A Horrible Example

"Kyorin!"

A admonishing voice sliced through the afternoon light like a sudden heatwave, pulling a six year old Kyorin from his reverie.

He shifted his gaze from the window, where the world outside danced with vibrant colors, to the front of the classroom where Miss Hina, a teacher from Yang Academy, stood with a frown etched across her face.

"Yes?" he replied, his tone as calm as a still pond, indifferent to the earlier reprimand.

Miss Hina's brow furrowed deeper, her disapproval palpable as she surveyed Kyorin's demeanor. To her, it felt rude, a stark contrast to the focused energy she expected from her students.

"Attention to the board!" she commanded, pointing toward the chalkboard filled with scribbles that seemed to swirl like clouds in a storm.

Kyorin, however, merely glanced at the chaotic array of notes before his interest waned once more. He shifted his gaze out the window, the allure of the outside world proving too enchanting to resist.

"Kyorin! First dawdling, now deliberately dawdling? If you want to waste time, why don't you go outside?" 

Miss Hina's voice rose with frustration, her tone a blend of exasperation and authority, as she viewed his lack of attention as a poor example for the others.

"Alright."

Kyorin, finding the suggestion practical, decided to follow it. With a slight shrug, he pushed his chair back and headed towards the door, leaving Miss Hina momentarily stunned.

"Come back! We are having a class test!" she called out, her voice trailing after him like an ensnaring web.

*Whines*

A chorus of discontent echoed through the classroom as Kyorin's classmates glared at him, their frustration palpable.

Unfazed, Kyorin returned to his seat as Miss Hina distributed papers with a flourish.

Yet, even she, who had declared a class test in a moment of exasperation, had not prepared any actual questions.

After a brief moment of contemplation, she settled on a single inquiry: "Illustrate your insights on today's chapter—Duty & Diligence."

The chapter depicted the importance of one's duty, illustrating how diligence in fulfilling these responsibilities can lead to greater achievements and integrity.

It was a question that struck Miss Hina as both coincidental and ironic, particularly as her gaze fell on Kyorin.

'Let's see how diligent you are in your studies,' she mused, her thoughts tinged with a hint of challenge. "Begin," she instructed.

As the room fell into a hush, the only sounds were the scratching of pens and the faint scent of ink wafting through the air.

Miss Hina surveyed her students, noting their dissatisfied expressions.

A pang of guilt crept into her heart, prompting her to resolve, 'I will be easy on them.' But before she could settle into this thought, someone approached her.

"—!!?"'

Kyorin walked toward her, his expression indifferent yet betraying a faint glimmer of resolve in his eyes.

This unexpected boldness sent a ripple of gasps and murmurs throughout the classroom, igniting a spark of rowdiness among the students.

In response, Miss Hina slammed her disciplinary stick on the table, demanding silence and focus. "The only thing that should be moving is your hands."

As the commotion subsided, Kyorin allowed a subtle smirk to play on his lips, hinting at a mix of arrogance and perhaps even schadenfreude.

Miss Hina felt a vein throb in her forehead, grappling with the unsettling thought, 'Does he take pleasure in the misery of others?' The notion was troubling for a child.

Yet, in the next moment, Kyorin simply handed her his paper and remarked, "Impressive control, Miss Hina," his voice carrying across the room for all to hear.

Silence enveloped the class, a shared understanding of the earlier reprimand and the looming threat of the wooden stick keeping them muted.

"Do not disturb others." Hina warned.

"You misunderstand, Miss Hina," he continued, his tone smooth and deliberate. With stars in his eyes, he continued.

"I am merely admiring your ability to maintain discipline in the class through your... threatening whims." The twinkle in his eyes resembled fascination, leaving Miss Hina momentarily taken aback.

A frown creased her brow, and discomfort washed over her. There was something unsettling about those bright eyes; they sparkled not with malice but with an unsettling mix of greed and perhaps tyranny.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Hina's voice tore through the classroom, sharp as the crack of a whip. Her gaze bore into Kyroin, her disgust palpable, as though his words carried the weight of an ancient tyranny threatening to resurface.

To her, his interest in such notions was not just immoral—it was a blight, a seed of chaos waiting to bloom in the fertile soil of modern society's fragility.

