Teacherの短編小説 & 小説

My online boyfriend is my university professor and the future werewolf king, Sarek. And me? I’m Mila—just a human hunter’s descendant scraping by in the cracks of an era where species coexist in uneasy peace. What he doesn’t know is that his online girlfriend, whom he wishes to tear apart a thousand times over, is sitting in the very last row of his classroom. The online relationship was never meant to be real. It started as revenge to get back at him for failing me. But who would’ve thought this werewolf was so starved for affection that he’d fall deeper and deeper in love? Again and again, he pushed to meet in person. However, if we ever really met face to face, I’d be torn apart and swallowed whole—bones and all. To save my life, I made a split-second decision and broke up with him. The result? The “abandoned” werewolf king lost his mind. Classes dragged on for three extra hours, and homework increased fivefold. For the sake of my classmates’ mental and physical health, getting back together… wasn’t entirely impossible. There was only one condition: he could never find out who I really am.

When Mom punishes me, her palms are sweaty. I know she's even more nervous than I am. She's scared that others will accuse her of favoring me. When the rest of my classmates perform poorly in class, all she does is tell them to review the lesson and do a few more exercises. But when I'm the one who does badly, she points at the field outside the window. Despite the burning midday heat of June, she commands, "Julia Swanson! You're going to stand out on the field and memorize all the words you messed up. You're not allowed to come back in until you know everything by heart!" Everyone in the classroom looks at me. One of my classmates mutters, "Ms. Campbell is being way too hard on her own daughter." Mom hears that comment, and her eyes flash with satisfaction. That's precisely what she wants everyone to see. No one will dare say she's biased toward me if she punishes me the most harshly out of all the students. "Why are you still here?" she barks at me. "Get out. You think you can get into a top college with grades like yours?" The classmate sitting next to me tugs on my sleeve and whispers, "Why don't you try asking her to go easier on you? It's blazing hot outside." I shake my head. The most futile thing I can ever do is ask Mom to go easier on me in school. She prides herself on her professionalism as a teacher. It's a matter of principle to her. But she has forgotten that it's over 104 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Not wanting to disappoint her, I stand out in the sun. The blazing hot air dries up my sweat—and my tears. Eventually, my vision goes blurry. The world seems to spin around me… As I collapse onto the ground, I hear Mom tell her colleague, "I'll just get a popsicle as a gesture and bring that stubborn daughter of mine back inside later." She has no idea that I won't be able to accept her olive branch anymore.

Because I have a baby face, people often mistake me for a student. On the first day of the new semester, I have barely stepped onto campus when a well-dressed young man stops me. I look down and realize we're wearing the same outfit. The freshmen around us stop and start whispering. "Isn't that Harvey Jetson?" "I heard he's a freshman in the School of Finance this year. The Jetson family donated 30 million dollars to the school. Even the board of directors personally welcomed him." "How dare a nobody wear the same shirt as Mr. Jetson? They must be asking for trouble." I don't pay any attention to their comments. After all, the Jetson family hardly qualifies as an influential or powerful family in my eyes. When I don't move aside, Harvey takes off his sunglasses and looks me up and down. He sneers, "How could you wear the same outfit as me? Take it off!" I glance at the time. There are still 40 minutes until the new president's inauguration ceremony. "Sorry, I'm in a hurry."

"Stuff some more trash in there. Trash deserves a trash can for a locker." At noon I went to the locker room to change my shoes. I had just come through the door when I saw Venetia and a few other rich girls throwing garbage into my locker. It was packed so full the door would not close. My coat and my shoes were in the actual garbage can. Venetia raised an eyebrow when she saw me come in. "Good. Now you've seen it. You aren't welcome at this school. Trash belongs where it belongs. "I'll give you one more week to leave on your own. Otherwise, I've got other ways to deal with you." I answered coldly, "You don't get to decide who stays at this school." Venetia gave a soft laugh and drew one immaculately manicured finger across my face. "You'll find out soon enough whether what I say counts. "My daddy is the largest shareholder in this school, and every family here donates to it regularly. "Getting you expelled takes one sentence. Understand? Don't test my patience." The girls behind her all wore the same sneer, and they shouldered me hard on their way out. I watched them go and laughed under my breath. Ignorance is a fine thing. They have no idea who I am. And they have no idea that, with a single word, I could not only throw every one of them out of school but also bankrupt the parents they are so proud of.

