Assassinating The Remaining Distance

Nagisa Shiota had long ago accepted that his physical stature would always be a point of contention for those who didn't know him. In the world of education, where authority was often equated with volume and height, he was an anomaly. He stood at the front of his classroom, a stack of graded essays in his hand, looking more like a stray college student who had wandered into the wrong building than a man who had once stared down professional assassins.

"Midget-sensei," one of his students, a boy named Takumi who possessed a surplus of bravado and a deficit of study habits, said while leaning back in his chair. "Are you sure you're strong enough to teach us?"

The classroom, usually a low hum of whispers and shuffling paper, went deathly quiet. Thirty pairs of eyes shifted from the boy to the small man at the chalkboard.

Nagisa didn't flinch. He didn't even stop organizing his papers. He simply looked up, his blue eyes clear and deceptively soft. He smiled—a small, polite expression that didn't quite reach the predatory stillness in his posture.

"Strong enough for what, Takumi-kun?" Nagisa asked, his voice melodic and calm.

The student hesitated, his chair creaking as he wobbled on two legs. A few of his classmates snickered, emboldened by the lack of a shout. "You know. To control us. You're... well, you're tiny. I bet I could take you in a wrestling match."

Nagisa tilted his head, a gesture that was almost bird-like. "I see." He placed his pen down with a soft clack that seemed to echo louder than it should have. "Control is an interesting word. I prefer to think of it as guidance. But if you feel that my physical size dictates the quality of your education, then I suppose we'll find out during the physical education block this afternoon."

Takumi swallowed. There was something about the way Nagisa was looking at him—not with anger, but with the clinical observation of a scientist looking at a specimen—that made the boy’s bravado evaporate.

Nagisa smiled a little wider. It was almost unfair. He knew he wasn't intimidating in the traditional sense. He had a soft voice, an approachable face, and a habit of explaining things patiently. But he’d learned a long time ago in a classroom on a mountain that patience and weakness were two very different things.

By the time the final bell rang, Takumi had been "tamed" without Nagisa ever having to raise his hand or his voice. He had simply stood a little too close, moved a little too silently, and corrected the boy’s form during drills with a precision that hinted at a terrifying depth of knowledge.

"I've finally tamed them," Nagisa remarked later that afternoon, stepping into the faculty lounge.

His colleague, Sato-sensei, nearly choked on her tea. "Nagisa-kun... you can't say it like that."

"Why?" Nagisa asked, genuinely curious as he began to pack his bag.

"Y-you make it sound like they were animals! Or wild beasts!"

Nagisa thought about the way Takumi had scrambled to finish his kanji practice after a single, pointed look. "Maybe they are, in a way. Adolescence is a very primal time." He offered a gentle smile and headed for the door. "Have a good evening, Sato-sensei."

Ordinary life suited him. He walked toward the train station, enjoying the way the sunset painted the sky in shades of bruised purple and orange. There were no secret missions today. No impossible teachers. Just the quiet satisfaction of a job well done.

Yet, as he reached his small apartment and began to prepare a simple meal of ginger pork, the silence felt a little heavier than usual. He was in his late twenties now. He had a career he loved. He had his peace. But as he set a single plate on his table, he felt the familiar, dull ache of a missing piece.

"I'd like a family," he had told Sato-sensei once when she asked about his future. "To a person with burdens I can help with. I want to see if my heart can open up for someone."

He had dated, of course. There had been a kind accountant, a fellow teacher, and a brief, disastrous stint with a man who thought Nagisa’s gentleness meant he needed "protecting." None of them had clicked. He wasn't looking for a protector, nor was he looking for a subordinate. He was looking for a partner—someone who could see the serpent behind the smile and love both.

He sighed, picking up his phone as it buzzed.

It was the Class 3-E group chat. It was an explosion of activity.

Reunion☆☆☆

Nagisa scrolled through the messages. Terasaka was already arguing with Hazama about the menu. Isogai was trying to coordinate a date that worked for everyone. And then, he saw the name.

Karma.