Kyroin, unfazed by her intensity, smiled and gave a respectful nod. "I truly admire you, Miss Hina," he said, his tone calm, almost cordial. The words, intended or not, struck like an ember tossed into dry kindling.

Her patience, stretched thin, snapped in a blaze of fury. "You! Raise your hands!" she barked, her voice a thunderclap that made the air around them tremble.

Kyroin blinked, startled. "What?" The single word slipped out, his confusion etched plainly on his youthful face. For a fleeting moment, an emotion—fear, raw and unguarded—flashed in his eyes, a crack in his usual composure.

Hina saw the crack and seized it with ruthless precision. "Raise your hands!" she repeated, louder this time, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. The classroom recoiled as if the walls themselves shuddered in anticipation.

Reluctantly, Kyroin obeyed, his hands rising in a slow, hesitant arc.

His discomfort was written in the tension of his movements, but resistance was futile. Hina, the self-appointed arbiter of discipline, had already claimed her role.

Grasping the wooden stick of authority, she brought it down with a swift, biting crack. The sound echoed, sharp and precise, as if the room itself flinched alongside Kyroin.

"Ow!" A soft cry escaped his lips, an involuntary protest that broke the silence.

"Silence!" Hina snapped, her tone colder than steel. "You deserve two more. No noise, or your punishment doubles." Without hesitation, she struck again. Crack. Crack. Each blow resounded like the tolling of a grim bell.

Kyroin bit back his reaction this time, his small grunts suppressed into mere flickers of sound. Yet his muffled silence did nothing to quell her disdain.

"Again, I said no noise!" she hissed, her words dripping with venom. "Speak back again, and I'll make it worse."

She struck again, the wooden stick slicing through the air before landing with a crisp crack. Kyroin tried, but the pain overwhelmed his resolve, and a muffled whimper escaped him.

Tears, hot and unbidden, began to stream down his cheeks, tracing paths of silent despair.

"Are you a girl? Don't cry," Hina mocked, her voice cold and unrelenting. The words carried the sting of humiliation, but they weren't enough for her.

She raised the stick once more and struck again, each blow landing with merciless precision.

Her gaze locked onto his eyes, watching as they grew hollow, the tears drying only because they had run out. She continued her onslaught until Kyroin's trembling form was left visibly drained, his composure shattered.

At last, she relented. Snatching the paper from his desk, she dismissed him with a curt, "Leave."

Kyroin obeyed, his steps uneven and shaky, the faint sound of a hiccup punctuating his retreat.

As the classroom door creaked shut behind him, Hina turned her attention to the paper, her expression indifferent. But as her eyes scanned the content, they widened in shock.

The paper was flawless—an immaculate recitation of everything she had ever taught, word for word, down to her exact phrasing.

It was the epitome of perfection, each line a testament to his diligence and understanding. Hina's fingers tightened around the edges of the paper as a thought crossed her mind. 'Too bad he's such a mischievous one.'

Instinctively, her gaze flickered toward the door. Her stomach dropped. A thin, crimson trail ran from Kyroin's desk to the teacher's podium and the door, the faint, metallic tang of blood now unmistakable in the still air.

A wave of dread washed over her as realization struck—'Oh my god!'. Her eyes drifted to the students, seeking some sense of normalcy, but instead, she was met with an eerie tableau.

The students were frozen in place, their pens suspended above their papers like birds caught in mid-flight.

After the initial flurry of thoughts, not a single word dared to break the silence; the ink, once eager to flow, now pooled and seeped endlessly into the fibers of their pages, staining them a muted blue.

The tension was so palpable that some felt the warmth of their own fear, a stark reminder of the anxiety that had taken hold, causing them to tremble and, in their distress, even soil their clothes.

The silence was suffocating, the room caught in a liminal space between shock and disbelief.

Miss Hina stood frozen, the disciplinary stick still clutched tightly in her hand, as the weight of her actions settled over her like a suffocating fog.

Her intention had been to discipline Kyorin, to steer him away from what she perceived as tyrannical thoughts, and to set a clear example for the class.

