The last bell had long rung, but I wasn't moving.

Kai and Aki were already gone, the classroom half-empty with only a few stragglers packing up. The chatter outside the window faded as clubs called their members, sneakers squeaked down the hall, doors slammed shut.

But me? I stayed in my seat, eyes locked on her.

Saki Hoshino.

The woman who had died in my arms. The girl who had promised to "be back."

And now here she was flesh, blood, curves, and all stacking books like she hadn't just flipped my whole world upside down.

She didn't glance my way. Not once. Not even a flicker. Like I was just another student in the room, not the guy who'd seen her vanish into thin air.

My fists curled under the desk. My heartbeat was hammering in my ears, louder than the damn cicadas outside.

The last student left, the door sliding shut behind him.

Silence.

It was just me and her now.

And I wasn't letting her walk away.

"Oi."

My voice cut the silence like a blade.

Saki froze, one hand on the stack of papers she was arranging. Slowly, she lifted her head, glasses catching the faint orange light of sunset leaking through the window.

Her eyes found mine.

Calm. Cool. Almost… distant.

Like she didn't know me.

Like she wasn't the same Saki who'd whispered "I'll be back" before dissolving into nothing in my arms.

I stood, chair scraping the floor. My steps echoed as I crossed the classroom, each one heavier than it should've been.

"You," I said, low. "Who the hell are you?"

She didn't flinch. Didn't smile. Didn't even breathe faster. Just slid the papers into a neat pile and adjusted her glasses like we were talking about the weather.

"I'm your history teacher, Saki Hoshino," she answered evenly. "And you should address me properly, Sakamoto-kun."

My jaw clenched.

That tone. That mask.

Like she was daring me to break it.

I slammed my palm down on her desk. The wood rattled, the pile of papers trembling on impact.

Her lips parted just slightly, not surprise, but… something else.

"I watched you die," I said through my teeth. "So don't fucking stand there pretending I'm some random kid in your class."

Her eyes flickered then, just a second, just enough to prove she felt something. A crack in that perfect mask.

But she still didn't answer.

Not with words.

Instead, she leaned back against the desk, arms crossing under her chest, curves pressing against her blouse, eyes sharp and unreadable.

Like she was waiting to see what I'd do next.

---

I moved in closer, slow, deliberate. My hand slid from the desk to the edge, boxing her in.

She didn't back away. Didn't even blink.

Her scent hit me first not the faint sweetness of the ghost who clung to me in that twisted world, but something sharper. Perfume. Real. Alive.

I leaned down, close enough that my breath brushed her ear.

"You think you can walk back into my life and play teacher?" My voice was low, rough. "Pretend like none of that shit happened? Pretend like I didn't hold you when you—"

I stopped myself, jaw tightening.

Her head tilted, just barely, those cold eyes meeting mine through the corner of her glasses.

"You're being inappropriate, Sakamoto-kun," she murmured. But her voice wasn't steady now. It wavered. Just enough.

My other hand came down on the desk beside her hip, trapping her fully.

"Inappropriate?" I breathed. "You died in my arms, Saki. And now you're here. Real. Flesh. Breathing." My gaze dropped, dragging along the outline of her curves, her trembling lips. "Don't you dare act like I imagined it."

Her throat bobbed with a swallow.

But then!!!

She smirked.

Soft. Dangerous.

"Maybe," she whispered, voice dripping with challenge, "you only dreamed me up. A boy's wild imagination, nothing more."

That smirk burned in me, stoking anger and hunger all at once.

I leaned in until our foreheads nearly touched, my voice dropping to a growl.

"Try saying that again."

Her breath hitched.

Her smirk didn't last. Not when I pressed in, closing the last sliver of space.

Our foreheads touched, hard enough to make her gasp, soft enough to linger.

I could feel her breath now, shaky, rushing against my lips.

"You're trembling, Sensei," I murmured, every syllable meant to scrape against her composure.

Her hand twitched like she wanted to push me back. But she didn't. She stayed pinned, her back against the desk, her chest rising faster than before.

I tilted my head, just slightly, and the corner of my mouth brushed hers. Not a kiss. Not yet. Just a tease. Just enough for her lips to part with a sharp inhale.

