If it was an assassination attempt, an ambiguous one it certainly was not - mentally remarks Korosensei as Nagisa, with the outward timidity of a garden snake, approaches him late after class with scissors and clippers in hand. The monster is always cautious, was essentially required to be at this point, but was never quick to belay his professional outlook and the care for his students - despite how Class E had been improving their skills; honing them.
So he smiles, per the norm, beaded eyes peering, and greets the boy.
"Nagisa. Wonderful work you did in class today. Is there something I might help you with?"
The boy's eyes dart, and he clutches his tools like they're something precious and stolen. They very well might've been.
"I... was wondering if you could cut my hair."
Silence. Korosensei's demeanor doesn't do well for the slight bemused aura the air carries, and Nagisa backpedals to elaborate. "My mom," he says gently, and Korosensei's tentacles shift in knowing awkwardness. "She doesn't allow me to get my hair cut. Since getting sent to Class-E, she doesn't give me a weekly allowance anymore, either, and things with my dad are harder."
"Ah," affirms Korosensei weakly, and he turns to erase the day's work from the chalkboard.
That meeting with Nagisa Shiota's mother, to convince him to be allowed the permission to stay in Class-E, it - it had only been weeks ago.
"Pardon the firm question, but haven't you thought about what she'll do if you come back with short hair anyways, Nagisa? It's not like you to be so impulsive. Is your teacher rubbing off onto you? Nuru~fufufu..." The feeble grin plastered to his face is unwavering - but no matter how it's worded or said, no matter with what type of laugh or splitting smile or light comment it's accompanied with, it doesn't disguise his worry.
Something echoes hollowly inside him when Nagisa's face falls.
Yes, of course he would do anything for his students. But he doesn't want to make matters worse, and thinking that, the eraser's felt material clenches a bit in his grip.
"I don't care," Nagisa says flatly, eyes flitting to the floor. "I just want it done with, teacher. I don't care what happens after."
Suddenly Korosensei is behind him - fast enough to make him startle, fast enough to be a blur - going at Mach 20 for the point to be made. A lock of his hair is pinched between two pads of Korosensei's fingers, and Nagisa resists the temptation to shy away.
"Let's see what your teacher can do for you, then."
Sympathetic words.
He's sitting in Korosensei's chair, eyelids drooping as the creature behind him struggles with the proper way to hold scissors and clippers. "Just remember, Nagisa: your teacher is a teacher, not a barber," he warns, and Nagisa only smiles, as if he's accepting the potential bad hair job he's setting himself up for.
"That's fine. Anything is better than tying it up every morning, really."
Just as he says it, Korosensei's more dexterous tentacles slowly pull out the hair ties restraining Nagisa's hair - which unfurls to past his shoulders. The student closes his eyes, as if pained, and Korosensei sets to work - learning quickly - it's only a standard men's cut, after all, shorter than the delinquent friend Karma's.
Sharp scissors snip around Nagisa's ears, his bangs, his neck.
The ancient wooden floor grows littered with long pieces of sky-blue hair at a fast pace.
"Nagisa."
The student makes a small noise in acknowledgement, then suddenly withdraws, politer. "Yes, sir?"
"If things get out of hand with your home life, I would like to request that you tell me immediately."
Nagisa smiles, a bit sadly. "Destroying the earth in March - but still as nosy as any other teacher about your students' lives, huh, sir?"
"As your teacher, I'm obligated to make sure each one of you has the best learning potential. You can't very well perform at your best if your home life is stressful, now, can you?" It's a weak defense - and Korosensei's concern runs stronger than that - that much is obvious.
Nagisa aches to tell everything that Korosensei likely already suspects and knows, longs to tell perhaps the one trustworthy adult in his life - the bruising on his arm where his mother grips him, the way she forces him to act and dress and speak when out in public with her. The comments of 'don't you want to make your mother happy?' and the empty claims of 'I would accept you, no matter what'; her trying to foster and force something that doesn't exist and isn't him, never will be him.
But he's silent. Korosensei can gather a tender spot has been hit and drops the situation as the electric clippers are turned on - closely buzzing the hair around Nagisa's ears, and the nape of his neck.
When the hair is cut and everything said and done, Nagisa barely glances at his trim in the hand mirror Korosensei produces - only gathers up his bookbags and forces a smile. Korosensei gets a glimpse into what his student is thinking: excuses for his appearance change when his mother sees him walk into the door. There was a lab accident, and it got singed. The lawless student sitting behind him went to town with a pair of scissors. There was an incident with him and that peanut-butter sauce in his lunch; there was nothing that could have been done.
"Thank you for the haircut, sir."
The teacher clutches at the scissors with both hands, and is at a loss. He feels a pang deep inside - longs to take this child away from what he reads as a terrible familial situation, longs to show him that scrabbling for far-fetched excuses for a haircut is not healthy. Korosensei longs for so much - but Nagisa is already heading out of the door, is already going, is already gone.
He's no teacher - could not chalk up to Class-E's former instructor under any circumstances, and he feels the colored hue of his skin warp and shift to a mournful, impossibly sad shade, despite his efforts. He could not chalk up to that humanity and compassion - could not possibly make the correct decision for his student.
Korosensei can only slither over, to begin sweeping up the strands of hair Nagisa had left behind.