The Troublemakers’ Lair: Side Story – Monday Diary Entry

Meisa High School Teachers’ Daily Diary

Monday — History
Teacher: Owada Fumiko, age 35
Classes: 1-C, 2-A, 3-D

There is a saying often repeated in history: history should never repeat itself, especially when what occurred in the past was undeniably bad.

Unfortunately, Rikka High School appears to treat this as a personal challenge.

I am not entirely certain what the students over there are taught during their history lessons, but they certainly enjoy making history. Every week, without fail, they add a new entry to what I can only assume would be called The Rikka High School History Notebook—if such a cursed record exists.

Two weeks ago, the sound of shattering glass echoed across the grounds. A fight. The topic of that particular historical event? Class 2-B, the reigning champions of chaos.

Today, as I was explaining to my beloved students in Class 2-A the importance of learning from past mistakes and avoiding repetition, a familiar sound rang out.

Glass breaking.

I knew it immediately. The pitch, the violence, the unmistakable echo—it was identical to the incident two weeks prior. My students and I turned towards the windows just in time to see something fly out from the third floor of Rikka High School.

It was not a bird.

Not a toy aeroplane.

Certainly not a dragon.

It was a chair.

The chair landed on the cemented ground below with a deafening bam. Moments later, raised voices and furious shouting followed. A fight—again—loud enough to reach our classroom.

Oh, goodness. How many times must this happen? How many peaceful lessons must be sacrificed?

KRRSHHH.

Yes. Another window had fallen victim.

A few minutes later, the discipline instructor arrived, his voice echoing across the field as he roared orders for all students involved to gather outside. Excellent. Now the spectacle was even closer to our school.

It was not just my class watching by then. Other classrooms had joined in.

“Seriously—Class 2-B,” the instructor snapped, his voice trembling with exhaustion. I almost felt sorry for him.

“We fixed that window less than two weeks ago. TWO weeks!” he shouted, finally losing what little composure he had left.

“Why would you throw a chair? It’s completely broken now. All of you will sit on the floor from now on!”

I swear I could see flames rising from his shoulders.

“Run ten laps. No stopping. After that, clean your classroom.”

“Yes,” the students replied, their voices disturbingly lazy.

“This will be the last time this happens,” the instructor warned.

No one answered.

Splendid. That meant it would definitely happen again. One thousand per cent.

At this rate, I may never finish my lesson.

(Sighed heavily and rested my face on the desk.)

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