31 Teacher Troubles

The morning air at Bangkok Horizons Academy was thick with humidity, promising another long, hot day. Inside Room 3B the students of Mr. Niran's Thai Literature class sat drowsily at their desks, the rhythmic hum of the ceiling fans doing little to combat the heat. Some were furiously flipping through their notes, trying to cram last-minute details before the quiz. Others whispered among themselves, trading gossip about last night's university festival. 

At the front of the class, Mr. Niran, a bespectacled man in his early thirties with neatly combed hair and an ever-present frown, stood holding a clipboard. It was attendance time—a sacred morning ritual, dreaded by some and ignored by most. 

Kamon sat at her usual spot near the middle of the room, her dark hair neatly tied into a ponytail, her sunglasses perched low on her nose as she doodled absentmindedly in the margins of her notebook. She knew what was coming. 

"Kamonwan Siriyut?" 

Kamon looked up lazily. "Here, sir." She bowed slightly before returning to her sketch of an owl wearing a top hat. 

Mr. Niran nodded and continued, reading from his roster in a monotonous voice. 

"Jirapat Thongsuk?" 

"Present." Jirapat, a lanky boy sitting by the window, raised his hand but barely looked up from his book. 

The roll call continued smoothly until Mr. Niran's finger hovered over the next name. Supaporn. 

Kamon, however, was already in motion. 

With a speed that would have impressed even an Olympic sprinter, she pushed back her chair, swiftly ducked her head, and glided towards Supaporn's empty desk. Her movements were fluid, rehearsed—this wasn't the first time she'd had to cover for her best friend. 

As she settled into Supaporn's seat, she pulled up the hood of Supaporn's blue hoodie, casting a shadow over her face. 

Just in time. 

"Supaporn Thoongprasert?" Mr. Niran called, adjusting his glasses. 

Kamon cleared her throat, deepened her voice just a fraction, and muttered, "Here, sir." 

A few students giggled around her. Jirapat, who had seen the maneuver unfold, smirked but said nothing. 

"Hmm." Mr. Niran gave an unconvinced glance toward Supaporn's desk. "Keep your hood down in class, Miss Supaporn. It's against regulations." 

Kamon nodded obediently, keeping her head low. 

At that very moment, the real Supaporn appeared at the backdoor. 

She was breathless, her black hair a mess, her tie half undone. She peeked through the glass panel on the door, eyes wide with urgency. 

Jirapat saw her immediately and decided to seize the moment. 

"Excuse me sir, could you check my book? I have a question." Jirapat raised his hand enthusiastically, his voice just loud enough to cause a distraction. 

"What is it, Jirapat?" Mr. Niran sighed, stepping toward him. 

The second his back was turned, Supaporn yanked open the door, tiptoed inside, and practically threw herself into her seat. Kamon, now relieved of her disguise duties, slipped back to her own desk with the same elegance as before. 

By the time Mr. Niran turned around, everything was back to normal—or so it seemed. 

"Oh? So you finally decided to take off your hood, Supaporn?" Mr. Niran noted, eyes squinting at the now properly seated student. 

Supaporn, still panting from her mad dash, nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir. It was… too hot." 

Kamon bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a laugh. 

Jirapat leaned over and whispered, "That was either the smoothest or the dumbest thing I've ever seen." 

Supaporn shot him a glare but grinned all the same. 

The class returned to its usual morning buzz, but the students who had witnessed the operation were trying their hardest not to burst into laughter.

Kamon gave Supaporn a discreet thumbs-up. 

Mission accomplished.

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Kamon slouched in her chair, glaring at the giant whiteboard where Mr. Arun, the most feared math teacher Bangkok Horizons Academy, scribbled a complicated equation. 

The numbers swam before her eyes. It was the last period of the day, and her brain had officially shut down. 

"Alright, class," Mr. Arun said, turning with a deadpan expression. "Take out your binary digits." 

