Nov 1, 2024 6:40 pm
The students of Class 1-B shuffle into their new homeroom, finding it… stark. The classroom is dimly lit, the blinds half-closed, casting soft shadows across the room. There are no banners, no personalized enchanted gemstones on the desks, no cozy decorations on the walls—just the basics. Each desk is in somewhat straight rows, facing the front where the blackboard is bare except for a single chalk line scrawled halfway across, as if Mizore had started to write something and then thought better of it. The air is chilly, thanks to Mizore’s icy presence, which seems to make the temperature drop a few degrees.
At the front of the room sits Mizore Shirayuki, leaning on her chair, her usual indifferent expression firmly in place. Her purple sidelocks, framing her cool, observant eyes, which seem to scan the room lazily, pausing here and there with an unreadable expression. She has one hand in her pocket and the other resting casually on a piece of paper in front of her. No smile, no warm welcome—just a quiet, unimpressed assessment of her new students.
When everyone has taken their seats, she sighs softly, as if preparing for something mildly inconvenient. She addresses them in a low, even voice.
"Well, I suppose I should start by saying… welcome to Class 1-B." There’s a pause, and she glances at the clock as though even that short greeting has taken up too much time. "I’m Mizore Shirayuki, your homeroom teacher. I’m here to teach, guide… and, you know, make sure none of you get into serious trouble. But beyond that? My philosophy is pretty simple. Respect the academy’s rules—or don’t. As long as you’re discreet and avoid any, let’s say, ‘collateral damage,’ we’ll get along just fine." She shrugs, almost like the whole notion of homeroom is nothing more than a passing formality.
Her gaze flicks to a few of the students, as though sizing them up. "Now, I know some teachers—" she pauses here, her lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, "—some teachers like to make a big fuss over introductions, posters, class bonding, and… whatever else it is they do over in Class 1-A. I don’t really see the point. You’re here 'to learn', or so it is said, not to gush over each other."
She casts a cool glance toward the window, looking lost in thought for a second. The class might notice her gaze drifting to where the Headmaster’s office is, but she quickly snaps her attention back, her expression returning to its detached calm.
"You’ll introduce yourselves in time, I’m sure, but if you’re here expecting open arms and all that… consider applying for a transfer," she says with a half-smile that’s equal parts sarcasm and faint, dry humor. A few students chuckle uncomfortably, and she takes a seat on the corner of her desk, crossing her arms.
"But let me be clear on one thing," she continues, a faint glint in her eye. "Class 1-B has a reputation. We don’t do things the loud, flashy way. We do things the smart way. The clever way. And unlike Class 1-A, we don’t have to parade around to prove we’re capable." Her tone is even, but there’s an undeniable edge to it, a subtle jab at her rival class.
Mizore’s gaze falls on Adela Beran, the tall, stoic golem girl who had actually stood up against her during her clash with Kurumu earlier. The faintest hint of a smile—genuine, if fleeting—touches Mizore’s face as she recalls the way Adela had held her ground.
"Adela, right?" she says, her tone marginally warmer than before. "You’re… interesting." She leans back, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, appraising. "Keep it up, and I might actually remember your name by the end of the year." She lets the comment hang in the air.
Minutes of silence pass by, with Mizore's eyes locked on a cabinet at the back of the room. "Oh right. I must add that I have a particular interest for secrets and uh... Stories. If you have one, and would like my favorable view, we could talk..."
At the front of the room sits Mizore Shirayuki, leaning on her chair, her usual indifferent expression firmly in place. Her purple sidelocks, framing her cool, observant eyes, which seem to scan the room lazily, pausing here and there with an unreadable expression. She has one hand in her pocket and the other resting casually on a piece of paper in front of her. No smile, no warm welcome—just a quiet, unimpressed assessment of her new students.
When everyone has taken their seats, she sighs softly, as if preparing for something mildly inconvenient. She addresses them in a low, even voice.
"Well, I suppose I should start by saying… welcome to Class 1-B." There’s a pause, and she glances at the clock as though even that short greeting has taken up too much time. "I’m Mizore Shirayuki, your homeroom teacher. I’m here to teach, guide… and, you know, make sure none of you get into serious trouble. But beyond that? My philosophy is pretty simple. Respect the academy’s rules—or don’t. As long as you’re discreet and avoid any, let’s say, ‘collateral damage,’ we’ll get along just fine." She shrugs, almost like the whole notion of homeroom is nothing more than a passing formality.
Her gaze flicks to a few of the students, as though sizing them up. "Now, I know some teachers—" she pauses here, her lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, "—some teachers like to make a big fuss over introductions, posters, class bonding, and… whatever else it is they do over in Class 1-A. I don’t really see the point. You’re here 'to learn', or so it is said, not to gush over each other."
She casts a cool glance toward the window, looking lost in thought for a second. The class might notice her gaze drifting to where the Headmaster’s office is, but she quickly snaps her attention back, her expression returning to its detached calm.
"You’ll introduce yourselves in time, I’m sure, but if you’re here expecting open arms and all that… consider applying for a transfer," she says with a half-smile that’s equal parts sarcasm and faint, dry humor. A few students chuckle uncomfortably, and she takes a seat on the corner of her desk, crossing her arms.
"But let me be clear on one thing," she continues, a faint glint in her eye. "Class 1-B has a reputation. We don’t do things the loud, flashy way. We do things the smart way. The clever way. And unlike Class 1-A, we don’t have to parade around to prove we’re capable." Her tone is even, but there’s an undeniable edge to it, a subtle jab at her rival class.
Mizore’s gaze falls on Adela Beran, the tall, stoic golem girl who had actually stood up against her during her clash with Kurumu earlier. The faintest hint of a smile—genuine, if fleeting—touches Mizore’s face as she recalls the way Adela had held her ground.
"Adela, right?" she says, her tone marginally warmer than before. "You’re… interesting." She leans back, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, appraising. "Keep it up, and I might actually remember your name by the end of the year." She lets the comment hang in the air.
Minutes of silence pass by, with Mizore's eyes locked on a cabinet at the back of the room. "Oh right. I must add that I have a particular interest for secrets and uh... Stories. If you have one, and would like my favorable view, we could talk..."
