Itami || Killua Z.

3.3

"Always coming crashing down, better let go."
- 'Sloppy Seconds,' by Watsky

"Teacher? Why would I need a teacher?" You asked while your parents pulled into the driveway. They told you to save your questions for when they got home, telling you that it would've distracted them from driving. 

Your mom sighed as she turned the key, pulling it out from the key hole. "[y/n], you realize you missed a trimester and a half (about half a semester) of school. You really didn't expect to come back home without work to do," she told you, opening up her door and stepping out. 

You opened up your own door and got out, staring at the familiar building. "I kinda did," you walked around the back of the car, catching up to her. Your dad followed behind, but you dropped your friend at their house on the way home. "It's not like I need to go to school," you stated, waiting for her to unlock the door.

"Of course you do, you want to be successful when you grow up don't you?" She unlocked the door and stepped inside, the cool air hitting your face. It made small goosebumps rise off of your skin, but it was a welcome change from the heat outside. "Just like-"

"I know, I know, just like my dad," you groaned, already regretting your decision to come home. "Even though he didn't make enough to pay off the bills, leading to me taking the Hunter Exam, ending in me missing school," you hummed, taking off your shoes, "But please, keep telling me how successful he is."

You mom sent you an unamused glare, placing her keys on the counter. "We've had this talk before," she opened up the fridge and brought out some of the ingredients for dinner. "You just kept getting hurt and we ran out of savings."

You sighed, feeling bad for earlier, "Yeah, yeah." You brought your bag over your head, letting it sit on the couch. Walking over to your mom, you asked, "Could you teach me how to cook?"

She held up a spatula and pointed it towards you, "Are you sure you're [y/n]? You've never expressed interest in this kind of thing before."

"It's just, it might be a useful skill to have around, y'know?" You shrugged, moving the spatula away from your face. 

Your mother seemed to contemplate it for a moment, weighing her head back and forth. Finally, she nodded, "But first you need to talk to your teacher. They're in your dad's study, which is where you will do your schooling and whatnot."

You blinked, your head completely spacing out. You forgot that you still had to do schooling, and slumped your shoulders. "Alright," you glumly nodded your head, preparing yourself for whoever your teacher may be. You walked down to the end of the hallway and past the stairwell, stopping at the door. 

Your brain thought up all sorts of scenarios, 'Will it be a stingy teacher? Or maybe they'll be easy going. Rude and sassy is another one, I don't know how I'd deal with that.'  You turned the doorknob quickly, swinging the door open.

You saw someone sitting in a chair, their feet propped up on the desk. They had light pink hair, which was kept in a ponytail, and a beard to match. They were reading some papers, quickly looking up at you.

"You're finally back," they said, raising an eyebrow at you. "I'm Hiromi, friends call me Mi, they/them, and you must be [y/n]."

"Yeah, yeah, she/her," you introduced yourself, still dazed at their appearance. "You're supposed to be my teacher, right?"