Chapter 3: Edgar Allan Poe Said

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". . . born in January 9, 1809. He was--"

Nobody really like listening to Professor Hajime Korizawa who handled the subject on psychology. The forty-year old obviously hated his job. His voice slurred words between incoherent and comprehensive, making everyone struggle on the subject. He was a lazy prick who often skipped lectures and simply has some substitute bring some paperwork for the students to work on.

By far, the man proved himself to be the most unlikable professor on campus. Even Mitsuru found him distasteful, enough that she wished he had the gall to walk out during his lecture. But of course, she didn't--no one did.

Impatient fingers tap on a wooden desk, almost in rhythm with the teacher's words. Her mouth opening wide underneath her mask, a long yawn comes out as small tears pull at the corners of Mitsuru's eyes. Like everyone else, she would have to suffer a two-hour lecture with this man everyday. Could she help it? No. Not unless she would help herself by escaping this torture.

But his lecture becomes hazy as the clock ticked, and the white-haired girl decides to sketch the man. With her cheek resting against her fist, a sketch of the professor quickly formed on her notebook. It clearly expressed the bored look on his face, while his eyes were stuck dictating the words on the book he held in his hand.

"Seems like you got a good eye and hand coordination, Shirai-chan," an annoying voice pierced into Mitsuru's ears.

Oh, yeah, they're classmates on this subject.

Mitsuru covers her notebook instinctively. She scowled at the male behind her, though he seemed to hover over her. It was certainly disadvantageous to have the desks platformed in a descending design. Everyone could see what their classmates at the front are doing. But Mitsuru wished that anyone else could've seen her draw.

Not this tall stick.

"Your drawing style reminded me of Mitsuru Kurosaki's," Tetsurou continues.

Oh, shiiiit.

Mitsuru gulps.

"I simply like their art style," she replied as calmly as she could, wiping off the little beads of sweat forming under her bangs.

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