Assassinating The Remaining Distance

Nagisa Shiota had gotten used to being underestimated. It happened often enough that he barely noticed anymore. The first time a new student looked at him and asked if he was really their teacher, Nagisa had smiled and introduced himself again. The second time, he had laughed. By the third time, he’d started keeping count.

“Midget-sensei,” one of his students said, leaning back in his chair with all the confidence of someone who had not yet learned to fear consequences, “are you sure you're strong enough to teach us?”

The classroom went quiet. It was a humid afternoon, the kind that made teenagers restless and irritable. Nagisa looked up from the stack of papers in front of him. He didn’t look angry; he didn’t even look annoyed. He simply looked curious.

He smiled. “Strong enough for what?”

The student hesitated. A few of his classmates snickered, emboldened by the lack of a reprimand. “You know. To control us. You look like you’d blow away if someone opened a window too fast.”

Nagisa tilted his head, his blue eyes reflecting a depth that the boy couldn't possibly fathom. “I see.” He placed his pen down with a soft click. “Then I suppose we'll find out.”

The student swallowed hard. There was something in Nagisa’s gaze—a stillness, a lack of fear—that suddenly made the boy feel very small. It wasn't an aggressive feeling, but rather the sensation of being watched by a predator that had already decided you weren't worth the effort of a strike.

Nagisa smiled a little wider. It was almost unfair. He wasn't intimidating in the traditional sense. He was still shorter than most of his students and nearly everyone he knew. He had a soft, high voice, an approachable face, and a habit of explaining things patiently instead of raising his voice. But he'd learned a long time ago that patience and weakness were two very different things.

By the end of the semester, the students who had once called him small were among the easiest to handle. Nagisa privately called it taming. He wasn't sure his coworkers appreciated the terminology.

“I've finally tamed them,” he'd said one afternoon in the faculty lounge.

His colleague, a woman who taught mathematics, had stared at him, her tea halfway to her mouth. “...You can't say it like that, Shiota-kun.”

“Why?” Nagisa asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Y-you make it sound like they were animals!”

Nagisa had thought about it for a moment, his mind flickering back to a yellow, tentacled creature who had taught him the exact same art. “Maybe...” Then he'd smiled and returned to grading, leaving his colleague shivering slightly without knowing why.

Teaching suited him. That was something he had never expected to say with such certainty during his days in the E-Class. His life was quieter now. There were no assassination attempts waiting around the corner. No secret missions involving government agencies. No impossible teachers smiling cheerfully while the entire class plotted his murder. Just lesson plans, homework, parent meetings, and students who needed help—even the ones who pretended they didn't need help from a "preschooler."

And the occasional headache. It was ordinary. Nagisa liked ordinary.

After everything that had happened in Class 3-E, he had developed an appreciation for things that most people took for granted. A quiet morning, a warm meal, a familiar routine. And, well... someone to come home to.

That last one had become increasingly difficult to ignore. Nagisa wasn't embarrassed by it. When one of his coworkers eventually asked him whether he wanted to get married someday, he had answered without hesitation.

“Yeah... I do. To a person with burdens I can help with.”

The answer had been so immediate that she blinked. “Really? Nagisa-kun has some very simple wishes.”

Nagisa smiled. “I'd like a family.”

“A family?”

“Someday.” He looked down at his coffee, the steam curling around his face. “I think it'd be nice... I want to see if my heart can open up for someone.” His smile was gentle, almost boyishly simple. “I'd like to make someone happy. And I'd like their love in return.”

There was nothing particularly complicated about the dream. A husband? Upon realizing his own inclinations years ago, he had accepted that truth with the same quiet grace he applied to everything else. He wanted a home, perhaps children, and someone who would be happy to see him at the end of the day. Someone he could make feel loved. His coworker ended up wishing him the world under her breath, moved by the sincerity in his voice.

He'd tried dating some men a few times. There had been pleasant conversations, awkward dinners, and people he genuinely liked. Nothing was wrong with any of them. Still, each time, something inside him had quietly whispered that he wasn't quite there yet. It simply felt as though he were waiting. For what, exactly, he didn't know. So he stopped looking so hard. Maybe eventually, he'd understand.

---

Across the city, in a sleek high-rise building that smelled of expensive floor wax and ambition, Karma Akabane was being told he had twelve minutes to eat lunch.

He stared at the digital schedule on his assistant’s tablet. “Twelve, huh... Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?”

“Thirteen, if Yamabuki-san runs late,” his assistant replied, adjusting her glasses. She was one of the few people who didn't flinch when Karma gave her his "predatory" look. “You know how these things are, Akabane-san. The budget committee waits for no one.”

Karma looked up, a sharp, playful glint in his mercury-colored eyes. “I do... it's quite alright, though.”

He picked up the bento container in front of him. Twelve minutes... he could work with twelve minutes. He had become very good at working with very little time.

His life had changed dramatically over the years. The boy who had once lost all faith in teachers who pretended to care had been humbled and honed into a remarkable politician. Karma preferred it that way. He had left the delinquent version of himself behind—mostly. The name was still there in old records and photographs, but it belonged to a version of himself that was all sharp edges and no direction.

Standing at a very impressive 6'4", Karma Akabane was a formidable presence in any room. He was a work in progress, but the progress was undeniably impressive.

His schedule, however, was less amusing. There were always scripts for speeches, endless meetings, and someone always waiting for him to finish one thing so they could start another. He didn't resent it; he loved the game of it all. He loved the maneuvering, the strategy, the thrill of winning a difficult debate.

He simply had less room for everything else. Things that didn't matter could wait. People who weren't important could wait. And there was one person he'd been waiting for himself.

Nagisa.