Right after I got pregnant by accident, all three of my friends-with-benefits coworkers dumped me. "You're just a girl from an ordinary family. My parents would never accept you. Stop clinging to me." "Babe, my first love is back in the country. I can't keep playing this game with you anymore. It's over." "Take your dirty money and get the hell out of my life!" I didn't tell any of them. I slipped away to Europe and had the baby in secret. But the moment I disappeared, all three of them lost it: [You heartless woman.] [Anna, pulling the vanishing act again? Playing hard to get much?] [Baby, forget about her. I don't want my childhood sweetheart anymore. Just come back, please?]

A rare chase figure popped out of my blind box and somehow bound itself to me through an empathy link. Two days later, the doll vanished. During class, I suddenly felt two warm hands stroking my neck. A shiver ran through me. Damn it! Whoever has my empathy doll is putting their hands all over it. Before I could react, those hands slid lower and squeezed my breasts. A rush of tingling pleasure flooded my body. I reached out to stop them without thinking. The sudden movement made the cold, serious young professor at the front of the room turn to look at me. With one hand in his pocket, he pointed at the formula on the board. "Dalia, come and solve it." I had barely taken two steps when a finger suddenly brushed against the sensitive slit between my legs. I wasn't used to being touched, so I couldn't take the sudden stimulation. My knees buckled, and a moan slipped out…

Two months before the SAT, Dom Platt, Director of Academic Affairs, called Monica Rae, the teacher in charge of Class Seven, and me into a meeting. “After discussing it, we’ve decided that this year’s Master Teacher promotion will go to one of you. We’ll base the decision on which class shows the greatest percentage improvement on the third SAT practice test.” I was already celebrating inside. Everyone in the senior year knew Class Seven was the weakest class. Most had given up on going to college. Half of them barely showed up to class, let alone paid attention. My students in Class One were another story. They studied on their own and were determined to push their scores higher before the SAT. That promotion had my name written all over it. However, on the very day the third practice test results were posted, the school announced without warning that Monica had been promoted to Master Teacher. I stared at the results sheet. Monica was listed as the teacher in charge of Class One. My name was beside Class Seven. It finally hit me. I had worked into the early hours night after night to raise Class One’s average score by two percent, only for Monica to take all the credit. So much for that supposedly fair decision. I walked into the academic office with a blank expression and slapped my resignation letter onto Dom’s desk. He stared at me in shock. “Have you lost your mind? The names on that results sheet are only temporary. If you quit, who’s going to get Class One ready for the SAT? Those kids have a real shot at Harrowgate or Kingsbridge!” I sneered. “I’m done with the dirty politics at this school. I quit.”

An hour before the SATs, our homeroom teacher suddenly had a medical emergency. Before he was rushed away, he handed the folder containing everyone's admission slips to Leo Jordan—the notorious, pretty-boy troublemaker at school. Thirty minutes before check-in closed, he still hadn't shown up. By then, the rest of us were standing outside the exam center, completely freaking out. Without that folder, none of us could get in. I rang his phone until he finally picked up. I begged him to hurry and bring the folder over. Everyone was still waiting for him outside the exam center, after all. He scoffed on the other end. "Just because you're at the top of the class doesn't mean you get to boss me around. I'm getting tattooed right now, and I'm not leaving until it's done." I nearly lost my mind. There was no time to argue. I grabbed a few guys from our class, and we ran nearly two miles to the tattoo store. By the time we got there, the artist was finally finishing the last bit of color on the huge dragon covering Leo's back. I thought, 'Thank God. We can finally grab the folder and go.' Just then, Leo stood up. He unbuckled his belt and yanked his pants down, revealing his hairy legs. "What's the rush?" he said. "We haven't even started on my legs yet." He turned back to the tattoo artist nonchalantly. "Okay, the dragon and tiger are done. The legs are next. Put Bugs Bunny on one leg and Lola Bunny on the other. They're my favorite couple."