Nagisa’s fingers hovered over the screen. His heart gave a strange, fluttering skip that he couldn't quite explain away as simple nostalgia. He hadn't seen Karma in five years. Their last meeting had been a brief fishing trip—a quiet, comfortable afternoon where they had talked about everything and nothing. Since then, it had been likes on social media and the occasional "Happy Birthday" text.

He looked at Karma’s icon: a cartoon bottle of strawberry milk. It was so quintessentially him—a playful jab at his own childhood preferences, maintained even as he climbed the cutthroat ladder of national politics.

Nagisa typed a response before he could overthink it.

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

---

Across the city, in a high-rise office that overlooked the glittering veins of Tokyo’s traffic, Karma Akabane was being told he had twelve minutes to eat.

"Twelve, huh?" Karma said, leaning back in his expensive leather chair. He was dressed in a charcoal suit that cost more than Nagisa’s monthly salary, his red hair styled with just enough calculated messiness to look "approachable" to voters.

"Thirteen, if Yamabuki-san runs late," his assistant, a harried woman named Miki, replied. "You know how these things are."

"I do. It's quite alright, though." Karma picked up his chopsticks, staring at the high-end bento on his desk.

He was a long way from the mountain. At twenty-eight, he stood at a commanding 6'4", a height he used to full advantage when intimidating political rivals. He had become a man of influence, a strategist who played the long game. The delinquent who had once suspended himself from a tree to shoot a yellow octopus was now a man who drafted policy.

But beneath the sharp suits and the polished rhetoric, the core of him remained unchanged. He was still arrogant. He was still bored by most people. And he was still, quite hopelessly, focused on a single person who hadn't been in his life properly for years.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the Class 3-E chat, which he usually kept on mute.

Nagisa: I'll be there!

Karma froze. A piece of wagyu beef slid from his chopsticks back into the container. He stared at the screen, his eyes widening. He had been waiting for that specific notification for five years, though he would never admit it to a soul.

"How do a bunch of letters manage to look so cute...?" he muttered under his breath, a slow, predatory, yet genuinely fond smile spreading across his face.

"Akabane-san?" Miki asked, standing by the door. "Ready for the briefing?"

Karma locked his phone and stood up, smoothing the front of his jacket. He felt a surge of adrenaline that had nothing to do with tax reform or district polling.

"Yeah," he said, his voice dropping into a lower, more dangerous register. "I am now."

---

The night of the reunion arrived with a sudden downpour, but it did nothing to dampen the atmosphere inside the private dining room of a high-end izakaya in Shibuya. The room was a cacophony of voices—grown-up versions of the voices that had once shouted battle cries in the woods.

Nagisa arrived early, wearing a simple cream-colored sweater and dark trousers. He spent the first hour being hugged by Kayano, patted on the back by Sugino, and marveling at how much everyone had grown.

"You haven't changed at all, Nagisa!" Maehara laughed, slinging an arm around him. "Still the same baby face. You sure you're not undercover at that school?"

"I assure you, I'm a fully licensed teacher," Nagisa said, laughing.

"He's a 'tamer,' actually," a voice drawled from the doorway.

The room didn't go silent, but a significant portion of it turned. Karma Akabane stood there, dripping slightly from the rain, holding a damp umbrella like it was a scepter. He looked terrifyingly handsome, his sharp features accentuated by the dim lighting of the restaurant.

His eyes scanned the room, ignoring the greetings from the others until they landed squarely on Nagisa.

"Karma-kun," Nagisa said, his voice steady despite the way his pulse had suddenly decided to double its tempo.

Karma walked over, his stride long and confident. He stopped just inches from Nagisa, looming over him in a way that would have intimidated anyone else. He looked Nagisa up and down, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Still tiny," Karma noted. "But you've grown a bit of a spine, haven't you? I saw that message about the late assignments. Very authoritative."

"I learned from the best," Nagisa replied, tilting his head back to meet Karma’s gaze. "Though I don't remember Koro-sensei ever being quite as arrogant as you."

