Asahi's Secret

002 : Math

You. Hate. Math.

Numbers, letters, square roots, cube roots — all of them make you reconsider your life choices.

"Since our ellipse formula is—open parenthesis, x minus h, close parenthesis squared over a squared, plus open parenthesis, y plus k, close parenthesis squared over b squared equals the radius squared—in order to solve this, you have to..."

The teacher’s voice drones on like a low hum in the background. Time slows to a crawl, as if someone put the entire world in slow motion just to make you suffer.

In front of you, Asahi scribbles furiously in his notebook. His pencil dances across the paper, moving at a speed that makes you wonder if he’s secretly solving the meaning of life instead of an ellipse problem. While the rest of the class is still trying to process the second step, he’s already at the answer.

Athletic, handsome, and smart. Jackpot.

You glance at the clock. Two minutes and thirty seconds until the bell rings. Two minutes. Two. And yet it might as well be an entire century.

"Then you have c squared equals a squared, which would be four," the teacher says.

You frown. Where did he even get four? Last time you checked, a squared was supposed to be two. The math doesn’t add up — literally.

You press your fingertips into your scalp in frustration. Seriously, when in the real world are you ever going to need this? No one’s going to come up to you in the middle of the street shouting, ‘Quick, what’s fifty-six times seven to the power of eight — now find the square root!’

It’s absurd.

"And that’s it for today—oh, and Miss Elora."

You freeze.

Dang it. You were so close. The door to freedom is right there, but instead, you’ve been caught in the teacher’s net.

Students file out of the classroom in a steady stream, laughter and chatter filling the hallway. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Asahi slip out, his expression unreadable, his steps casual — almost too casual.

"Miss Elora," Sir Han begins as he adjusts his glasses. "Your focus in this subject is not enough to compensate for a passing grade. If you want to graduate, you must keep up with the others because, at this rate—" He sighs, removing his glasses entirely and setting them on the desk. "I can’t guarantee you’ll pass your midterms."

You nod absently, already preparing to nod your way out of here.

"But of course," he continues, his tone dipping into something oily. "Being the considerate man I am, I’m willing to make a deal."

Your stomach twists.

He leans forward slightly, eyes glinting in a way that makes you instinctively step back. "What do you say, Elora? You do me a favor, and I’ll gladly return it with an A-plus. Don’t you want to graduate?"

Graduate? Yes. More than anything. But not like this.

When you don’t respond, his hand slides along your side. The only thing between his skin and yours is the thin fabric of your sweatshirt.

Your mind flashes white-hot as his damp, clammy fingers brush up your upper arm, skim your shoulder, and creep toward the back of your neck.

Something inside you snaps.

You’ll graduate, all right. But never the easy, dirty way. Dignity is your best friend, and you’re not about to lose it.

"Sir Han," you say softly, your voice almost sweet. But when your fingers wrap around his wrist, your grip is steel.

He flinches, trying to pull away, but you hold him fast.

"You underestimate me, Sir Han."

"Miss Elor—"

A sudden c***k echoes through the air as his head jerks violently to the side.

And you didn’t do it.

Asahi’s fist is still in the air when you register what happened. His other hand clutches the old man’s collar, knuckles white with tension. His chest rises and falls in quick, heavy bursts. Every line of his body screams barely restrained fury, the kind that could tear someone apart if given permission.

You stare for a beat, frozen.

"Asahi," you say sharply, moving toward him. You grab his arm, trying to pull him back, but he’s solid — all stubborn muscle and immovable rage.

"Let’s go."

He doesn’t even blink.

"I said let’s go!"

Still nothing. His gaze is locked on Sir Han, burning holes into the man’s skull.

Your heart races, panic prickling at the edges of your mind. You tug harder, putting your entire weight into it. Finally, he lets you pull him away, though you know it’s only because he’s letting you.

"You bastard," Asahi spits over his shoulder, shaking your grip off. His voice is low, dangerous, the kind that makes your skin prickle.

You don’t stop dragging him until you’re halfway down the hallway. The school is quiet, the usual end-of-class rush long gone. You lean against the wall, catching your breath.

"That was a close one," you say.

Asahi turns to you so fast it’s like you flipped a switch. His jaw is tight, his eyes wild.

"A close one?" His laugh is sharp, unhinged. "He almost r***d you!"

Almost. But he didn’t. You never would’ve agreed to something like that anyway. You know better.

You laugh.

Yes. Laugh.

It bursts out of you in an almost hysterical wave, your shoulders shaking, your breath coming in uneven bursts.

"Are you serious right now?" Asahi’s glare intensifies. "That was s****l harassment, Elora. He should be rotting in a jail cell — and you’re laughing?"

"No," you say between breaths, "I’m Elora."

He stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.

"Okay, okay, I’m sorry," you say, crouching to grab your bag. "I know I shouldn’t be laughing. But you have to admit — seeing Sir Han scared like a little kitten? That was kind of worth it."

"You’re a psycho."

You smirk, letting him lead the way toward the exit. Honestly, you’re only doing this to cool him down. If he thinks you’re scared, there’s no telling what he might do. Worst-case scenario? Someone ends up in the hospital.

For now, you’ll swallow it all. Smile. Pretend you’re fine.

Because right now, your safety isn’t just about you. It’s about keeping Asahi from burning the whole place down.