1.26 - 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 26 "Sensei, your hands are smaller than mine." "Mmm." The "smaller" in her statement pricks at me. "Yeah, I'm shorter than you, Togawa-san." "Did that bother you?" "Not really. What's your height, anyway?" By my estimates, there's not more than a ten-centimeter difference. But there is a noticeable gap when I meet her gaze. "Last time I measured in spring, I was about 168." "Oh... that makes sense." I'm around, or maybe just shy of, 160 centimeters, so it's quite a difference. Plus, considering her age, Togawa-san still has plenty of potential to grow. Looking up, her face is so close that we lock eyes. This is not the distance between a teacher and a student. Rigidness, blushing, and excitement. The simple, undiluted beauty of her face strikes me like a blow. In all my years as a teacher, despite having more interactions with teenagers than most, never have I met one I could unequivocally call a beauty like this. Unnoticeable before, now I can't tear my eyes away. It's like I've contracted some ailment that makes beautiful things appear even more vivid to my eyes alone. I might know a name for it. "Sensei?" Togawa-san's curiosity piques at my unblinking stare, the diagnosis in my mind scrapped completely with dark lines. "By the way, I realized they call me Ichi-sen, don't they?" I shift the topic to cover my awkwardness, recalling the impromptu nickname given by the students earlier. Ichigohara-sensei, shortened to Ichi-sen. "Yeah, that's what everyone calls you." "At least they don't use my name; maybe that means I've earned some affection." "Nobody calls you by the name. Ichigohara is too long." "I see..." Honestly, I don't care what they call me, but maybe that's why I lack authority. "I don't use Ichi-sen, though." "Really?" "I don't like using the same nickname as everyone else." Togawa-san's lips purse in a show of wanting to be special, which makes my face flush with warmth. Ever since that memoryless night, I somehow feel that Togawa-san is even more adorable. Any resistance to growing closer is gone, replaced by a strong desire to hold hands. Even without memories, actions linger as lived experience. What did I gain that night? All I recall is being told I bumped my leg in the bathroom and cried; it makes me want to cry now. "Anyway, I really wanted to thank you today... for everything you did for me." "Hmm." Togawa-san's reaction is hard to read. She smiles vaguely, looking into the distance. "Thank you and I'm sorry." "Yeah. Having both is nice." Her response is cryptic and hard to grasp. It feels like what that night represented to her differs from what it does to me. Of course, it would. I remember none of it. What I know is secondhand truth. And right now, I want to bury even that truth. "And, this is a personal request, not as a teacher..." "Hmm?" Stepping down from the sofa, our hands still linked, I awkwardly assume a dogeza posture. I've gotten used to this act in just a day. "Please keep the bathroom incident a secret!" I bow low, pleading, while laughter echoes above my head. "From your perspective, that makes sense." Togawa-san steps off the sofa as well, gently lifting my shoulders and head. "I won't tell anyone. It'll stay between you and me." She raises our joined hands to face level, smiling. "Sharing it would be such a waste." Chills run up my spine at her words. It's as though my skin feels the unseen sharpness of Togawa-san's fangs. We retake our seats on the sofa, closer together, shoulders nearly touching. This isn't a teacher-student distance. It's much closer, perhaps too close. I don't know if I'm qualified to choose those words, but... it was the sense of distance that love is made of. Love, of course, comes in numerous forms. Love for one's neighbor, friendship, a desire to protect, maternal instinct... and erotic love. What Togawa-san feels for me lacks a label, something she's deliberately left undefined. But its nature is likely akin to what I feel towards her. "Actually, I went to your house first, Togawa-san. When you weren't there, I tried the station, and luckily, we bumped into each other." Was it really fortunate? I glance down at our intertwined hands. Her hand conceals my wedding ring. Even though I never hold hands with my husband, this girl is eager to latch onto me at every chance. The memory of these hands undressing me brings a rush, a chaotic whirl edging on overwhelming. The turmoil feels like a turbulent mix of a million thoughts, restless and unending. "Oh, you came around. Even though it's by chance, I'm glad we met..." Her eyes momentarily go distant but return with a shining sparkle. "In that case, Sensei, give me your phone number. And let's exchange Line contacts." Togawa-san suggests jubilantly. "We'll never miss each other again with a direct line." Though she presents it like a brilliant idea, such actions aren't permissible for me. Refusing while our hands are physically linked is perhaps laughably hypocritical. "With students... that's a step too far..." SNS connections with students are forbidden. Personal interactions outside school can often cause issues. Teachers and students, only a few years apart, are still very much people; given continuous interactions, emotions can indeed flourish. Just like, undeniably, what's happening now. "Why not?" "Favoritism for a single student is..." "You don't want to?" Her head tilts, puzzled by the notion. Her question hits home. Did I not want to show favoritism? It hadn't crossed my mind. From the start, I only viewed it as impermissible. And that's right. Teachers should be impartial. But permissible and prohibited are simply rules. They aren't a measure of my feelings, but external guidelines. So, I set that aside and ask myself. Do I want to show favoritism or not? Do I wish to treat Togawa Rin as special? The answer, evident from my past actions, came quicker than any contemplation. "Then, if I keep Sensei's bathroom incident secret..." "Togawa-san, that's unfair." I don't want that to come between us. This bond shouldn't be transactional. Even if our late-night outings and playing catch could be seen that way, trading secrets is entirely different. The words emerging felt resolute, solid like stone.