Just one lesson || Kazuscara

Chapter 3

The rest of the day is uneventful, with his English teacher droning on about William Shakespeare and his contemporary relevance and archon-knows-what.

"Next class, you'll create your own Shakespearean sonnet and present it to the class!" Mr. Venti, his English teacher, exclaims, "I can't wait for all of your sonnets!"

Scaramouche gets up and leaves for the door, until—

"Very insightful question, Barbara! You can write about anything except for love this time. But, fret not, we have an upcoming project on love ballads, perfect for Valentine's day!" Mr. Venti beams.

Heck no.

Scaramouche grimaces, holding back the urge to drag his teacher by his ombre green braids and clutch him by his stupid green collar. Just who thought it was a smart idea for Scaramouche to write a love ballad?

No, he must handle his frustrations civilly. And that involves speaking with the teacher.

Begrudgingly, he walks toward Mr. Venti, who is still chatting with Barbara.

"That's a wonderful idea! With your singing abilities, I'm certain the Valentine Festival will be much more lively!" Mr. Venti gushes as he claps eagerly, perhaps a little eagerly, seeing as he armed Scaramouche in the face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Mr. Venti exclaims, "Are you alright?"

"I'm....fine." Scaramouche feigns a smile, "I would like to ask a question."

"Well, Mr. Venti, I better take my leave now." Barbara excuses herself, "It was very nice talking to you!"

"You too!"

With that, Barbara skips out of the classroom while humming to herself, her curly blonde twintails bouncing with each step.

"So, how may I help you, Scaramouche?" Mr. Venti asks, giving him an inquisitive look.

"I overheard your conversation with Barbara." Scaramouche says, "You said we have to write a love ballad in the foreseeable future. I'm not comfortable with writing anything romantic."

"I see," Mr. Venti grins, "My apologies for not being clear with my assignment. When I say a love ballad, it doesn't just have to be romantic love, just as Valentine's Day isn't just about romantic love either."

Mr. Venti absentmindedly thrums the strings of his lyre, which seems to always end up in his hands, despite it stashed away in the drawer of his desk.

"Love encompasses many forms, Scaramouche," He continues, "Eros, Philia, Storge, Agape...Namely, Erotic love, platonic love, love from parents to children, and love for humanity. You can explore various types in your poetry. Romantic love just happens to be in the forefront because of all those grand proposals you see posted on TeyvatTube."

Love, huh?

"Mr. Venti...is it possible I don't write about love at all?"

At this, Mr. Venti frowns.

"Do you perhaps have trouble connecting with the topic? Is there anything—"

Shit. He screwed up.

Mr. Venti will definitely ask about whether something is going on. He will be concerned for his wellbeing. Maybe even guide him to the school's counsellor for help.

"Not at all." Scaramouche cuts him, "I can write about...uh, Storge."

He studies every shift in Mr. Venti's expression, from the crease near his eyebrow to the wrinkle of his nose. Scaramouche feels his heart racing a mile a minute, so much so he thought his heart is going to burst out of his chest.