Kamon blinked. "Excuse me?" 

He adjusted his glasses. "Your brains. I assume you brought them today?" 

The class chuckled nervously. No one dared to laugh too loudly—Mr. Arun had the uncanny ability to make a joke and strike fear at the same time. 

He clapped his hands. "We have a pop quiz." 

A collective groan spread across the room. 

"Silence!" Mr. Arun snapped. "Do you want me to make it two quizzes?" 

Everyone immediately sat up straight. 

Kamon leaned toward her seatmate, June. "This is a violation of human rights." 

June whispered back, "Do you even know how to multiply fractions?" 

"…That's not the point." 

As Mr. Arun distributed the quiz, Kamon sighed. Instead of numbers and equations, she saw her imminent doom. 

She glanced down at her notebook. On one side—dense, incomprehensible math formulas. On the other—her masterpiece: a doodle of Mr. Arun with steam coming out of his ears, yelling at students in comic-style speech bubbles. 

She chuckled. "What if he actually looked like this?" 

Then, without thinking, she tore the page out, folded it, and turned to June. "Look at this—" 

At that exact moment, a shadow loomed over her. 

Kamon froze. 

The class went silent. 

She slowly turned to see Mr. Arun, standing right beside her, his hand extended. 

"Pass it here." 

Kamon's soul left her body. 

"But, sir, I—" 

"Now." 

With the solemnity of a prisoner handing over a death sentence, she placed the folded page in his palm. 

Mr. Arun unfolded it. His expression did not change. 

"Interesting artwork," he said flatly. "Perhaps you'd like to present it to the class?" 

Kamon shook her head violently. 

He sighed. "Good. Then let's get back to something you're actually supposed to be doing—your test." 

She groaned, slumping into her chair. "Yes, sir…" 

Halfway through the quiz, Nam, one of the quiet girls from the front row, suddenly stood up and walked out of class. 

No excuse. No explanation. Just…left. 

All eyes turned to the door. 

The room was dead silent. 

"Sir," Wichai whispered dramatically, "is she escaping?" 

Kamon smirked. "She's living the dream." 

As if sensing the distraction, Mr. Arun turned around, arms crossed. "Why don't you all request the principal to break down the walls for a clearer view?" 

The class exploded with laughter. 

Even Kamon had to admit—that was a solid comeback. 

The classroom buzzed with murmurs and fidgeting as Mr. Thanom, the strict but fair teacher, was standing at the front of the room. He has just asked a challenging question, his sharp gaze sweeping across the students. One by one, they exchanged nervous glances, avoiding eye contact. The tension in the air was thick. 

After a long silence, Mr. Thanom sighs and crosses his arms. 

"If none of you can answer, then there's no point in wasting time. Get out," he says firmly. 

The students hesitate for a moment before realizing he's serious. Then, as if a switch has flipped, excitement ripples through the room. 

"For real?" one student whispers. 

"We're free?"another mutters, barely containing their grin. 

The next moment, chairs screech against the floor as students scramble for their bags. Laughter and whispers fill the room as they practically run toward the door, exchanging looks of relief and amusement. 

"Man, I love this class now," one chuckles as they step outside. 

As the last student exits, the noise dies down, and silence settles over the room once again. 

Only one student remains—Phakit. 

He sits calmly in his chair, his posture straight, eyes fixed on Mr. Thanom. The teacher raises an eyebrow and smirks slightly. 

The classroom is eerily quiet now, a stark contrast to the excited rush of students who had just left. The door, left slightly ajar, allows faint echoes of their laughter from the hallway to filter in. But inside, it's just Phakit and Mr. Thanom, a lone student facing his sharp-eyed teacher. 

Mr. Thanom slowly walks to his desk, tapping a pen against his palm as he watches Phakit with curiosity. 

Mr. Thanom raising an eyebrow, "So, Phakit. Are you staying because you know the answer or because you have nowhere better to be?" 

