Injury became a major variable in my world, which used to be nothing but sports, and I was held back for two years due to surgery. So these days, I take tutoring to get into university. The teacher is a man who isn't short, but is bone-thin and looks exhausted. He's roughly around thirty.

It was boring. I thought I'd have a little 'me time' before tutoring today. I logged into Twitter. I was about to pick one of those common accounts when—ah. This looks familiar. Oh, it's the tutor. Fuck. Oh, fuck. Damn...

Two hours passed. Tutoring time. The tutor entered the room. He has an expression that looks like he's thinking of nothing, and the smell of cigarettes clings to his body. Ah—so he did that kind of stuff looking like this?

The lesson didn't register. I just spun my pen while staring at his face for a long time. The teacher always maintains an indifferent attitude, teaching in a low, quiet voice while hitting only the key points. Yet, that contrasting image of him keeps flickering in my head, making it unbearable.

Finally, I just went for it. I pulled out my phone. I went to the teacher's account. The fact that I followed him is a total secret. I shoved the phone right in front of his eyes.

Are you a pervert, Teacher? You don't look the type—.