The not-so-silent sound of a marker creaked across the classroom as the red-haired woman's hand moved gracefully, writing something on the board. Her posture poised, as she introduced a new concept to her students. Once she finished, she smiled faintly, sliding the marker's cap back on with a soft click before tucking it into her blazer pocket. Turning to face the room, her expression remained calm but edged with curiosity. She addressed the class in a monotone.
"Before I introduce myself, I have a question. Children, what would a poor person choose if offered a loaf of bread or a lottery ticket?"
Her words hung in the air, stretching the pause that followed. Eager to impress on their first day of school, the children chimed in, their voices overlapping in a lively cacophony of opinions. The answers varied, until a certain dark-haired girl with striking purple locks raised her hand. She had waited for her to raise her hand as though she already knew her turn was inevitable. The instructress's lips curved into a faint smile, her expression softening. She nodded, silently inviting the child to speak.
The girl straightened her back and answered proudly, her voice clear and deliberate. "Of course, poor people would choose the lottery ticket. They have no hope for the future, so their insatiable hunger for power and their addiction to chance fuels their hapless situation."
A murmur rippled through the room as she continued, elaborating her reasoning with a surprising depth. "The marginalized often crave a quick escape from their circumstances. Bread is a safe choice, yes, but it's temporary. A lottery ticket offers the illusion of something more—a fleeting dream of wealth, even if the odds are against them."
The classroom fell silent. The red-haired instructress's faint smile widened, her sharp eyes glinting with approval. She didn't say anything for a long moment, letting the girl's statement resonate.
"That's a wonderful perspective, Seilah," the red-haired woman responded with a faint smile. "You may now be seated."
"Now that you have introduced yourselves, dear children, good morning. I am Irene Belserion, your new instructress." She said as she took a deliberate step closer to her students, her heels clicking softly against the floor. The children erupted in applause, their hands clapping eagerly as they greeted her.
Her smile lingered, though it felt tight, almost forced. You've inherited your mother's perspectives, Seilah, Irene thought to herself, her jaw tightening imperceptibly beneath the mask of her composure. She has raised you well—a mirror image of herself. Someone who looks down on the poor, blind to the humanity of the underprivileged, blinded by the power of her wealth. The thought weighed on Irene for a moment, but she pushed it aside, raising her hand to silence the class. The room fell quiet instantly.
"In our class," Irene began, her voice firm yet measured, "there are a few rules you need to know. First, there will be no bullying. Children your age should not hurt others, physically or with words." Her eyes scanned the room, lingering just long enough to ensure her point was understood.
"Secondly," she continued, "I will treat all of you equally. Your parents' influence holds no power here. Misbehavior will not go unnoticed, and I have the authority to report any such actions. Remember, children," she said, her tone softening slightly, "to always be kind to one another. Understood?"
The students nodded enthusiastically, murmuring their agreement. Irene let her gaze sweep across the room, pausing momentarily on Seilah. Her lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.
The final bell rang, marking the end of the school day. Parents began arriving to pick up their children, the once lively classroom now gradually emptying. Seilah remained seated, her small frame hunched over her desk as she carefully packed her belongings. Irene noticed her solitude and quietly approached, her steps measured and purposeful.
"Do you need help, Seilah?" Irene asked softly, crouching down to the child's level.
Seilah looked up and nodded shyly. As she gathered her things, a pencil slipped from her desk and rolled onto the floor. Irene bent to retrieve it, her fingers just brushing against the wood when the sound of the door clicking open interrupted her. Before Irene could straighten up, a familiar figure stepped into the room. The green-haired woman's eyes narrowed, her gaze snapping to Irene with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.
"What are you doing here?" the woman demanded, her voice sharp and laced with irritation. She moved quickly, placing herself protectively between Seilah and Irene.
Seilah glanced between them in confusion, her small hands clutching the edge of her desk. She stepped forward, her soft voice breaking the tension. "Thank you, Teacher Irene," she said with an innocent smile, bowing politely as she took the pencil from Irene's hand.
"You're welcome, dear," Irene replied with a faint smile, her tone steady despite the growing tension.
The green-haired woman's sneer deepened as her voice grew colder. "I won't ask again, Irene Belserion. What are you doing in my daughter's classroom?"
Straightening, Irene met her gaze head-on, her expression calm but laced with subtle amusement. "Well, Kyouka, I am their new instructress," she replied, her tone dry.
Seilah looked up at her mother with wide eyes. "Is Mommy friends with my teacher?" she asked innocently.
Kyouka flinched at the question, her composure faltering for just a moment. Irene's lips curled into a faint, insouciant smile as she answered before Kyouka could recover.
"Yes, very much so," Irene said, her voice carrying an undercurrent of irony. "Your mother and I are very well acquainted. We've known each other since high school, haven't we, Kyouka? Such good friends back then."
Kyouka's face darkened, her hand tightening on Seilah's. "Enough," she snapped, her voice low and firm. "We're leaving. Now."
Without another word, Kyouka grabbed Seilah's hand and turned, leading her quickly out of the room. Irene watched them go, her sharp eyes lingering on Kyouka's retreating figure. The faint smile on her lips faded, leaving behind an expression that was unreadable, her thoughts hidden beneath a calm facade.
After a long day, Irene returned to her apartment, the door clicking shut behind her with a hollow finality. The space was small and sparse, cloaked in shadow save for the dim light of a single lamp on the bedside table. The bulb cast a faint, flickering glow across the room, creating long, jagged shadows that danced on the walls. She stood in silence, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths. But as the quiet settled, memories clawed their way to the surface.
"Did you really think you could go unscathed after ruining my life, you bitch?" she spat under her breath, her voice trembling with venom. The words tasted bitter on her tongue as images of her past flooded her mind: herself, broken and crying on the cold, unforgiving streets.
Her hands moved mechanically as she removed her blazer, her dress slipping from her shoulders to pool at her feet. Left in only her undergarments, the scars that adorned her body were stark against her pale skin. Burns and jagged lines crisscrossed from her neck to her thighs, cruel remnants of a life she could never escape. She traced one of the marks absentmindedly, her fingers trembling.
"These scars still sting at times," she muttered to herself, her voice flat and distant. She bit her lip, suppressing the surge of pain—both physical and emotional—that welled up within her.
Her gaze dropped to the locket hanging from her neck. Slowly, she unclasped it, the delicate metal opening with a soft click. Inside, a tiny picture stared back at her—a face she could never forget. A tear slid down her cheek, silent and unbidden, as her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, clutching the locket tightly, her knuckles turning white.
The image of the children at the park earlier that day flashed in her mind. Their laughter, their joy—it had felt like a cruel reminder of everything she'd lost. Of everything that means the world to her.
"I will not stop until I avenge you," she whispered. The locket shook in her trembling hands as she clenched it to her chest, the faint light casting a glint of metal across her tear-streaked face. The room was silent again, save for the muffled sound of her ragged breathing. Irene closed her eyes and leaned against the bedside table.
"I will make your life a living hell, Kyouka."
A/N: Hi, it's me again. I haven't been able to update my other story, Suddenly, I Became the Villain's Wife, due to my internship schedules. It was pretty taxing. I hope you'll wait for the updates and oh, Burning Bridges might have a sequel, thank you so much for supporting that story. It was pretty much loved by my readers. I hope you'll support me with this one. Thank you for reading, goodbye for now. Please leave reviews! *wink*