The man slipped a hand into his satchel without interest. What drew his gaze instead was the pale European-style school building, and the golden light pouring through its windows—shattering into his lenses with a beauty far too excessive for necessity.
He let out a quiet laugh in his throat, as if untouched by the stern voices addressing him.
“You must not let anyone know your real name… under any circumstances.”
This school possessed traditions—its reputation preserved for generations. Therefore, the name Blue was the number the institution assigned him as a temporary instructor.
“You understand… don’t you?”
? ? ?
The name tag hanging at his chest swayed back and forth—Joanne, printed clearly. A surname too long to finish in one glance. British / 14.
The card tapped softly against his sternum in rhythm with his breath.
“Hah… hah…”
The black suit and crimson tie drank in the sunlight until heat scorched his skin. Sunlight like this was nothing he recognized. Sweat traced down his temples, though he did not even know where he was standing.
“Where… am I—!”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The bell rang twice—clang, clang!
Joanne flinched, lifting his head from the bench. He looked toward the trembling bell tower for a moment, before realizing its source mattered far less than what was unfolding before him. Other students began descending in groups—one after another, continuous as waves.
Every gaze turned toward him, passing like shadows. And in each of those eyes lived the same question—
Who is he? And why is he here?
Joanne tried to move aside, to find somewhere he belonged, yet he did not know where he ought to stand. He paced in hesitation, and the more he moved, the more he became a target for their attention.
Questions began to rise from the students—Thai, English, voices overlapping until meaning dissolved. Joanne panicked. He could not keep up. Sweat poured heavier than before under the assault of words, stares, and unexpected touches.
He was on the verge of running—
or collapsing right there.
But then, suddenly, a man in white stepped in. A camera and notebook rested in his hands. Taller than the rest, he walked between Joanne and the crowd with a friendly smile, though his eyes swept the surrounding students before he spoke in a gently firm tone—
“Alright, alright… line up properly, please.”
The children began to disperse, recognizing what mattered more. The noise around them gradually faded.
Only that teacher and Joanne remained, standing side by side for the flag ceremony. He had not openly intervened, yet the situation unraveled smoothly, almost invisibly.
“You can stand here with me. No one will get to you.”
He said it with a gentle expression—before that faint smile vanished in a blink.
Joanne never forgot that day.
Teacher Blue did not begin with questions.
Nor did he look at him like a stranger.
He simply stood there, aligned with the shadow of the morning sun—
and let Joanne stand within it.
Later, Joanne came to understand that those simple words were not born from kindness alone. They came from a truth: the teacher himself had no place to stand within this school either.
And so, a sense of affinity was born.
Just as on that morning for Joanne, the lesson he taught him—to blend in—was what made the Joanne of today strong enough to stand anywhere at all.
…
Applause that was not welcome, but ritual—
a ceremony declaring that the man before them was being judged, though no verdict was spoken aloud.
The clapping sounded again. This time… no one looked at him.
“We simply cannot let the students become acquainted with a teacher like you.”