A murmur of protest. The lookout girl’s head snapped up. Taro hesitated. "I'm fine here."
Room 204 was designated for "Advanced Chemistry Cram." Kenji Sato, the class president, had organized the session, dutifully noting that Miss Ameri Ichinose, the student teacher from the local university, had volunteered to lead it. What Kenji didn’t know was that Ameri Ichinose had never finished her teaching practicum. She wasn't a student teacher. She was an operative. A murmur of protest
Papers fluttered everywhere. Ameri gasped, apologizing profusely. As she knelt down to gather them, her knee bumped the table leg. The laptop riser wobbled. "I'm fine here
The after-school air at Meiou Academy was thick with the scent of chalk dust and desperation. Final exams were a week away, and the tutoring center was a war room of slumped shoulders and whispered equations. She was an operative
In one fluid, microsecond movement, her hand darted under the riser. Her thumb and forefinger pinched the USB drive. It slid into her palm, then into the hidden pocket sewn into the seam of her cardigan.
"Yes?"
Taro didn't look up. "It's already balanced if you consider combustion," he muttered. "Glucose plus six oxygens yields six carbons diox and six waters. Boring."