During a public lecture on derivatives, I hurl my water bottle hard at the blackboard. Under the stunned gazes of the professor and my classmates, I stand up and say, "Seriously? Is there a need to explain a problem this simple? Move on to the next one. How did you bunch of idiots get into the accelerated program? How are you even worthy of sitting in the same classroom as me?" I turn my head and see my mother, who is standing outside the classroom to accompany me as I attend the lecture. She has a pleased and approving look on her face. A reporter sitting in the back quickly points the camera at me. I smile and call out toward the door, "Mom, I need to pee. Come take me to the restroom."

When I missed the passing grade by one point, my best friend dragged me to a bar. She said there was nothing a drink couldn't fix. I drank until I blacked out. When I woke up, a man lay beside me, all cool eyes and tightly leashed control. I left two hundred dollars on the nightstand and ran for my life. I thought I'd never see him again. Then, on the first day of the new semester, the class I'd failed had a new professor. I looked up at the podium. The man from that night stood at the lectern, opened the roster, and read my name in a cool, even voice. "Vivian Harper, come see me in my office tomorrow." The color drained from my face. Convinced he was here for payback, I stayed up all night writing a transfer application. The next day, I clutched my transfer application all the way to his office. Before I could work up the nerve to speak, he pulled out a sheet of paper and studied me with an unreadable expression. "I've read the assignment you turned in." "Care to explain why a positive pregnancy test was bound into your term paper?"

At one in the morning, I was alone in the research building, fighting for my life against my thesis. That was when I opened NearU and saw a viral anonymous post. My girlfriend loved the hair clip I bought her. The attached screenshot showed a girl’s side profile. It was blurred almost beyond recognition. But the blue enamel hair clip was clear. My hand went straight to my hair. Because that exact clip was holding my hair back. Two weeks ago, my anonymous boyfriend had helped me choose it. I had sent him that photo. And now his post showed he was only 300 feet away. I looked down the empty hallway. At this hour, only three places nearby still had lights on. My thesis adviser’s office. The graduate lounge. And the joint lab next door. Then my phone buzzed. Baby? Why did you go quiet? I stared at the message. For three months, I had been flirting with a man whose name I didn’t know and whose face I had never seen. Now he was somewhere in this building. Maybe behind one of those doors. Maybe watching the same hallway. Maybe close enough to hear me breathe. Then I saw the light under Dr. Ford’s office door. My stomach dropped. Because there was one thing worse than falling for a stranger online. Finding out he might be the professor who had just covered my thesis in red ink.

I've worked as a university dorm supervisor for five years. I've seen all kinds of outrageous student behavior, from sneaking out over walls to secretly tampering with the dorm's electricity and hiding pets in their rooms. During the holiday break, I'm making my usual rounds to check on the students staying on campus. In the last dorm room, all four young women are lying in bed, fast asleep. The doors and windows are shut, all four students are accounted for, and the electricity records show nothing unusual. I'm just about to sign off on my inspection sheet when something catches my eye on the bottom bunk. I stare at the wrinkles in the bedsheet for three seconds, a cold sweat breaking out across my back. Pretending nothing is wrong, I quietly step out of the room. I close the door, lock it from the outside, and call the police immediately. Three minutes later, the entire dorm building is sealed off. Police cars and ambulances arrive at the same time.

