Episode 14: The Unexpected Conclusion to a 'Cold War' with a Student

"I would prefer not to talk to you, teacher."

It was my second year after being assigned to a high school. When I had the new second-year students fill out self-introduction cards during the first homeroom in April after the class reshuffle, one of them had written this.

I had made many mistakes in my first year. However, I felt I had dealt with the students sincerely. I am trusted by the students. I am managing the class well. I pay attention to everyone equally, regardless of gender—it would be a lie to say I didn't have that kind of confidence back then.

In the spring of my second year, I quickly realized that was overconfidence. It was thanks to a letter of severance presented to me by a female student I had had absolutely no interaction with during my first year, before any bond could even sprout.

Huh!?

While I felt a not-insignificant shock, a little bit of anger also welled up in me. You've never even spoken to me, so what could you possibly know about me!? I don't want to know anything about you either!

In that fiery, turbulent April, a "cold war" began between her and me within the classroom, where we wouldn't speak to each other.

Don't underestimate an adult.

That student was usually quiet, but she interacted with the girls around her with a smile. She also loved dancing and would often dance in the school during lunch breaks and after school.

After school, when I was chatting with some students, she and I would both be laughing, but I would be panicking inside, thinking, "Near miss!" And our smiles and laughter never crossed paths. We wouldn't even try to make eye contact. It was a mutual exchange of ignoring each other.

Hmph, don't underestimate an adult.

Some of the students, for some reason, seemed to know about the "letter of severance" on the self-introduction card, and would tease me with a smirk, saying, "What are you going to do, teacher?" I would only respond, "In this case, the correct answer is to 'do nothing,' wouldn't you say?"

That said, she had excellent grades and didn't cause any major trouble. She was never late or absent. She was enjoying her high school life quite seriously.

Before I knew it, she was even taking careful notes in my class and listening intently to my explanations. When I walked around the classroom and looked at her notes, I saw she was using colored pens according to the importance she assigned to things and changing the size of her writing.

I had to express respect for that attitude. On the other hand, the students who teased me were dozing off... Hey, come on.

While strictly adhering to the rule of not talking

Faced with this contrast, my anger withered away day by day. And so, I resolved to watch over her quietly for a year while strictly adhering to the rule of not talking. Halfway through the first semester, I spoke to her only once: "Listen, I'm going to try not to talk to you as much as possible. But if you ever have any trouble, make sure you tell me, okay?"

Eventually, in the second half of the first semester, I got used to this routine and mastered the art of keeping her in the corner of my eye every day. I didn't smile at her, exchange words, or even make eye contact, yet I kept her presence and expressions within my field of vision. I don't know how well that actually worked, though.

By that time, the words a colleague had muttered some time ago—'You shouldn't try to be liked by everyone. It's impossible and will eventually take its toll'—had begun to make sense to me.

In the end, had I been harboring a desire to be a 'star teacher' somewhere deep down? 'I'm everyone's teacher, treating you all equally. I'm watching over you closely...' Perhaps I had been half-consciously chasing the image of a dubious 'model teacher'.

The fact that I felt angry when a single student rejected that outright only proved how childish I was. By the time I reached that state of self-reflection after the first-semester closing ceremony, there was no denying that I had lost the 'Cold War'.

It was just a pity.

Words I told her during the three-way parent-teacher conference

With the routine I had established in the first semester in mind, I faced the three-way conference in the autumn of the second semester. Feeling relieved by her mother, who was cheerful and smiling—the exact opposite of the student—I matched that smile and spoke frankly.

'Your child's grades are impeccable. As for her school life, though... I really don't know! At her request, we haven't talked much (laughs). I've been keeping an eye on her expressions every day, but specifically, all I really know is that she seems to enjoy dancing.'

When her mother frowned at her daughter, saying, 'Oh, come on, you,' I replied, 'No, no, it's not like we're fighting.' Then I continued, 'But since we don't usually talk, let me take this opportunity to say what I expect from her.'

'You love English, right? Japan is probably too small for someone like you who doesn't hesitate to go their own way. After you graduate, I think you should create an opportunity to challenge yourself overseas. I don't know where the home of dance is, but I want you to test how far your "going my way" attitude and your dancing can take you.'

'The dance you led everyone in at the school festival was cool. I'm an amateur when it comes to dance, but it gave me goosebumps. Even I could tell that your dance had a completely different level of sharpness.'

The student muttered a single word: 'You were watching...?'

I wasn't looking for a scenario where the ice would melt all at once after this conference, and we continued not to talk. If the ice were going to melt from something like that, I shouldn't have started a cold war in the first place.

Even so, in settings where several of us were chatting, the number of times I exchanged smiles with her increased just a tiny bit. A cool, distant, and indifferent relationship was enough. That kind of 'composure' had begun to grow within me.

The second year ended just like that, and after the class reshuffle in the third year, I no longer had any opportunities to interact with her.

When we met again after a long time...

'The room where the lost and found is kept is locked, so please open it.'

In February of the third semester of our third year, with graduation approaching, several female students came to the staff room and said that. As I headed over with the key, grumbling, 'What a pain,' I saw my former 'Cold War' rival in that group.

Seeing each other for the first time in a while, it felt incredibly awkward...

Still, on the way to the classroom, I gathered a little courage and asked, "Hey, do you remember what I said during the parent-teacher conference?" She nodded and answered with a slight, shy smile.

"I'm doing it, I'm studying for that."

I see, I thought to myself, feeling deeply moved that she was further polishing her English and dance skills, but that wasn't it.

"I'm studying Korean! I'm hoping to go to university and then study abroad in Seoul."

Seoul!? I see, the mecca of dance was actually somewhere unexpectedly close.

I even felt a strange sense of comfort in the way she and I kept missing each other right up until graduation, and I laughed.