"That's because he wasn't a genius politician," Karma quipped. He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before he ruffled Nagisa’s hair—a gesture of familiarity that sent a jolt of electricity through Nagisa’s nerves. "It's been a while, Nagisa."

"It has."

The night progressed in a blur of shared plates and old stories. Karma, as usual, took center stage, regaling the group with tales of political blunders he’d witnessed, but Nagisa noticed that Karma’s chair seemed to migrate closer to his as the hours passed.

Eventually, the group began to thin out. Terasaka and his gang headed to a second bar, and the others drifted toward the station. Nagisa found himself standing outside under the eaves of the restaurant, watching the rain turn into a light mist.

"You're thinking again," Karma said, appearing at his side. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were lean and corded with muscle.

"Is it that obvious?" Nagisa asked.

"To me? Always." Karma leaned against the brick wall, looking out at the neon lights reflecting in the puddles. "So. The 'tamer' wants a family. I heard you talking to Yada earlier."

Nagisa felt a flush creep up his neck. "I didn't think you were listening."

"I'm always listening when you're talking, Nagisa. It’s a habit." Karma turned his head, his expression losing its playful edge. "A family, huh? That's a very 'ordinary' dream for someone who once jumped off a cliff with a knife."

"Maybe that's why I want it," Nagisa said softly. "I've had enough excitement for ten lifetimes, Karma. I want someone to come home to. Someone whose burdens I can help carry. Someone who... well, someone who knows who I really am."

Karma was silent for a long moment. The teasing remark Nagisa expected didn't come. Instead, Karma reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped chocolate—a habit he’d picked up to replace his constant snacking on spicy chips.

"You know," Karma said, his voice unusually low, "I've spent the last few years realizing that 'ordinary' is actually the hardest thing to achieve. Especially for people like us."

Nagisa looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. "Karma-kun?"

Karma turned fully toward him, closing the distance between them. In the quiet of the alleyway, the height difference felt less like a gap and more like a protective shadow.

"I've been waiting," Karma admitted, the words sounding like they were being pulled out of him against his will. "I stayed away because I wanted you to have your 'ordinary' life. I didn't want to be the ghost of Class 3-E haunting your new career. But then I saw you tonight, and I realized..."

He trailed off, his hand coming up to rest on the wall next to Nagisa’s head.

"Realized what?" Nagisa whispered.

"That I'm incredibly selfish," Karma said with a sudden, sharp grin that was pure Akabane. "I don't want you to have an ordinary family with some ordinary person, Nagisa. I want you to have a complicated, annoying, high-stakes life with me."

Nagisa blinked, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at Karma—really looked at him. He saw the loyalty, the hidden kindness, the intelligence, and the shared history that bound them together tighter than any red string of fate. He saw a man who had burdens heavy enough to crush anyone else, but who carried them with a smirk.

He saw the person he had been waiting for.

Nagisa reached out, his small hand settling over Karma’s heart. He could feel it thudding—fast, just like his own.

"You're not a ghost, Karma," Nagisa said, his voice firming with the quiet confidence he used in his classroom. "You're the only person who ever saw the serpent and wasn't afraid of the bite."

Karma’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching. "Is that a yes? Because I have a five-year plan for this, Nagisa. I don't do things halfway."

Nagisa laughed, a bright, clear sound that cut through the damp night air. He stood on his tiptoes, closing the final few inches of the gap between them.

"I think," Nagisa whispered against Karma’s lips, "that I can handle a five-year plan. As long as I'm the one taming you."

Karma let out a rough, startled laugh before he leaned down, sealing the promise. It wasn't an ordinary kiss, and it wasn't a quiet start to a family. It was a collision of two people who had survived the impossible and found that the most extraordinary thing of all was simply being together.

As they eventually pulled apart, Karma kept his arms looped loosely around Nagisa’s waist, refusing to let the distance return.

"You realize Terasaka is going to lose his mind when he finds out," Karma said, his smugness returning in full force.

Nagisa smiled, leaning his head against Karma’s chest, listening to the steady beat of a heart that was finally, truly home.

"Let him," Nagisa said. "I've already got my lesson plan ready for him."