My parents were award-winning teachers, having nurtured countless outstanding students. However, I had always been the last in line, failing every single class. After yet another gentle warning from my homeroom teacher, my dad finally snapped. "How did I end up with a kid this dumb? You're deliberately trying to torture me, aren't you?" He disappeared for three days. When he returned, he had a boy with him. "From today on, Josh is the only true child of this family. You are no longer allowed to call us Mom and Dad. "Get out! You'll only earn the right to be my son once you can actually pass your exams." The next time I saw them was at the hospital during a check-up organized by their school for all the staff. The head of guidance recognized me immediately. "Yale? Isn't this Shane from your family? "He works here now. And Josh's condition, there's hope for him! You should have him contact the new Dr. Cunningham right away." Seeing me in my white coat, my dad's expression shifted again and again. "This kid… switched jobs and didn't even tell me." I subtly used my coat to cover the badge hanging on my chest. It read: Department Director: Asher Cunningham

The day my scholarship came through, I was about to send the money to my grandfather in the hospital. Then I suddenly heard a voice. [The Transfer System says that as long as someone eats or drinks something I give them, I can move their money away without anyone noticing.] [Julian just got his scholarship. He'll make the perfect test subject.] [If the transfer works, I can use the money to buy those sneakers I've been wanting.] That voice clearly belonged to my roommate, Caleb Foster. Puzzled, I was just about to turn around to confirm it when a bottle of water was set on my desk. Caleb smiled warmly and said, "Julian, thanks for picking up my package yesterday. Here, have some water." A second later, his delighted inner voice rang out again. [Drink it. Drink it. Once you drink this water, your money will be mine!] Seeing the expectation and greed he couldn't hide in his eyes, fury rose from the bottom of my heart. He knew full well that scholarship was my grandfather's life-saving money. I took the bottle with a blank expression. He wanted to transfer my money away? Then I'd make sure he transferred more than he could handle.

After I secured early admission to one of the country's most prestigious universities, my old high school invited me back to sit for the State Scholars Exam and compete for the top statewide score. But just ten minutes into the math paper, the proctor out of nowhere accused me of cheating. "Everyone else starts with the multiple-choice section. You went straight for the proofs. Were you planning to copy someone else's answers later?" Before I could explain a single word, he dragged me into the boys' restroom. Not only was I humiliated and forced to strip, I also had to let him inspect me over and over again to confirm that I had no cheating devices on my body. After I returned to the exam room, I decided it was better not to cause more trouble, so I started from the multiple-choice section like everyone else. But less than five minutes after I sat down, he yanked me up again. "This is even more fake. You didn't even take time to read or think through the questions before writing down the options. If that isn't cheating, what is?" "I suspect you knew the answers in advance. I'm reporting this to the exam board right now and having your exam qualification revoked!"

When I see someone asking for help in an assignment related to the entrepreneur course on the college forum, I join the group chat using a student account. I even help refine several financial models and market strategies because of my job's nature. Everyone in the group chat is excited, to say the least. Every day, they keep calling me a genius while urging me to improve the details of the whole assignment. Two months later, the assignment's quality is very close to perfection. But the group chat suddenly goes silent. I scroll through the chat history out of curiosity, only to find out that the students have already created another group chat. "That senior isn't an official teammate of ours. Let's not tell her about us using this assignment for an upcoming competition." "Precisely! Our names are the only ones on the list! She'd better not steal the credit during tomorrow's finals!" "With one less person involved, we each get an additional tens of thousands of dollars' worth of rewards!" As I look at the screen, I just let out a soft chuckle. It appears that this isn't an assignment at all. But unfortunately for these students, I happen to be one of the judges sitting at the judging station tomorrow.

When I picked my son up from school, he told me he hadn’t been able to fall asleep during naptime. He said he’d seen someone who wasn’t dressed like the teachers walking around the classroom, staring at each child while they slept. I had access to the classroom cameras and checked them regularly throughout the day, so I figured it was just his imagination and didn’t think much of it. Then Vivian’s mom, whose daughter was in the same class, suddenly messaged me privately. “Vivian said she saw a teacher she didn’t recognize watching her sleep at noon. It scared her. But I checked the security footage, and no one entered the classroom during naptime.” “I noticed David opened his eyes at one point, so I wanted to ask if he mentioned seeing anything.” My heart skipped a beat. I immediately pulled up the classroom footage again. After watching it carefully and confirming I hadn’t missed anything, I was just about to reply to Vivian’s mom when the class group chat suddenly blew up. “My child said there was a teacher he didn’t know walking around the classroom while they were sleeping. How are you people running this place?” The teacher immediately responded, insisting nothing like that had happened, and posted the security footage in the group chat. But then the parents of five other children began chiming in one after another. “My kid said the same thing. He saw a teacher he didn’t recognize.” “Then... what exactly is going on?”

