Okazaki Yumemi was missing—or at the very least, she was five minutes tardy.

Yojuu Ryu made the mistake of unlocking the doors to the lecture hall before the professor had arrived. Were it anybody but Okazaki, then he would have been sitting in the back-most row, observing the students as the assistant-professor. Instead, he stood uncomfortably in the front as he waited for his red-headed savior to release him from his misery.

But she never came.

Ryu hastily assembled a lecture using Okazaki's notes—and as much as he hated her in that moment, he knew that her notes about the grand unified theory were, at the very least, neat and organized. He stumbled to the podium, knocking over loose chalk on the blackboard rack. Thirty-two students all trained their eyes at the poor assistant—that was everyone attending the lecture, minus the two who were sleeping at the back. The situation was one that Ryu had not prepared for. Why would he? He never would have even dreamed that he'd be standing in front of the room, notes in hand, starting an impromptu lecture because the damned professor hadn't shown up.

And yet, even when he addressed the class, hastily scrounging together papers, his thoughts were still on that blasted red-haired girl.

Okazaki was indeed a girl—not yet a woman in his eyes, but a girl. Her struts were confident, her crimson eyes unwavering, but her gentle-shaped face betrayed her true age. Still, she hadn't a lick of youthful demeanor.

That's how a genius operates, Ryu mused. Or maybe she couldn't afford to be young: A professor at eighteen had little free time to spare, after all.

Halfway through the lecture, Ryu had abandoned all hope that Okazaki was going to rescue him from his personal hell and instead resigned himself to do her job, however reluctantly. Initially, the students weren't too thrilled, but he had her notes to reference—and much to his surprise, they warmed up to him, or rather, they at least tolerated him. It was eighty-five minutes into the class that Ryu raised a hand and pointed a finger to the clock.

"Dismissed," he said.

While lectures would normally last until ninety past, he figured that an early dismissal was fine because, at present, he was the leading authority. His students were all bright—if anything, they'd leave wordlessly, read the assigned books on their own, and ridicule his lecture on social media afterward.

As the hall emptied, he sighted a face unfamiliar to him. A blond-haired child—a teen, maybe—was one amongst the crowd. If her attire didn't stick out so much, he would have missed her. The girl wore a white cap with a matching white sailor uniform, complete with a blue neckerchief. Frankly, it was too much. Ryu's eyes hurt looking at her, and he briefly noted how young she looked before he mentally discarded such thoughts.

There could be others like Okazaki, he noted.

As the students cleared, the blond turned, silent but nevertheless staring at him. In any case, she was no pupil of Ryu's nor Okazaki's, so the man felt unsettled by her vacant yellow eyes piercing through him.

"Excuse me," he said, "Are you a student here?" The man felt rude for being so direct, but it was an honest question.

In lieu of a response, the child turned and disappeared into the dispersing crowd. Ryu, though slightly bewildered, shook his head, discarded any thought of the blonde girl, and stuffed Okazaki's notes into his briefcase. He then headed to the graduate lab where he prayed to find his red-headed superior.

And so he did. Yumemi Okazaki was indeed in the lab, furiously scribbling away at the whiteboard. To Ryu, it was all meaningless. The numbers, variables, and jargon—he understood none of it.

"Oh," she said. It was more of an acknowledgment of her assistant's presence than anything. Her eyes briefly flicked to the man before they returned their gaze to the whiteboard. "Ryu."

"Okazaki."

"Call me Yumemi," she insisted, though her hands remained in motion. "Like before."

Ryu corrected himself. "Yumemi."

"Hmm?"

Though she responded, Ryu remained silent until the girl stopped moving her marker. No words would reach her until she was finished. Once the professor settled, she took off her thick-rimmed glasses and turned to the man, her lips blossoming into a smile. "Ryu?"

He was a single word from reprimanding her for not showing up to the lecture, but the way she had tenderly called his name made him reconsider. "Where were you today?"

"Here."

"And about the lecture?"

"Ah." Okazaki wiped off the lenses of her glasses with a hand cloth, setting them aside briefly before putting the glasses on again. She maintained a far-off look, her eyes only refocusing when she turned to stare at the whiteboard again, though she blushed in shame. "There are more important things to be done than lectures," she said. So, she forgot.

She was never in the present. Something—and there was always something—would take her attention away, and she'd disappear off into her own world. And yet, her strawberry-colored eyes remained sharp, even if she'd always over-entertain her thoughts.

Then, as if she had never fallen into a lull, she resumed her work on the whiteboard. Ryu didn't mind—he wasn't waiting for anything in particular, so the man unlatched his briefcase and pulled out her notes to read through.

Okazaki kept writing, and Ryu continued reading until it was only two of them left in the graduate lab. As soon as the door closed behind the last man, Okazaki's marker slowed.

"Ryu," she said his name again, but this time with measured tone.

"What?"

"Come here—closer, you." She put her marker down and faced him with stern eyes. But as she leaned forward, a wicked smile teetered up her lips.

That was all Ryu needed to understand. Still, to confirm her thoughts, he grudgingly asked, "Why?"

"Do what you did before."

"...Do what," he asked, though it was more of a statement.

"You know exactly what," Okazaki retorted. But as cross as the professor sounded, she still raised her arms up and beckoned. And he knew that she wouldn't stand there nicely if he were to refuse.

So Ryu obliged silently, letting the girl wrap her arms around his shoulders and close distance between their faces. He leaned down to touch lips with her. Okazaki, being a head shorter than her assistant, stood tiptoed to reciprocate.

They kept intimate for longer than necessary. It wasn't until Okazaki let go of Ryu's body that an intense wave of regret overcame the man. They were, despite appearances, not partners. It was one decidedly unsober night where Ryu, against all reason, decided that making a move on his superior was a sound idea. Granted, all he did was whisper her first name sweetly and ask if he could kiss her, but, much to the regret of his sober self, she had found it amusing. Worse still, the act piqued Okazaki's interest of her assistant, who might as well have been air to her prior. From then on, Ryu acted as her source of physical entertainment.

It was fortunate that their mutual exchanges did not go further than kissing. Ryu felt dastardly engaging in such affairs with a woman he did not yet love—and with his supervisor, too. Plus, he had two years on Okazaki. There was an array of reasons that he felt hesitant, so he dared not to cross that invisible line.

But what if she asked for more? Could he refuse then?

"Ryu," said Okazaki.

"Mmm," he grunted, still mulling over his thoughts.

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"No," he replied. "I have work to finish, and I doubt I'll be done until dreadfully late. Why? Do you… need me tomorrow?"

"I don't," she said nonchalantly.

Ryu considered her words. If she didn't need him tomorrow, then why would she ask in the first place? If it were anybody else, he might have assumed that it was out of courtesy, but since it was Okazaki, it must have been anything but. "Then?" he finally asked, after careful thought.

But by the time his words echoed through the room, she had already left.