Phakit leaning back slightly, a small smirk forming, "A bit of both." 

Mr. Thanom lets out a low chuckle and gestures toward the board where the question remains, untouched. 

"Alright then. Enlighten me." 

Phakit sits up straighter, his eyes scanning the board for a brief moment before locking onto Mr. Thanom's expectant gaze. 

"The answer is actually simpler than it seems. The mistake everyone made was overcomplicating it." Phakit replies calmly.

Mr. Thanom tilts his head slightly, intrigued. 

"Go on." He urges him. 

Phakit stands up and walks toward the board, picking up a piece of chalk. His movements are precise, confident—not hesitant like the students before him. 

"The key is in how the problem is structured. If you break it down step by step, it becomes clear that—" Phakit replies, writing as he explains .

He quickly scribbles out the solution, a mix of symbols, diagrams, and key points. Mr. Thanom watches closely, his expression unreadable, but his eyes keen. 

After a moment, Phakit steps back, placing the chalk down carefully. 

"And that's the answer." 

Silence. 

Mr. Thanom studies the board, his fingers resting on his chin. Then, a small, satisfied smile appears. 

"Hmph. Not bad, Phakit. Not bad at all." 

Phakit shrugs, returning to his seat. 

"So, do I get to leave now too?" 

Mr. Thanom chuckles, shaking his head. 

No, you stay. You actually earned the right to be here."

Phakit smirks, but he doesn't argue. The challenge was worth it. 

The contrast between the tense silence of the classroom and the lively chaos outside is almost comical. As Phakit steps out, he's immediately met with the warm glow of the afternoon sun and the distant chatter of students who were more than happy to be dismissed early. 

To his left, a group of boys is in the middle of an intense game of football. Shoes skid against the pavement, a ball soars through the air, and shouts of "Pass! Pass!" and "Shoot!" echo across the courtyard. One boy barely dodges a rough tackle, laughing as he dribbles past his opponent. 

Further ahead, in front of the school building, Noon and her friends are filming TikToks, giggling as they try to perfect their dance moves. Their phones are propped up on water bottles, capturing the energy of their synchronized steps. 

"Okay, okay! One more time! We almost had it!" Says Noon grinning.

"Girl, my arms are not moving like yours!" Replies her friend laughing.

They burst into laughter, trying to imitate Noon's fluid dance moves but failing miserably. The music plays from a phone speaker, blending into the overall hum of activity. 

Another friend clapping, adds, "Noon, teach me that body roll again! I swear I look like a broken robot!" 

As Phakit walks past, Noon spots him and nudges her friend. 

"Look who finally made it out!" Noon exclaims smirking. 

Her friends turn to see Phakit, some raising their eyebrows in amusement. 

"Dang, Phakit, did you survive or did Mr. Thanom give you a whole lecture?" Hee friends tease. 

Phakit just smirks, casually slipping his hands into his pockets. 

"Nah, just gave him the right answer. Someone had to." Phakit replies.

Noon dramatically gasps, placing a hand over her chest. 

"Ohhh, the genius speaks!" 

Her friends giggle, while Phakit just shakes his head with a small chuckle. Before he can respond, the football suddenly comes rolling toward them, stopping right at his feet. One of the boys playing—Wit—calls out. 

"Hey, Phakit! Kick it over!" 

Phakit considers for a second, then lightly kicks the ball back with ease. The boys cheer as they resume their game, and Noon crosses her arms. 

"Since when do you know how to kick a ball? Thought you only kicked people out of class by making them look dumb."Noon teases.

"Multitalented, what can I say?" Phakit grins.

The group laughs, and as Noon's phone starts playing the song again, she turns back to her friends. 

"Alright, last take! And Phakit, don't just stand there—hype us up or something!" Noon says.

Phakit smirks but leans casually against a pillar, watching as they restart their dance. The sun sets slowly, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks, while students continue their carefree fun. For a moment, everything feels light and simple—just another day at school, just another memory in the making.