My husband, Jayson Kaiser, calls me late at night, his tone tinged with apology. "I'm sorry, Sherry… I cheated on you." Everyone around us knows that he loves me more than life itself. It's impossible for him to ever cheat on me, so the moment I realize it's April Fool's Day today, I reply with a laugh, "And I cheated on you too." He doesn't seem the least bit surprised, however. In fact, he sounds relieved. "That's good. Now I don't feel as guilty. The divorce papers are in the second drawer of the nightstand. You can sign them now." I'm just about to praise him for his convincing act when he hangs up on me. I pull open the nightstand drawer with a grin, but immediately freeze in place the moment I see it. As it turned out, the divorce papers are actually real, and he had already signed them too. My eyes sting with tears. Just as I'm about to call him again and demand to know if this is just another one of his elaborate pranks, I receive a text message from Amelia Greene, one of his female students. "Mrs. Kaiser! You cheated on Dr. Kaiser too? Then hurry up and give up your spot to me! I want to celebrate our first anniversary together in public!"

During study hall, everyone in the classroom was going through their homework. Meanwhile, I had my earphones plugged in, playing a mobile game. My teacher and classmates all noticed this, but no one stopped me. After all, I was the state's top scorer. The headmaster gave me privileges, and I could spend my time how I wanted. However, the new dean of students had no idea. He snatched my phone away and bellowed, "What's your name? What do you think you're doing? Everyone else is working hard, so why aren't you?" With a deadpan face, I answered, "My name's Finn Wood." "You're at the top of your year, right? Just because you have good grades doesn't mean you get to disrespect your teachers! Everyone else is putting in the effort, and sooner or later, they'll catch up to you! You'll write a 5000-word reflection, and you're not going to bed until it's done!" I wrote two copies of the reflection. One for the dean, and the other for the headmaster. The reflection only had one string of numbers written on repeat. "154-XXX-XXX." Only the headmaster realized what number that was. It belonged to the headmaster of another high school.

A text message popped up in the class group chat. A student had been in a car accident and had been rushed to the hospital. She urgently needed a donor with a rare RH-Negative blood type. Wanting to help, I went to the hospital and donated 800 milliliters of blood. Afterward, I passed out from blood loss. When she woke up, she claimed she was pregnant and said the baby was mine. Everyone accused me of crossing a line despite being an educator and professor in college. They said I had slept with a student and got her pregnant. I went to confront her, but she acted like she was the victim. "Your blood is in my body now, and in the baby's body too. What's wrong with saying the baby is yours? From now on, my baby and I are depending on you. You'd better take good care of us and make sure we don't suffer, or I'll sue you for seducing me and dumping me!" Furious, I shoved her. She rammed her stomach into the corner of a table on purpose and miscarried. The internet decided I was a scumbag who had killed the baby on purpose. "How can someone like that exist? How can someone like that teach at all!" I lost my job. I was doxxed and harassed over the phone. Someone even threw acid on me and destroyed my face. I lost everything. My wife, who was eight months pregnant at the time, believed me and defended me, only for the internet to turn on her too. They accused her of helping a monster to hurt others. The stress caused her to have a serious hemorrhage, and she and the baby both did not make it. Crushed by guilt and grief, I jumped off a building and killed myself. That student, however, profited from my tragedy and became an influencer with a million followers overnight. When I opened my eyes again, I had regressed to the day I saw the message in the group chat.