But in that moment of heated authority, her actions had become the very epitome of tyranny. The irony was stark; she had sought to cultivate discipline, yet her approach had only fostered fear.

In silencing Kyorin without understanding his perspective, she had unwittingly become the villain in her own narrative.

The students around her, wide-eyed and trembling, were witnesses to her tyranny rather than recipients of the guidance she had hoped to impart. 

'No, no,' she attempted to console herself, insisting that she had done nothing wrong. Yet the scene before her offered ample proof of her reality, forcing her to confront the gravity of her mistakes.

Just then, she, once a student herself, recalled the painful memories of violent discipline inflicted by teachers who believed that fear would spur her to try harder.

No matter how valiantly she had fought to excel, the methods employed were brutal and sickening.

Now, she found herself replicating those same traumatic techniques on her own students—her heart twisted in revulsion at the thought.

The realization hit her like a tidal wave: she had mercilessly beaten a child until he bled, all in the misguided belief that she was fostering strength and resilience.

Her hands moved, tightly shutting her mouth, nausea rising within her, a bitter reminder that she had become what she had once despised.

Hina clutched her stomach, her voice trembling as she uttered, "Everyone..." The word was barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of her guilt, thick and suffocating.

The students, still overwhelmed by fear, kept their heads lowered, their gazes pinned to the floor.

"You all pass, leave." she continued weakly, her words halting, as though uttering them took every ounce of strength she had left.

Yet, despite her declaration, no one moved. The silence stretched unbearably, like a taut string on the verge of snapping.

"I said leave!" she shouted, her voice cracking as it echoed through the stillness. The classroom jolted to life.

Chairs scraped harshly against the floor, and students scrambled to pack their bags, the chaos of their hurried departure filling the room like a whirlwind.

When the last of them had gone, the silence returned, heavier than before. Hina sat alone in the desolate classroom, her thoughts churning in a storm of guilt and regret.

Her chest tightened as the enormity of her actions clawed at her, each moment replaying in vivid, unrelenting detail.

Just as the weight threatened to crush her, a faint sound broke through the oppressive quiet—quack-quack, followed by delicate chirping.

The soft melody of life was so incongruous that it drew her attention immediately. Her gaze shifted to the window, where, Kyorin seat was.

A cluster of hatchlings nestled just outside, their tiny forms wriggling in the fragile nest. Their beaks opened wide, calling out to a world they had only just begun to know.

Hina's breath hitched as she stared, the innocence of their existence starkly juxtaposed against the turmoil within her.

Compelled, she walked to Kyroin's desk, the air around her heavy with something she couldn't name, was it guilt, or something more than just guilt.

As she approached, form the corner of her eyes, she spotted a messily hidden book. Its worn cover was adorned with illustrations of birds.

Curious, she picked it up, her fingers trembling slightly, and discovered a neatly folded piece of paper tucked inside.

Unfolding it, her eyes widened in disbelief. The paper detailed the very species of bird now chirping outside the window, the same fragile creatures Kyroin had been watching over with quiet reverence.

Memories surfaced unbidden—Kyroin, his gaze fixed on the window, a quiet, steady focus lingering there for over a week.

And then she fell, her knees buckling beneath her as she noticed a circle drawn on a note, the words scrawled with a shaky hand: "It takes about more than a week—around 10 to 14 days—for this bird's eggs to hatch."

The realization struck her like a thunderclap, leaving her staring at the delicate hatchlings with a mixture of awe and shame.

While she had seen mischief in Kyroin's demeanor, he had been watching over a miracle as he was only curious, curious about a miracle of life.

Feeling the weight of her limits crashing down, she dashed outside toward the restroom, her stomach churning with revulsion at her actions.

As she leaned over the toilet, the bitter taste of guilt rose in her throat. Suddenly, a voice echoed behind her, "Miss Hina."

Hina's eyes widened in shock as she turned around to see an elderly woman staring at her, a suppressed anger simmering in her gaze.

Instantly, Hina bowed her head in respect. "Dean Tang," she stammered, recognizing the formidable presence of Grandma Tang.

"I met Kyorin," Dean Tang said, her voice steady yet filled with an unmistakable disdain.

To be continued...