Prologue
Omi,
Something happened today. Finally a change from the repetidious life that I lead.
IT was just before lunch when it happened, and we were let out 30 minutes late. Why, may
you ask, is Mrs. Tachinoi so late to let us out when she was always punctual before? Well,
something happened to her. And it was all because of me. Strangely, I don't feel any
remorse or pity at all for her. After all, who is it that gave us last minute projects
worth more than half the grade? For my last year in high school, I had wanted a good
teacher, but as Farfello had often sid, "God never listens to his children."
I swear it was not my fault this time, at least the part that angered me. Mrs.
Taichinoi began to copy the math of the day on the chalkboard. This had already started to
irritate me, even though it was only the beginning of the year now. Who, in all the
teachers in this world, just writes problems on the board without explaining them? These
problems are all review, so while the other classes are actually learning something new, we
are stuck here, doing absolutely nothing. I finished all of them first, and raised my hand
for several answers to get points for the 'Participation' category. She didn't call on me
until the last problem. The problem was the easiest in the whole bunch, so I was fortunate
to get it. It was: 5x+5=20. Our conversation went something like this:
"Naoe Nagi. Explain how to do this problem."
I stood up, and said bluntly, "You take the positive 5 and turn it into negative. Subtract it from the 20. The difference you get should be divided by 5x." I sat down. The teacher looked at the problem and clapped her hands together soundly, waking those who had fallen asleep and jolting those who were already awake.
"I'm afraid you're incorrect, Mister Naoe."
The class was silent for once, but I could tell that they didn't believe her. Their
heads shook vehemently, disbelieving, but there was nothing we could do. SHE was the
teacher; WE were the students. But if there was one thing we students had in common, it was
mistrustful-ness of Mrs. Taichinoi
Her math was plain simple, and plain wrong as well. She said that the positive 5
was added as is to the 20, then divided by 5x. I couldn't control myself at this point. My
anger exploded along with my pychokinetics. I walked straight up to the desk, and lifted
it. Several girls in the class screamed, and a few fainted, but at that moment, I just
didn't care. The teacher cowered in the corner, and the desk landed on top of her. I
climbed ON TOP of the desk, so great was my anger, and wrote what I had said on the board
with large letters.
The teacher is in the hospital with several broken ribs, a broken arm, and a
fractured leg. I don't know the full extent of her injuries, but whatever they are, I hope
she is suffering for what she's done to us poor students. I have no pity for such as slave
master.
They called me into the principal's office today. I am to spend the rest of my
senior year in the St. Joseph Boys' Institute of Obedience. The principal had a wicked
gleam in his eye when he said this, and I am almost afraid of this school, even before I've
even seen the school, even set foot on its grounds. This new school seems intimidating
already, and that isn't a feeling I like. It apprehends me, and makes me jumpy of
everything. I hope it is better than the Slave Driver, though. I think ANYTHING is better
than having Mrs. Taichinoi, though.
It's quite late now, almost 12. I will take all my diary books, both filled and
unwritten in, with me to this already intimidating school. I have no intentions of letting
Schuldich read this while I'm gone.
Oyasumi, Omi. Have pleasant dreams.
Nagi.
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
This was just an idea. It was the idea originally the Rose Argent's fic, in which I
carelessly forgot the name. One way or the other, this just came to me as a ruse, and if
Rose Argent is out there, reading this, just want to say thank you, and I changed the anime,
the names, the name of the school, and the nicknames they're labeled. Flame me if you want.
I just felt like writing this. I'm not sure, but I think Nagi originally died, but that's
just hearsay, so nothing more should be made of it. The thing is, when I started to write
this fic, I was amazed by how horrible it sounded in my rough draft. So I changed a few
things to make it sound a bit better, and I hope you like it anyways, and that wouldn't
really matter, since you didn't read the original. I hope to have Ch.1 up soon.
Andrea Weiling, a writer with absolutely no talent. Why am I even writing at all?
