You know one of those terrifying weeping angel statues from the old British movies?
The ones that snap your neck if you do so much as look away for a second? Yeah, that's what exactly what this felt like. And I'm not one of those idiots in horror movies who doesn't believe in the supernatural until it's too late. I believe in everything, especially when it involves staying alive.
And this situation? Definitely fell under the category of "potential life-threatening encounter".
So, I kept my eyes locked on hers, just like you're supposed to do with a wild animal. Or an ex. Or a wild ex. The tension as thick enough to cut with a knife as we stared at each other, trapped in a weird silent standoff. We literally were having a telepathic staring contest.
Eventually, she even managed to calm her down her breathing. On the other hand, I was still trying to decipher her intentions. Was she plotting something? Or, was this Naokawa after some kind of battle royale during lunch break? And if she did come from a fight, am I supposed to help her? How was I supposed to do that without getting involved in whatever mafia dramas she was clearly bringing into the classroom?
No, no. I have to be smart about this. She hadn't said a word since bursting through that door, and hadn't even moved. What did that mean? Was she testing me?
I had no idea. The best move in a situation like this was to keep it simple. Use actions, and not words. Words wouldn't do much here, since she wasn't giving me any to work with.
I stood up from my chair and approached the target slowly. You know, the way you'd approach a feral cat that's either going to let you pet it or maul your face off without remorse. Calm, measured steps. Nothing sudden. Keep the hands visible, and I'm fine.
Although I half-expected her to break out some sort of complex martial arts move on me—kung fu, judo, or maybe even some ancient forbidden technique involving pressure points and a lot of pain. But nope. She just stood there, breathing steadily, uniform all disheveled, staring at me like I was the one who slid the door open uninvited.
I stopped just short of her and decided to take a chance.
"What are you doing here? Do you need anything?" I asked.
Silence. Of course, it was silence out of anything else. The same eerie quiet we had been in for what felt like an eternity. Well, there goes my safe gamble. I had to try, still. Time for Plan B.
I slowly raised my hand, keeping them in her line of sight, and reached for her shoulders. To my surprise, she didn't flinch. She actually let me make contact.
Good. I could definitely work with that. I gently pushed her away from the doorframe, inch by inch, expecting her to snap out and go full ninja. But, she didn't. Now the final step of this mission: close the door.
I slid it shut slowly as I could, never breaking the intense eye contact. Her gaze was still locked onto mine, as if trying to communicate some deep, existential truth through sheer willpower. Sorry, but I do not have such abilities in my arsenal. What was she doing here, anyway? Maybe she was mentally out of it, lost in some kind of daze and trance. Could it be maybe something like autism?
I sighed. Whatever it was, the immediate problem seemed to be solved. Potential threat neutralized. I think. Just as I thought the situation was neatly tied up, it unraveled faster than a cat playing with a ball of yarn.
I barely had a moment to overglaze in my small victory when I heard a loud crash behind me, the door falling, slamming down hard. And by some unfortunate fate, or luck, that door decided to take me down with it, pinning me down flat on my face against the floor. I was splattered out, hands splayed like some crime scene outline. Wondering if this was my karmic payback for all of my sarcastic comments.
Wait, hold on. Did she just kick the door down on me? Seriously? I knew it! A feral cat's always a feral cat, no matter how gently you try to pet it. Here I was, thinking I'd diffused the situation like a pro negotiator, and now I was face down, practically hugging the floor.
And then—oh joy—I felt another weight press down on me. Argh! It hurts! Is she actually standing on top of me right now? Fantastic. All you people who are going to laugh at this story in the future, can all go straight to hell.
I mustered every ounce of strength I had left, which was not much given the circumstances, managing to shove the door off me with a satisfying, if somewhat dramatic, thud. The only thing that filled the atmosphere after that was silence. I didn't hear a peep from her.
I turned around, fully expecting to see a ghost standing where the door had been, haunting me for my sins or something equally bad. But no, she was still there, standing over the door like someone who had slain a mighty beast. Or in this case, a guy with a bruised ego.
"Scatter already! What are you even doing?" I shouted.
What the hell kind of weird interaction is this? Who is she? Is she even a student? Or did I just mess with some interdimensional being that took offense to my existence? Note to self: don't mess with mysterious girls who kick down doors without breaking a sweat.
She looked at me with that face. You know the one—the "I pity your pathetic attempts" face. That expression that says "I could crush your soul with a glance, but I'll let you live without your emotions." Seriously, what's her deal?