cycle continues. It’s not easy on his back when he has to keep getting up every twenty minutes. He’s not young anymore.
“What?” No. 1 yelps. He bristles, the action oddly catlike, and he starts forward, outraged. “I answered your question!”
“You’re dumping your Mystery’s worst-behaved brat onto me because you’re going to a festival,” Tsuchigomori replies, marking a student’s answer incorrect. “That’s not information worth that.”
“Then I’ll give you more information,” No. 1 insists. He steps closer when Tsuchigomori doesn’t bother looking up. “No. 5.”
He sighs when the Clockkeeper’s shadow falls over his desk and shifts his attention away from his work. What a brat. “Fine.”
“What do you want to know?” the kid demands.
“Try something worth my time.”
He considers this with a face that suggests he’s just swallowed tar. He checks the watch again, noting the time that’s passed.
“I’m going with President Minamoto,” No. 1 grinds out through clenched teeth.
Tsuchigomori sighs. He supposes that’s better than nothing. “Hm. Go on.”
“We hate each other,” No. 1 tells him, as if he doesn’t know that already, “but now he’s making me go to a festival with him. Something about not getting to enjoy festivals because of being an exorcist, which doesn’t even make sense. We’ve been to festivals before.”
“Just the two of you?” Tsuchigomori asks. Okay, maybe he’s a little curious.
No. 1’s feet shift. “Yes. Don’t ask why. I don’t know.”
Tsuchigomori wasn’t planning to. It’s pretty obvious why. There’s a meteor shower tonight, after all. Students have been talking about it all day, planning on going with friends or dates or planning romantic confessions beneath the falling stars.
“What about Akane Aoi?” he asks.
No. 1 blinks. “Ao-chan?” Confusion shifts to suspicion, and No. 1 squints at him. “What about Ao-chan?”
Tsuchigomori raises an eyebrow. “You’re not going with her?”
“No, she’s with Yashiro-san.” No. 1 glowers. “Isn’t this enough information for you, No. 5?”
Tsuchigomori is starting to connect the dots here.
Minamoto is dragging Aoi along on an outing to a festival, probably threatening exorcism if Aoi refuses (but at this point, Tsuchigomori is picking up that they’re in each other’s company enough that the threat isn’t really the motivating factor) which is why the Clockkeeper of the Future needs to be babysat. Minamoto has justified this with the idea that he’s always been too busy to go, despite having gone with Aoi before this point. The real reason must be the meteor shower.
“I don’t know,” No. 1 mutters to fill the silence. “He keeps going on and on about a surprise at the end. He’s probably exorcizing me or something.”
Tsuchigomori’s face twists. Definitely a confession.
So many secrets wind around to romance in the end.
“That’s enough,” he says flatly.
No. 1’s head snaps up. His eyes bore into Tsuchigomori with sudden intensity, and he stands stiffly, waiting for Tsuchigomori to continue. It’s like he’s awaiting execution.
Tsuchigomori sighs.
“One day.”
No. 1 brightens. “Really?” He catches himself and clears his throat. “That’s… good.”
Kids are so annoying, Tsuchigomori thinks as he watches No. 1’s form shift. He hears the telltale ticking of the automaton clock as the five minutes run its course and time is unfrozen. No. 1’s attire melts away and Aoi Akane returns, stowing the golden watch into his pocket.
“Thank you,” Aoi says, which is the most polite he’s been this entire time.
“You owe me one, No. 1,” Ryuujiro tells him.
Aoi nods and turns to take his leave—
—and jerks back as Minamoto Teru pops his head into the room. He scans the room, eyes finding Aoi first, then landing on Ryuujiro a half second later, and cocks his head to the side with a pleasant smile.
“Oh, my. What a chilly atmosphere,” Minamoto says cheerfully. “Is something wrong?”
Ryuujiro shudders. He’s suddenly grateful for Aoi having stopped time. Just the thought of Minamoto having been on the way to his classroom while they were talking makes his teeth hurt.
Aoi’s entire demeanor sours. “President. What are you doing here?”
Minamoto’s smile grows. “Ah, can you blame me for being a little curious?”
“Yes,” Aoi replies bluntly.
“So cold,” Minamoto says. He steps into the room. Ryuujiro eyes the red prayer beads glinting on his wrist warily. “Hello, Tsuchigomori-sensei.”
“Minamoto-kun,” Ryuujiro greets politely. “Hello.”
Minamoto studies him a moment longer, pleasant expression plastic as ever, before turning back to Aoi. “I was looking for you, Aoi.”
Aoi leans away. “Why?”
Minamoto hums slowly, thinking, and snaps his fingers. “I know! Aoi, close your eyes.”
“What.”
“Close your eyes,” Minamoto insists.
Ryuujiro watches from his desk, increasingly irritated. He values his life, though, so he doesn’t say a word. Electrocution is not something he wants to experience anytime soon, or ever.
When Aoi obliges, Minamoto reaches into his pants pocket and produces a familiar pair of glasses. He leans forward to place them on Aoi’s face, then says, “Ta-da!”
Aoi blinks his eyes open, reaching up to adjust the frames. “Oh. I was looking for—” he stops. “Wait.”
“Hmm?” Minamoto asks, tilting his head questioningly, but his eyes are narrowing as his smile grows more impish. More real.
“You bastard, you took them, didn’t you?” Aoi hisses. He jabs a finger at Minamoto angrily. “I’m not blind, President, you’ve been giving me shit all day!”
“I have no idea what you mean,” Minamoto says, his smile shifting into the picture of feigned innocence, “and not so much as a ‘thank you’ before accusing me of such a thing, Aoi? Really? That’s rude.”
“What’s rude is you stealing my stuff and pretending to be a hero when you’re giving it back,” Aoi retorts.
“Pretending?” Minamoto echoes sweetly.
“Shut up.”
Please get out of my classroom.
The Future Clockkeeper is awful. She skips and bounces around Tsuchigomori’s Boundary, practically weightless as she propels herself through the library. She hides his quills and papers, knocks over and blows out lanterns, scatters countless books, and chases the butterflies and moths, all with enough energy to spare to yammer his ear off.
The Mokke that are unlucky enough to cross her path are squeezed and cuddled and kissed relentlessly. She and the Mokke have a matching sweet tooth, which is the only thing saving Tsuchigomori’s Boundary from total and utter destruction as he procures candy for them to gnaw on.
“Spider-chan,” she says to him at one point, stilling just enough to grin up at him for the umpteenth time. He hates the nickname.
“What,” he replies.
“Akane-chan isn’t here,” Future notes.
He has no idea why she’s telling him this. “Yup.”
“He said he had something really important.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Mirai thinks Mirai is more important.”
“Tragedy,” he agrees.
The Future Clockkeeper’s next words are, very very unfortunately, interrupted when there’s a brilliant flash of light as a figure appears in Boundary.
No. 1’s face is flaming red.
“Mirai. Time to go.”
“Akane-chan!” Future cries. The Present Clockkeeper lets out an oof when she rockets into his stomach and burrows her face into it.
“You look like you had fun,” Tsuchigomori comments slyly.
No. 1 glares at him, mortified. “Shut up.”
“How was the meteor shower?” he asks, grinning wider.
No. 1 bristles. Impossibly, the flush on his face manages to get even worse. He struggles to formulate a response, mouth opening and closing, before he gives up, grabs Future by the hand, turns on his heel with a whirl of his cape, and disappears in a flash of light.