American lax punk
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"Yes, I was just told that he had accepted his special suite without serious opposition. Your idea was excellent, I had no problem for carry out this, but why are you playing so many little tricks on him? If you wish, I can make sure he never sets foot in the High School again."

On the way from London to Tokyo, somewhere above the clouds, Mary can't stands laugh anymore. She can see where she is, Dean's stupidly surprised face, as he was discovering his personalized (suite). After laughing enough, she wipes her wet eye and puts her head against the window.

"No, I forbid you to hurt him. It's too much fun to make jokes to him and his mother was very nice to me, so I repeat, it's forbidden."

Ryan, who already knows a little about the story about his former neighbour's mother, doesn't ask for more and has no reason to go after Dean at the moment, so not very interested by ths old story, he yawns.

"Understood, no need to repeat yourself. By the way, Mary, what class did they put you in?"

Mary is smiling and already thinking about tomorrow. This school trip promises to be a lot of fun. "Class 3, it seems to me, but never mind, it doesn't matter, it's only a month. Ryan, I'm sorry, but I'm exhausted, so I'll leave you to it. Bye"

°°°

Tuesday 31 January

08h35am

In front of the large portal of a private High School in Shoto all 10b from Los Angeles are gathered. As strange as it may seem to the Japanese who pass by, as soon as their young teacher gets closer to them, the girls scream sharply before running away behind the boys who, unable to laugh any more, hold their stomachs.

Despite the sad spectacle they see, a Japanese man and woman looked at each other and nodded. They have been waiting for more than 5 minutes for the American teacher to come to them with his students, but it seems that the students are afraid of him. Faced with the terrorized screams of the girls and judging that if this situation persists, no progress will be made, the man and woman advance towards the group of strange Americans.

Dean, who obviously can't ignore the 2 people who have been waiting for him for some time, is taking a few steps forward. Annoyed by the immobility of his students, he tries to raise his voice to gain respected.

"We're moving forward."

"Walk ahead and we'll follow you when the smell is gone."

Of course, everyone laughs at this joke who is not funny. Dean, exhausted by his students, decides to step back. One big step to the side and he grabs a small blond girl by the wrist. The girl screams, she struggles and calls on others to help her so that they can free her from the one she calls, the polecat-man.

Naturally, the Japanese man and woman were not randomly selected. Their excellent English allows them to understand every word of the girl and apart from the fact that the young teacher captures a teenage girl, this disrespectful name disturbs the ears of the hosts who, when they reach Dean's level, retreat under shock.

09h40am

Appointed assistant teacher of a class in which 4 of his students are present, Dean is bored to death. In addition to not having an earpiece to listen to the translation of this teacher's course, he is not allowed to have a seat. Standing, having nothing to do or say and not understanding a word of what is being said around him, Dean, who sees Japanese teenagers looking at him with disgust, is a little depressed.

His students, meanwhile, all have an earpiece in their right ear. At the back of the class, a woman translates almost instantly every word of the Japanese teacher so that their time spent here is fully beneficial to them. Fully beneficial? According to Dean, who is attending this mock study abroad event, travelling to Japan to have the teachers' words translated is pointless. Besides, why doesn't he have the right to the damn earpiece?

..... Mister Mori POV ....

Professor Mori had initially strongly opposed the reception of Americans. These people are disrespectful, unclean, shameless and have no respect for anything or anyone. Since they arrived in his class, Professor Mori knows he was wrong about them. He was far below the truth because they are furious and stinking beasts.

One of the two American girls has a skirt so short that from her desk, he sees part of her buttocks. How to do your class correctly in front of a pair of buttocks? Omitting this somewhat uncomfortable clothing detail, Mr. Mori cannot ignore the two boys who, since their arrival, have been openly flirting with his wise students in a scandalous way using particularly raw words. The remaining American girl doesn't really cause him any problems. She is calm, her dress is very correct and she does not disturb her students. Briefly observing the girl who fell asleep on her table, Professor Mori expels of smoke from his nose.

If these 4 kids are unworthy of his teaching, then the worst must be their young teacher who seems to be laughing at everything. He's also a kid, no, he's a punk. A punk who since entering the classroom has simply leaned against the wall, closing his eyes, then waiting for time to pass. In addition to being a complete lazy man, the punk is lax. His students are acting like idiots, but he doesn't tell them anything. Never within 13ft of Dean, Professor Mori, who shakes his hand in front of him to renew the air, writes on a very small piece of board, erases and starts again.

(knock knock knock)

On the way to the door, Professor Mori knows he will have to pass through the contaminated punk perimeter. After inhaling a large amount of air, Professor Mori does not waste a moment. Every second counts. The oxygen in his lungs is not unlimited but he must reach the door and only then he will be able to stretch his head to inspire some fresh air in the corridor.

Luckily, the punk was too lazy to show good will or elementary politeness and think about following him. He was extremely fast and particularly precise in his movements. With a minimum of steps, Professor Mori went around the punk without spending too much energy and he congratulates himself as he laid his hand on the door handle.

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