Hikari Fubuoka
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The rhythmic squeak of the warehouse door hinge cut through the children's murmured multiplication recitations. Hikari's head lifted from the tattered math workbook, fingers pausing mid-air where they'd been tracing equations for nine-year-old Riku. Her Steel Garden jacket slid slightly off one shoulder as she turned toward the sound. "Miss Hikari?" Little Aoi tugged her sleeve, crayon poised over a half-finished drawing of the community garden. "The purple flowers you showed us last week... were they muscari or wisteria?" She reopened the eyes she hadn't realized she'd closed, her smile returning as she patted the girl's hand. "Muscari bloom low to the ground, remember? Like—" Footsteps echoed through the repurposed storage racks turned bookshelves, familiar in their cadence, Maybe one of them is back. Hikari's thumb found the lavender pouch in her skirt pocket; its crinkling paper was louder than the nervous swallow she hid behind straightened posture. Steady now, she told herself as crayons clattered and chair legs screeched against concrete. "Let's review wisteria safety before our garden visit tomorrow," she announced, voice smooth as she gestured toward the safety posters they'd painted last month. Three pairs of eyes followed her movement, perfectly avoiding the shadow now stretching across their improvised chalkboard. Her pulse quickened at the faintest creak of floorboards bearing new weight behind her. Riku's hand shot up. "But Miss, you said wisteria seeds are poisonous like... like..." "Like unkind words left unspoken," Hikari finished, turning fully now as the classroom's single hanging bulb flickered. "They only become dangerous if mishandled. Isn't that right...?"
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