Mash-Up Anime: Teenage Assassin Enrollment.-Chapter 20 - Sensei!?

After more light banter and warm goodbyes, the group finally went their separate ways. Shun strolled down the street alone, hands in his pockets, enjoying the peaceful moment.

He knew Ai was still tailing him—quiet, calculated, and never too close. But he allowed it. There was no harm in letting her observe a little longer. Let her see who he really was, or at least, who he chose to be.

With a small smirk, Shun changed his course, deciding on a whim to visit a place that had piqued his interest for some time—the Continental Hotel.

As he casually strolled through the streets of Tokyo, blending effortlessly into the flow of pedestrians, his sharp senses tingled. There was another presence—one far more dangerous and refined than Ai's shadowing steps. Someone trained. Someone fast.

Ai, still tailing from a distance, narrowed her eyes as Shun slipped into a busy crowd. Her eyes darted across moving bodies, trying to keep him in sight—but in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

"What...?" she muttered, halting in place. She scanned the street again, then again. No sign of him.

'Did he notice me?'

No, she dismissed the thought. She'd been precise. Controlled. Practically invisible. There's no way he—

But her instincts warned her otherwise.

Left with no choice, Ai sighed and turned back, deciding to head home, still mulling over the strange disappearance.

Meanwhile, in a dim alley just blocks away, the sound of swift, brutal impacts echoed against the stained concrete walls.

Shun darted through the shadows like a phantom, his movements a masterclass in precision and agility. A blade whistled past his cheek—he ducked low, rolling beneath the swing of a second dagger that buried itself in a rusted steel pipe behind him with a metallic thunk. Before he even finished his roll, he kicked off the ground, launching himself into a backward handspring to evade a blinding series of thrusts that followed.

His opponent was relentless.

Faster than a normal human. Faster than most he'd ever faced.

They weaved through the alley like a specter cloaked in midnight, striking with surgical grace. Each step barely touched the ground, their coat flaring out behind them like a living shadow. They twisted midair, twin daggers flashing silver beneath the moonlight as they carved a figure-eight of death through the air.

Shun's reflexes roared to life. He caught a wrist, deflected a stab, then delivered a brutal elbow into his attacker's ribs—only for them to vanish in a blink of smoke and momentum.

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A feint. An afterimage.

The real one dropped from above.

Shun spun, crossing his arms in an X to block the aerial attack. The impact was explosive. The ground cracked beneath their feet. Sparks burst as steel met bone-hardened flesh, and for a split second, the alley lit up like a firework. Shun's shoes skidded across the ground, carving furrows into the dust.

He retaliated instantly. A flurry of palm strikes blurred into a rising knee, each blow targeting pressure points with precision only years of training could grant. His opponent ducked low, slipped beneath the strike, and countered with a spiraling leg sweep that could've shattered concrete.

Shun leapt, twisting midair, landing on the wall. With a growl, he launched himself off it, flipping over their head and slamming a heel kick downward.

Blocked. Caught.

The opponent's dagger came up—only for Shun to catch the blade between two fingers.

Time slowed.

Their eyes locked.

Sweat dripped. Breath held. Muscles tensed.

Shun's hand had formed a perfect spear-finger strike, pulsing with chi, the tip glowing faintly—inches from his opponent's throat. At the same moment, a dagger had found its way to his neck, the edge biting ever so slightly into the skin.

Even the wind dared not breathe.

A perfect draw.

The silence stretched, taut and razor-sharp.

Then Shun's lips curved into a familiar smirk.

"Long time no see... Nagumo-sensei."

The figure before him, clad in a tactical coat layered with concealed weaponry, finally lowered their stance. But instead of tension, a boyish grin spread across their face.

Nagumo gave an exaggerated gasp. "Waaah~! You still remember little ol' me? I'm touched, Shun-kun! I was sure you'd forgotten after all these years."

Shun blinked.

Nagumo tilted their head, still smiling, still holding the dagger loosely like it was a toy. "You've gotten sharper, that's for sure. But c'mon, don't go stabbing your old teacher in the throat. That's, like, super rude."

"Still playing around like a clown, huh?" Shun muttered, lowering his hand as he stepped away.

"And you still leave your left side open~" Nagumo sing-songed, wagging a finger at him like a scolding auntie. "Tsk tsk."

"You always said that," Shun said, brushing dust off his arm.

"Even when I didn't."

Nagumo shrugged with both arms up like a kid caught stealing snacks. "Yeah, but it sounds cool and mysterious, so I gotta keep my brand strong."

Shun let out a slow breath, half a laugh escaping.

"You haven't changed at all."

Nagumo winked, twirling a dagger between two fingers with lazy flair.

"And you still take things way too seriously, Shun-kun. Gotta loosen up before those pretty-boy muscles turn to stone."

Nagumo slipped his dagger back into a hidden sheath with a little twirl, stretching his arms behind his head.

"Alright, alright. Enough death threats for one night. Let's go grab something to eat. I know a place—quiet, greasy, full of shady people. Perfect for catching up."

He turned on his heel and started walking like nothing had happened.

Shun narrowed his eyes. "You're buying."

Nagumo paused mid-step and slowly turned his head with an innocent smile that didn't reach his eyes. "H-Huh? W-Why me?"

"You still owe me," Shun said flatly, brushing past him.

"Remember that time you disguised yourself as me and picked a fight with another assassin in that ramen shop?"

Nagumo blinked. "Which one?"

"The one where you flipped a table through the wall, shattered every bowl in the kitchen, and then vanished before the cops arrived."

"Oooohhh. That one." Nagumo chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "In my defense, that guy totally started it."

Shun gave him a side-eye. "You kicked his stool out from under him while he was eating."