The school courtyard is buzzing with students. Groups of friends chat over snacks, some are filming TikToks, and others are just enjoying their break. Noon is sitting at a bench with her friends, sipping a juice box when a younger student hesitantly approaches her, holding a small envelope. 

"Uh… Noon?" Says the younger student nervously.

"Yeah? What's up?" Replies Noon raising an eyebrow. 

"Someone asked me to give this to you…" the younger student replies holding out the envelope.

Noon's friends immediately gasp and lean in.

"Oooooh! A love letter?" One of her friends asks excitedly 

"Noon, you got a secret admirer!" The second friend teases. 

Noon takes the letter, amused but curious. She opens it and reads the neatly written words.

"Meet me behind the classroom. I have something to tell you."

"You have to go! What if it's a confession?" Her third friend inquiries grinning. 

"What if it's a prank?" Noon laughs .

"Only one way to find out!" The first friend nudges her.

Noon exhales dramatically but stands up, tucking the letter into her pocket.

"Fine, fine. But if it's someone messing with me, I'm coming right back here to expose them." She replies.

"Deal! Now go, lovebird!" Replies her second friend.

That evening, while waiting for their next tutoring session, the classroom was unusually loud. Students chattered, laughed, and even played a game of eraser-flicking. 

Then, someone yelled, "Shh! Mr. Arun is coming!" 

Instantly, the noise vanished. 

The only sound left was the faint rustling of paper and a few coughs. 

Curious, Mr. Arun—who had approached from behind—peered through the back window to catch the noise-makers. 

That was his first mistake. 

Because at that exact moment— 

The window swung open. 

A hand appeared, holding a bottle. 

And before anyone could react— 

WHOOSH! 

Water came flying out in a dramatic arc. 

Then—SLAM! 

The window closed. 

Silence. 

The entire class stared, horrified. 

Mr. Arun stood frozen, soaked from head to toe. Water dripped from his glasses. His shirt was plastered to his chest. A single droplet ran down his nose. 

No one. Moved. 

Then, someone snorted. 

That was all it took. 

The entire room erupted in laughter. 

Kamon nearly fell off her chair, wheezing. Even the class president was covering her face, shaking with suppressed giggles. 

Mr. Arun took a deep breath. "Who…did that?" 

No one spoke. 

His eye twitched. "Fine. You all have extra homework." 

The laughter stopped immediately. 

Later that night, Kamon sat at her desk, staring at the enormous pile of homework. 

She groaned. "I can't do this." 

Math had never been her strong suit, and Mr. Arun terrified her. He was strict, sarcastic, and clearly had zero patience for students like her. 

For a brief moment, she considered skipping his class tomorrow. 

"What's the worst that could happen?" she muttered. "It's not like I'm actually learning anything anyway…" 

But then she thought about something else. 

Earlier that day, after class, she had overheard Mr. Arun talking to another teacher. 

"They're not bad kids," he had said, sounding unusually thoughtful. "They just need to stop treating math like a monster."

Kamon sighed. Maybe he wasn't pure evil. 

Maybe… just maybe… she should at least try. 

The next morning, Kamon walked into class on time. 

Mr. Arun glanced at her. "Didn't expect to see you here." 

She sat down. "Neither did I." 

The lesson began, and for once, Kamon actually tried to pay attention. She even raised her hand once—to which Mr. Arun looked both shocked and mildly impressed. 

Then, just before class ended, something unbelievable happened. 

Mr. Arun walked up to Kamon's desk, tapped her notebook, and said, "Good effort today." 

Kamon blinked. "What?" 

"Don't make me say it twice." 

She felt like she had won a Nobel Prize. 

As he walked away, Kamon turned to June. "Did… did he just compliment me?" 

June grinned. "Looks like Rope Runner has a new title—Math Survivor!" 

Kamon groaned. "I take it back. I'm skipping class tomorrow."