1.3 - A Story About a Married Teacher Who Becomes Obsessed With Her Female Student

**Chapter 1: The Scent of the Sea Doesn't Reach Me - Part 3** When I was in high school, I once attended an idol handshake event with a friend. The idols weren't particularly famous; it was more of a local gathering of a group whose activities were not on a grand scale. I hadn't heard of them before, but when we arrived at the small venue by train, there was a fairly decent crowd lined up. Before the handshake event began, the idols were set to perform with a song and dance, and I found myself isolated in the heat of the venue. My friend seamlessly blended into the environment, having forgotten she had brought me along, and was thoroughly enjoying herself. So, I had no choice but to gaze blankly at the stage, and amidst the overly bright lights, I noticed something even more dazzling. The choreography was precise, reflecting the idols’ training, but their extremely short skirts and bold leg movements, as if they weren’t concerned about them, left me flustered. It felt like I shouldn't be watching, almost as if I were seeing something I wasn't meant to, and I struggled to find where to rest my eyes. Still, for some reason, I couldn't look away, and my heart ached in isolation, lamenting my loneliness. The thirst in my throat and an inexplicable longing coursed through me, affecting my body in a way I would never experience again. That puzzling feeling I had completely forgotten now peeks out in this nostalgic moment. After that, the handshake event began, and although I didn't participate, I watched from a distance. Amongst the idols, there was one who stood out, even to an observer. It wasn't just about being cute or beautiful; she possessed something else entirely. Her smile, when facing someone, had a magical way of stirring an inexplicable elation from deep within. For some reason, Togawa-san's smile at our farewell reminded me of that. "………………………………" I've been soaking in the bathtub for quite a while. My arms and legs, feeling like they were lying in a coffin, needed stirring, and I rose from the tub. While draining the water, I started cleaning the bathroom. The rule was that whoever took the bath last would clean it. So far, only the two of us used this bathroom. Perhaps, someday, it might be used by three of us—or even four. "…………………………maybe, right?" I scrubbed the inside of the tub. When I was tired, I often progressed automatically, letting my head and actions work independently. Linking them when I was fatigued only increased the strain, so maybe this was an attempt to avoid that. I continued cleaning the bathroom while thinking about breakfast preparations for tomorrow. Finishing the cleaning, I stood up straight and reached for a bath towel in the washroom. Inhaling the slightly sweet scent of fabric softener, I began to dry my damp body. Wiping off the water casually before slipping into my pajamas, I headed to the living room. "Good job." Sitting on the floor, my husband was clipping his nails as he greeted me, making noise as he spoke. I remembered an old superstition that said cutting nails at night was bad as I sat on the sofa and started drying my hair. “Here, have the fan.” “Thanks.” My husband temporarily set aside the nail clippers to aim the fan towards me. After a May bath, the slightest hint of summer lurking behind the sun could be felt. Recalling that even when walking the night streets, the breeze wasn't unpleasant, I mused. I wiped my hair while leaning forward. If I reclined any deeper into the sofa, I’d probably drift into sleep. "Ugh, I'm so sleepy..." "Make sure to dry your hair before sleeping." "I know." Four years and a few months into marriage, newlywed days are behind us, yet maturity is still distant. Without major issues, I've walked the paved road with awareness. The normalcy with my husband felt so natural. In the transformation of fatigue and body temperature, I exhaled a sigh of relief at such a daily routine. We hadn’t yet been blessed with a child. I still couldn't picture myself holding a child of my own in my arms. “You were pretty late today. Is it that busy this time of year? When is a teacher’s busy season, anyway?” "There was a female student walking outside at this hour, so I was giving her guidance." "Typical teacher, aren’t you diligent?" It was the second time today I was praised for my diligence. Since long ago, I've been told this often. If I’d say I was just not postponing the obvious tasks, they said that this is what being earnest means. Then, what does everyone else busy themselves with? I'm not very good at finding those… things. “Was she out for some night fun?” “Hm, I wonder…” Since the one she was with was a woman. There must be a world entirely different from mine for two to join forces like that. I couldn’t ask where they were headed. Believing she went straight home today, if Togawa-san keep wandering at night, I wondered if I should interfere more. “For me, regardless of the person, a teacher’s busy season is typically the end of the term.” “Then maybe you’re just busy. Haha!” “Is there something funny?” Despite saying that, I also grinned a little under my bath towel. “Aha, I remembered…” While wiping my bangs, a memory of seeing that self-proclaimed sister returned. On a holiday, pulling a rickshaw—the blonde rickshaw driver sometimes drew attention and made the news. If she isn’t really Togawa-san’s sister, how are they acquainted? I hadn't known about Togawa-san’s night outings until now, although naturally, I only knew the aspect of her visible from the podium. Information on students is flat, yet for the role of a teacher, perhaps it suffices. My husband finished clipping his nails, sat beside me, and turned on the TV. Watching him examine his now trimmed nails up close, I couldn’t help but chuckle. "What?" "Like a cat." "I'm more confident in my dog barking imitation." Who says that? “Go on, show me.” Yet I got curious and wanted to hear it. With a little pride for his special barking imitation, my husband demonstrated. "……………………………………" That was one intensely nosy dog. “Are you having territorial disputes?” “I haven't done it recently; my quality has dropped.” My husband frowning as he leaned on his elbow to reflect. “Let’s strive to be better starting tomorrow.” “Please, not at work.” “You do that thing.” He pleaded like a child. Initially reluctant, I eventually tuned my throat and responded to his request. That voice, close to a bullfrog’s croak if done slightly wrong, escaped my throat. The one sound I was most adept at imitating was the undead from Mine**aft. Filled with laughter, my husband gleefully evaluated it. "That's uncanny—you should be proud." "I don't have a chance to brag about it to other people, though." How would I start a conversation like this with a teacher at work?