"I call that tactical aggression."

"What the hell is that even doing?"

Nagumo grinned, completely unrepentant.

"Part of your training! Gotta keep you on your toes, Shun-kun!"

"You weren't even there as yourself. You were me. I had to clean up the mess and apologize for nearly killing the owner's nephew."

Nagumo gasped in mock horror. "You're still mad about that? Come on, that was a year ago! Think of it as... experiential growth!"

Shun stopped walking and gave him a look so sharp it could cut steel.

Nagumo shrank a little. "Okay, okay! I'm buying! Geez, you hold a grudge worse than I expected."

Shun exhaled through his nose, clearly annoyed, but let it slide. "Fine. But if you try anything, I'm making you eat through a straw."

Nagumo threw an arm around Shun's shoulder with exaggerated cheer. "Aww, that's the spirit! I knew we were still besties deep down!"

Shun ducked out of his grip with a glare, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Come on then," he said. "Let's see this shady place of yours."

Nagumo gave a salute with two fingers. "Lead the way, partner-in-crime!"

Eventually, they arrived at the small, flickering ramen cart tucked beneath a quiet overpass, its red lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze. The scent of rich broth and sizzling pork filled the air, comforting in a way that felt nostalgic despite the ever-present tension between them.

The two sat down on the worn stools without a word, the old ramen chef giving them a lazy nod as he got to work. Shun kept his hands folded, eyes scanning the cart and its surroundings out of habit. Nagumo, beside him, leaned back slightly, resting his elbows on the counter.

As the soft clatter of bowls and boiling broth filled the silence, Nagumo's usual grin faded ever so slightly.

"So... how've you been?" he asked, tone lighter than the question's weight but lacking the usual edge of mockery.

Shun didn't look at him. "You're asking like you don't already know."

Nagumo tilted his head, nodding without argument. Of course he knew. It was his job to know.

Shun was no ordinary operative. He was the youngest hitman to reach SS-Rank—a tier only a handful ever touched. In their world, rank wasn't just about raw strength.

Reputation, mission history, adaptability, and consistency all played into it. Many had the power of an S, but lacked the polish, experience, or discipline to rise. Shun had it all—unmatched reflexes, flawless technique, and an execution rate that turned heads and emptied rooms.

Nagumo himself shared that rare SS ranking, though for very different reasons. He wasn't a bruiser or a powerhouse. His strength lay in deception—an artist of infiltration, a master of disguise so skilled even intelligence networks occasionally filed false reports about his whereabouts.

His appearance, mannerisms, and voice could shift on a dime. And behind the clownish, laid-back persona was a mind that calculated risks with terrifying precision.

They were two sides of a coin. Shun was precision. Nagumo was chaos. And yet, somehow, they'd always understood each other.

The food arrived—hot bowls of miso ramen with extra chashu. Shun took a breath as steam curled up, letting the scent wash over him. A rare moment of stillness.

Nagumo slurped loudly, sighing in satisfaction.

"Man, nothing like ramen after a friendly scuffle," he said, but his eyes flicked to Shun again, thoughtful.

The quiet didn't bother them. In this world, silence often said more than words ever could.

Shun quietly took his first bite, savoring the warmth of the broth. The rich flavor and tender noodles did little to ease the weight always pressing on his shoulders, but for a fleeting moment, it was enough.

Beside him, Nagumo slurped his noodles with childlike satisfaction, then leaned back with a grin.

"Still hits the spot. Man, ramen after a long day of not dying? Peak living."

He paused, then leaned in slightly. "So... how's school life treating you, huh, Mr. SS-Rank High Schooler?"

Shun raised an eyebrow. "You already know I'm the only one allowed in there."

Nagumo puffed his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Lucky bastard."

The agreement was strict—no assassins were allowed to infiltrate the academy. It was neutral ground, a safe zone protected by a standing contract between the JAA and the major underworld factions. Any breach would be met with swift, unified retaliation.

Shun was the only exception. A special deal had been struck—undisclosed, highly confidential. He was allowed to live as a student, under the radar. The peace held, but it was delicate.

Nagumo, despite his skill, wasn't granted the same leeway. The moment he stepped near campus, alarms would go off in more than one organization. Even he had to respect that boundary.

How Yor got in? Shun was not sure but he guessed it has to do with the fact that she won't target children which is why she's given a pass.

"Still can't believe they gave you a pass," Nagumo said, shaking his head.

"Meanwhile, if I try to sneak in once and half the city lights up red. Where's the justice in that?"

Shun glared at him. "Don't you dare wear my face and try to flirt with anyone."

Nagumo snorted. "For the record, I'm sure they will be into it. Anyway..." He tapped his chopsticks on the counter.

"Are you getting along with everyone?"

Shun gave a subtle nod. "More or less."

Nagumo grinned wider. "Oooh, making friends now? Tell me—going for any of them? Or all of them?" He leaned closer with a teasing glint in his eye.

"You know you're gonna break a lot of hearts, right?"

Shun gave him a flat look, clearly unimpressed.

"You're projecting again."

Nagumo chuckled, unbothered. "Just saying, you've got options."

Shun changed the subject. "Did the JAA send a hit on me?"

The question landed like a blade.

Nagumo's grin didn't falter, but the mirth behind his eyes dimmed slightly. "If they did, would I be slurping noodles next to you?"

Shun didn't answer.

Nagumo raised his hands. "Relax. Total coincidence. No one's hunting you. If they were..." He trailed off, poking his noodles,

"...well, we'd already be knee-deep in a war between the JAA and every criminal syndicate that owes your mother favors."

Shun didn't deny it. He knew the stakes.

"Good," he muttered. "Just making sure."

Nagumo flashed a peace sign. "Scout's honor."