Omi,
Something happened today. Finally a change from the repetidious life that I lead.
IT was just before lunch when it happened, and we were let out 30 minutes late. Why, may
you ask, is Mrs. Tachinoi so late to let us out when she was always punctual before? Well,
something happened to her. And it was all because of me. Strangely, I don't feel any
remorse or pity at all for her. After all, who is it that gave us last minute projects
worth more than half the grade? For my last year in high school, I had wanted a good
teacher, but as Farfello had often sid, "God never listens to his children."
I swear it was not my fault this time, at least the part that angered me. Mrs.
Taichinoi began to copy the math of the day on the chalkboard. This had already started to
irritate me, even though it was only the beginning of the year now. Who, in all the
teachers in this world, just writes problems on the board without explaining them? These
problems are all review, so while the other classes are actually learning something new, we
are stuck here, doing absolutely nothing. I finished all of them first, and raised my hand
for several answers to get points for the 'Participation' category. She didn't call on me
until the last problem. The problem was the easiest in the whole bunch, so I was fortunate
to get it. It was: 5x+5=20. Our conversation went something like this:
"Naoe Nagi. Explain how to do this problem."
I stood up, and said bluntly, "You take the positive 5 and turn it into negative. Subtract it from the 20. The difference you get should be divided by 5x." I sat down. The teacher looked at the problem and clapped her hands together soundly, waking those who had fallen asleep and jolting those who were already awake.
"I'm afraid you're incorrect, Mister Naoe."
The class was silent for once, but I could tell that they didn't believe her. Their
heads shook vehemently, disbelieving, but there was nothing we could do. SHE was the
teacher; WE were the students. But if there was one thing we students had in common, it was
mistrustful-ness of Mrs. Taichinoi
Her math was plain simple, and plain wrong as well. She said that the positive 5
was added as is to the 20, then divided by 5x. I couldn't control myself at this point. My
anger exploded along with my pychokinetics. I walked straight up to the desk, and lifted
it. Several girls in the class screamed, and a few fainted, but at that moment, I just
didn't care. The teacher cowered in the corner, and the desk landed on top of her. I
climbed ON TOP of the desk, so great was my anger, and wrote what I had said on the board
with large letters.
The teacher is in the hospital with several broken ribs, a broken arm, and a
fractured leg. I don't know the full extent of her injuries, but whatever they are, I hope
she is suffering for what she's done to us poor students. I have no pity for such as slave
master.
They called me into the principal's office today. I am to spend the rest of my
senior year in the St. Joseph Boys' Institute of Obedience. The principal had a wicked
gleam in his eye when he said this, and I am almost afraid of this school, even before I've
even seen the school, even set foot on its grounds. This new school seems intimidating
already, and that isn't a feeling I like. It apprehends me, and makes me jumpy of
everything. I hope it is better than the Slave Driver, though. I think ANYTHING is better
than having Mrs. Taichinoi, though.
It's quite late now, almost 12. I will take all my diary books, both filled and
unwritten in, with me to this already intimidating school. I have no intentions of letting
Schuldich read this while I'm gone.
Oyasumi, Omi. Have pleasant dreams.
Nagi.
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
This was just an idea. It was the idea originally the Rose Argent's fic, in which I
carelessly forgot the name. One way or the other, this just came to me as a ruse, and if
Rose Argent is out there, reading this, just want to say thank you, and I changed the anime,
the names, the name of the school, and the nicknames they're labeled. Flame me if you want.
I just felt like writing this. I'm not sure, but I think Nagi originally died, but that's
just hearsay, so nothing more should be made of it. The thing is, when I started to write
this fic, I was amazed by how horrible it sounded in my rough draft. So I changed a few
things to make it sound a bit better, and I hope you like it anyways, and that wouldn't
really matter, since you didn't read the original. I hope to have Ch.1 up soon.
Andrea Weiling, a writer with absolutely no talent. Why am I even writing at all?
