The Troublemakers’ Lair: Side Story – Friday Diary Entry

Meisa High School Teachers’ Daily Diary

Friday — Principal’s Office

Principal: Suga Kazuha, age 53

Meisa High School was my second appointment, and one of my greatest sources of pride. I was the school’s first—and still its present—principal. Thirteen years since its establishment, I watched this institution flourish under my leadership. Students excelled. Teachers worked with enthusiasm. Discipline was firm yet fair. I was respected. I was healthy. I was happy.

I had hoped to remain here until my retirement.

Yes. That was me.

That was me… until a year ago.

(A bottle of medicine sits on the desk. A calming-mind journal. A stack of happiness affirmation cards.)

Rikka High School.

I objected to its construction from the very beginning. I opposed the idea—adamantly—when it was proposed that such a school be built beside ours. I knew it. I knew there would be trouble.

(“I Knew You Were Trouble” by Taylor Swift plays faintly in the background of my thoughts.)

And I was right.

As I enter my fourteenth year at Meisa High School, I find myself wishing—quite sincerely—to be transferred elsewhere. In just one year, our peaceful routine has completely unravelled. The newest batch of students next door, in particular…

Class 2-B.

(Words fail me.)

Today, I held a meeting with the teachers. For the first time in thirteen years, complaints flooded in—voices heavy with stress, frustration, and exhaustion. Disruptions from the neighbouring school, they said, occurred almost weekly. Sometimes daily. When I reviewed our academic progress reports, the evidence was undeniable.

A sharp decline.

Lessons that once ran smoothly were now constantly interrupted. Entire syllabi had fallen behind schedule. Who could concentrate with sirens, shouting, broken glass, and megaphones echoing through the campus? The bright, confident expressions my teachers once wore had vanished. What remained were weary faces and hollow eyes.

I had no words to comfort them.

For the first time in thirteen years, I underwent a medical check-up.

The result was unsurprising.

High blood pressure.

“AAAGHHHHHH!”

(A six-octave scream, contained—barely—within the walls of my office.)

What am I to do with the students from that school? Should I exile them to a remote island? Preferably one without laboratories, chairs, or windows?

I beg you—whoever may be listening—please return my peaceful school life to me.

(Drowns in thoughts of the future. A troubling question lingers: could something even worse be waiting?)

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