It happens when Kunikida is walking back from school. After a particularly hard day, Kunikida feels like holing himself up in his apartment and collapsing. Some of his students had thought it was a good idea to annoy him to no end—why, Kunikida didn't know—and that just about killed his patience for the rest of the day.

As he begins to cross the intersection, he feels a presence that hovers close to his back. The action, by all rights, is not unusual. The lingering presence, even after Kunikida quickened his pace, is. As if wanting to exacerbate him, the presence seems to hover even more insistently, like a star student wanting the teacher's attention.

After nearly three minutes of incessant shadowing, Kunikida knows that it is time to take back his personal space and give a stern talking to whomever thought it was a good idea to hover about him like a ghost.

He whirls around, hoping to smack the perpetrator's face with his ponytail and say, "Has anyone ever told you that it's rude to follow people to closely?"

"Ah, so it's okay to follow people without being too close?" A catlike smirk. "Noted."

Kunikida, a little perturbed at that response, stiffly nods in dismissal and faces forward resolutely. His already long strides, lengthen as if to escape the presence. There is no way he is going to get his evening ruined just because of one inconsiderate person.

Kunikida continues walking forward, but then he notes that the hairs on the back of his head are still on end.

He is still being followed.

This time, when he whirls around, he makes a grab for the perpetrator.

It's only when his hands grab empty air and a few strangers eye him curiously that Kunikida realizes something crucial.

The presence is not human.