Her eyes fluttered shut for half a second—long enough to betray her.

"Renji…" she whispered. My name, not Sakamoto-kun.

It was all I needed.

I caught her chin in my hand, firm, forcing her to look at me. My thumb brushed the edge of her lower lip.

"You're real," I growled, the words rumbling against her mouth. "And you're mine. Stop pretending otherwise."

She shuddered, then laughed. Low, broken, but there.

"You arrogant little…" she whispered, but her voice cracked on the last word.

For a breathless second the world narrowed to Saki's face and the way her pupils caught the last light in the room. We were inches apart, too close for classmates, too close for teacher and student but not one touch crossed the line.

Her breathing was steady now, not the wild thing I'd felt on the rooftop. Whatever had unstitched her there had been stitched back into a professional seam. The mask was back on, but the edges were frayed.

"You promised," I said, my voice a low rasp that didn't belong to someone my own age. "You said you'd be back. I held you. You… you left me with that."

She tilted her head like a curious animal assessing a wound. The corner of her mouth tipped up, a smile that wasn't quite kindness and definitely not cruelty.

"I did say it," she answered, quiet. "And I meant it."

The classroom air felt too thin. My chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with unfinished things. I wanted answers, why she'd returned now, why she'd chosen to become a teacher in my school, what the hell she'd even been when she came back—but most of all I wanted the truth she'd guarded in ruins.

"Why?" I asked. "Why here? Why now?"

Saki's gaze slid away for an instant and, when it came back, there was something in it that made the muscles in my jaw clench. Not sorrow. Not triumph. A complicated smallness, like someone testing whether something fragile could be handled.

"Because some promises are bigger than the people who made them," she said. "Because you… you were my reason, once. And sometimes reasons come back, even when the world says they can't."

Words like smoke. They warmed and vanished. I wanted to shove them into a corner and make them confess everything.

She put a hand to the stack of books on her desk, fingers splayed as if anchoring herself to the ordinary. "Listen," she added, voice softer now, the classroom's hum pressing in from outside the window. "This isn't the place for what you want to know. Not yet. There are things you don't understand. And there are people who won't let you understand."

My pulse jumped. "Are you telling me there's more...like the night you—"

"Everything," she said. "Later. But not here. Not like this."

A sound cut the air, a footstep in the hallway, a teacher's voice calling, the world resuming its schedule. Small, perfectly banal things. Life trying to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Saki glanced toward the door the same instant my head turned that way. For a heartbeat her composure slipped; the woman-in-black from the rooftop flickered in the corner of her mouth and then was gone. When she looked at me again the old half-smile was back, gentler, dangerous only by how honest it was.

"Stay out of trouble, Sakamoto-kun," she said, the smallest edge of a command cutting the air. "And stay out of my way until I say otherwise."

Something like heat flared in my chest, equal parts fury and relief. I wanted to argue, to demand the truth, to tear the curtain off every lie she could hide behind and make it bare. Instead I swallowed and kept my voice even.

"Don't vanish on me again," I said. "Not that way."

Her eyes softened for the first time all day. For a second she looked younger, almost the girl from the flash of memory, and not the woman at the front of my class.

"I won't," she promised and it sounded like an oath. Then, with a tiny, almost playful tilt of her head, she added, "At least, not while you're still watching."

The hallway door opened then, and one of the after-school club members poked his head in to ask a question about the schedule. The spell broke. Saki straightened, smoothed the front of her blouse with an automatic motion, and gathered her books.

When she reached the doorway she paused and looked back over her shoulder. The classroom was the same as it had always been: chairs, posters, the scuffed floor. But between me and her there was now a line that wasn't only about age or rules. It was about promises and secrets and the kinds of debts that don't leave when you bury them.

She said one last thing as she stepped out.

"You think you know me, Renji. You have no idea. We'll talk soon."

Then she was gone.

Alone in the quiet, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The sun had dipped lower, throwing shadows across the desk like tally marks. My phone buzzed with a message from Kai—something stupid about parfaits—and for a second the temptation to answer, to pretend everything was normal, was almost laughable.

But Saki's words were still there, a promise and a threat braided together.

We were far from done.

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