Arlo Sarsons - Wrath of Amaterasu

5) My headmaster wields a sword

My headmaster? Yeah, he's cool—like, actually cool. Trust me, I wasn't expecting that. You hear the word headmaster, and your brain immediately jumps to images of some old guy in a tweed jacket, sipping tea with a face permanently stuck on "disappointed parent mode." But Mr. Flockard? No way. The man wields a freaking sword. Like, an actual, honest-to-god sword. Let that sink in for a second.

There he was, standing in the middle of our science lab, looking like a Viking who misplaced his longboat. No horned helmet, though. Just his regular headmaster suit, and, oh yeah, a bloodstained sword. He'd just vaporized my science teacher. Not metaphorically, either. Ms. Sommers was gone—like, turned into dust particles drifting around like we were at some messed-up glitter party. Except, you know, way more oh my god and less yay sparkles.

"Damn yokai," Mr. Flockard growled, his voice rough enough to sandpaper wood. He muttered something in Japanese: "Kono yarou wa mendokusai," which my ADHD brain generously decided to interpret as, I see higher, btch.*

Which, okay, props to him for being multilingual, but that was definitely not the weirdest thing happening.

Then his attention swung to me, those icy blue eyes narrowing like he could crack my skull open just by staring hard enough. "Arlo..." he said, dragging my name out like it was part of some ancient curse he had to say twice to make it stick. His hand absently scratched his scruffy blonde beard as he sized me up. I couldn't tell if he was about to slap me with a detention slip or invite me to join a secret monster-hunting club. Either way, I wasn't exactly comfortable being on a first-name basis with the guy who'd just reduced Ms. Sommers to air pollution.

"Arlo," he repeated, with the kind of intensity that made me wonder if I was supposed to respond with, "Yes, Master of the Universe?"

Instead, I opted for my usual defense mechanism: sarcasm. "Sooo... do you, like, teach sword fighting in P.E., or is that strictly an extracurricular headmaster thing?"

Nailed it.

Shockingly, Mr. Flockard chuckled—a deep, gravelly sound that felt way too chill for someone who'd just obliterated a creature from another dimension. "No," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement, "combat classes are reserved for only the most special students."

I gulped. Special. Right. People have called me that before, but not in a way that would land me in a monster-fighting boot camp. More like "special" as in, This kid is the reason we can't have nice things.

"Yeah, uh, people tell me I'm special all the time," I replied, nerves bubbling up like a shaken soda can. "Not sure it's in the way you're thinking, though."

"Oh, but Arlo..." Flockard's voice took on a more serious edge, like the conversation had just taken a sharp left turn into Weirdsville. "I think you are."

For a second, I couldn't breathe. My chest tightened, and I didn't know if I should feel flattered or freaked out. I mean, who doesn't want to be told they're special, right? But when it's coming from a guy who just vaporized your teacher with a sword, it feels more like, congrats, you're about to have a terrible time.

"You think I'm special?" I forced out a laugh, trying to shake off the uncomfortable knot in my stomach. "That's always nice to hear from a teacher, especially after... this." I gestured awkwardly at the cloud of dust that had once been Ms. Sommers, still faintly hovering in the air like the world's worst reminder of how not normal my day was.

Flockard didn't laugh this time. He just kept looking at me, his expression shifting from amused to dead serious. "No, truly," he said quietly, like he was trying to convince me of something even he wasn't sure about. "You are. What did that thing do to you, Arlo? What did it want?"

"What do you mean?" I said, blinking at him like he'd just asked me why the sky was blue. "Pretty sure it just wanted to kill me. I mean, you saw what happened, right?" I waved a hand toward the dust cloud that used to be Ms. Sommers, still not entirely believing what I was saying.

"No," he replied, shaking his head slowly. "Those things don't just kill for the sake of killing."

"Those things?" I blurted out, my brain finally catching up with the gravity of what he was implying. "Wait—hold up. You know what that thing was?"

Mr. Flockard's gaze flickered, something dark passing over his features. "All too well, Arlo," he said quietly. "All too well."

I stared at him, the weight of everything finally sinking in. This wasn't some freak accident. Whatever that... yokai thing was, it had come here for a reason. And I had a sinking feeling that reason had something to do with me.

"Arlo, this is very important, so make sure you understand me," Mr. Flockard began, his voice steady but urgent. "I know you don't understand what's going on, but it is imperative that you listen to and remember what I'm about to tell you."

I nodded, more out of reflex than actual understanding, but the seriousness in his tone had me locked in.

"At the end of the day, around 3:35, I'm going to come find you. Once I do, we're going on a little... private school trip." He emphasized private, like he really meant business. "Now, do not tell anyone about this, the trip, or what you saw here this morning. And finally, if anything else tries to attack you—and it might—you call for me. Immediately. Understood?"

His hand gripped my shoulder firmly, and I had to stop myself from flinching. There was a raw intensity in his eyes, something that scared me more than the actual sword fight with the yokai had. I managed to croak out a shaky, "Okay," and that was about all I could muster.

After that, Mr. Flockard sheathed his sword—which, by the way, totally disappeared the moment it hit the scabbard. I mean, not completely, but it shrank down to this charm-sized thing attached to his key ring. That's when I realized one of the charms on his keychain was a miniature sword sheath. Because of course, my headmaster carries a vanishing sword disguised as a keychain accessory. Totally normal.

And just like that, he left the room, not another word. I stood there in the wreckage of what had been my science class, feeling a mix of shock, awe, and a little bit of is this actually my life?

I mean, come on—as much as I was freaked out, part of me was buzzing with excitement. My teacher had been obliterated by a mythological being, and now I was going on a secret field trip with a monster-hunting headmaster. How awesome is that?

The rest of the day? Blurred. I sat through the remaining classes, pretending to take notes while my brain was going a million miles a minute. My ADHD was on hyperdrive. I couldn't stop thinking about Mr. Flockard, Ms. Sommers, and that yokai. What did he mean when he said I was special? Why did that thing come after me? My mind was spinning, the questions piling up with no answers in sight.

By the time the final bell rang, I was practically vibrating out of my seat, barely able to contain the anticipation for whatever was about to happen next.