The thought appeared so naturally that Karma barely noticed it anymore. It was a constant hum in the back of his mind, like a favorite song he hadn't heard in years but still knew every lyric to.

He had known where Nagisa was for years. He knew he had become a teacher. He'd heard little pieces of his life through their old classmates. Sometimes he saw Nagisa’s name in the group chat. Sometimes someone mentioned him. Sometimes, very rarely, he would hear his voice on a call. But he never interfered.

Just a very fun, very brief fishing session seven years after the Class 3-E building was put to rest. That'd been five years ago now.

Nagisa had found something he cared about. Karma knew what that meant. Nagisa deserved the chance to build his own life without someone from his past suddenly appearing and demanding a place in it. Especially someone as loud and disruptive as Karma. So Karma stayed away. Mostly.

He still wondered, though.

Whenever he happened to be near the outskirts of the city where Nagisa taught. Whenever he passed a school and saw a flash of blue hair. Whenever someone mentioned a teacher who was surprisingly good at handling difficult kids. Whenever he heard a familiar, airy laugh somewhere in a crowded train station. He wondered whether he'd recognize him immediately.

Years could change a person's face, though that wasn't applicable to the still baby-faced Nagisa. Their voice was harder to forget. And Karma had never forgotten his. He had loved him for longer than he'd ever admitted aloud. That realization no longer embarrassed him. It simply existed, like something he had carried into adulthood without meaning to, a precious heirloom tucked away in a velvet-lined box.

Maybe someday they'd meet again, maybe they wouldn't. He had accepted that. At least, that's what he told himself when he was too busy to think.

“Akabane-san?”

He looked up. His assistant was watching him, her brow furrowed. “You stopped eating.”

Karma glanced down. He had, indeed. He was holding a piece of tamagoyaki halfway to his mouth. He popped it in and chewed, his mind still miles away. “You seem to care a lot, don't you?”

“Thinking about something?” she asked, ignoring his deflection.

Karma smiled. That timeless, sly smile that lidded his eyes and made people wonder what he was plotting. “Nothing important.”

It was a lie. He knew it. She probably did too.

---

That evening, Nagisa's phone buzzed while he was making dinner. He was chopping green onions for a simple miso soup, the rhythmic thwack of the knife against the wood the only sound in his quiet apartment. He wiped his hands on his apron and reached for the device.

It was a notification from the Class 3-E group chat. He opened it.

[Reunion☆☆☆]

Isogai had finally decided that enough years had passed. The chat was already exploding with dozens of messages. Suggestions for venues, arguments over the date, and Terasaka complaining about the restaurant choice while Hara insisted the food there was legendary. Yada was currently campaigning to invite everyone except Okajima, which prompted a flurry of laughing emojis.

Nagisa smiled. He leaned against his kitchen counter, scrolling through the conversation. Names he hadn't seen in years appeared one after another. Kayano was busy with a film shoot but promised to make it. Sugino was in the middle of the baseball season but had a clear weekend.

Old memories resurfaced with surprising ease. He wondered how much they had all changed. He wondered if they would still see the "assassin" in each other, or if they had all truly become the people Koro-sensei hoped they would be.

Then he saw a name: Karma.

Nagisa stopped scrolling. For several seconds, he simply looked at the name. He couldn't remember the last time they'd properly spoken—really spoken, without the buffer of other people or the weight of the past. Karma’s icon was still a cartoon strawberry milk carton. It was such a ridiculous contrast to the high-powered politician Nagisa saw occasionally on the news.

He frowned slightly. It wasn't because they'd had some falling out. Life had simply happened. One year became two. Two became three. The distance between them had grown not out of malice, but out of the sheer momentum of their separate lives.

Nagisa stared at the invitation. Then, without really thinking about why, he typed:

"I'll be there. Hopefully, I won't be distracted by late assignments. Hello, everyone! ♡"

He sent it and went back to his soup, but his heart was beating just a little faster than it had been a moment ago.

---

Across the city, Karma's phone buzzed while he was waiting for his next briefing. He was sitting in a leather chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles, looking every bit the composed public servant. He glanced down. The reunion message was still open on his screen.

He had been staring at the list of "Attending" names for nearly a minute. Then another notification appeared. A new message in the group chat.

Nagisa: I'll be there!

Karma's eyes widened. For a moment, the polished walls of the office faded away. He forgot about the budget committee, the upcoming election, and the twelve-minute lunch breaks. He stared at those words, and he could almost hear Nagisa’s voice saying them—soft, steady, and full of that hidden strength.

Very slowly, a genuine smile spread across Karma’s face. It wasn't his "politician" smile, nor was it his "delinquent" smirk. It was something older. Something warmer.

“Akabane-san?”

He looked up. His assistant was standing by the door, holding a stack of files. “Ready? The committee is assembled.”

Karma locked his phone and slid it into his pocket. He stood up, smoothing out his suit jacket, his 6'4" frame casting a long shadow across the room. His smile remained, sparking with a renewed sense of mischief.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, confident hum. “I am now.”

As he walked toward the conference room, Karma wasn't thinking about policy or power. He was thinking about a blue-haired teacher who had once pinned him to the ground with a smile. He was thinking about how much he wanted to see if Nagisa still had that look in his eyes.

The reunion was three weeks away. For the first time in years, Karma Akabane found himself wishing he could skip ahead to the end of the script.

Nagisa, meanwhile, finished his soup and sat down at his small dining table. He looked at the empty chair across from him and felt a strange, fluttering sensation in his chest. He had told his coworker he wanted a family—someone whose burdens he could help carry.

He didn't know why, but as he looked at the moon through his window, he found himself wondering if Karma still liked strawberry milk. And he wondered, quite suddenly, if Karma had any burdens that needed sharing.