World Rejector

Chapter 6: Teacher and Students

I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going. One second, I was walking down the street, and the next—

BAM.

Something soft but heavy crashed into me, and suddenly, food was everywhere. Bags filled with vegetables, fruits, and packed meals tumbled to the ground.

“Ack—!”

I barely caught a bag of oranges before they rolled into the street.

When I looked up, I saw the person I had crashed into—a woman, dressed neatly, struggling to balance what little she had left in her arms.

“My bad,” I said, picking up some of the fallen groceries.

She let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank you! That would’ve been a disaster.”

Her voice was gentle, warm. Like a cup of tea on a rainy day.

I adjusted the weight of the bags in my hands. “Where are you taking all this?”

“The rooftop.”

I froze.

“The… rooftop?”

She nodded cheerfully. “Yup! I’m taking these up for the kids.”

I glanced down at the ridiculous amount of food, then up at the building.

“Please tell me there’s an elevator.”

“It’s broken.”

Of course it is.

I sighed, resigning myself to my fate. “Fine. Lead the way.”

She smiled again, a real one, that kind of crinkled the edges of her eyes.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to—”

“I’m already holding half of it,” I grumbled. “Let’s just get this over with.”

And so began my ascent into suffering.

…

By the time we reached the rooftop, my arms felt like they were going to fall off. I set the bags down with a thud and took a second to catch my breath.

Meanwhile, the woman—who had somehow carried her share without breaking a sweat—was busy greeting a bunch of kids.

I looked around.

The rooftop wasn’t empty like I expected. Instead, it was a small vegetable garden, with neatly arranged rows of plants and kids running around, watering them.

“A kindergarten activity?” I asked, straightening up.

The woman turned to me and smiled.

“That’s right. This is an outdoor learning space. I’m their teacher, Nana.”

Teacher Nana, huh?

She immediately got swarmed by kids, all eager to show off their plants.

“Teacher, teacher! Look! My tomato plant is growing!”

“Teacher Nana, I watered my carrots today!”

“Miss Nana, when will the strawberries be ready?”

She crouched down to their level, her skirt rustling softly as she balanced herself.

With a gentle hand, she brushed the dirt from one boy’s cheek and adjusted a girl’s crooked hat.

“Wonderful! You’ve all worked so hard,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “The strawberries will be ready soon. Maybe next week if we keep giving them love and care.”

The kids cheered.

I found myself watching from the side, not wanting to interrupt. There was something peaceful about it.

The way Nana tucked loose strands of hair behind their ears.

How she patted their heads after they shared something.

Little gestures. Nothing grand. But warm.

Then, a little girl tugged on Nana’s sleeve. She looked hesitant, like she was about to ask something serious.

“What’s wrong, Mia?” Nana asked, crouching down to her level.

The girl fidgeted before looking up with wide eyes.

“Teacher… is God real?”

The other kids went quiet. Even I raised an eyebrow.

Nana’s smile softened. “Yes, He is. He watches over us and guides us. That’s why we should always follow His teachings and do what is right.”

Her fingers brushed Mia’s hair out of her face as she spoke. Tender.

Calm.

But Mia looked down, as if deep in thought.

“But… what if God asks you to do something bad? Would you still do it?”

A tense silence followed.

Nana’s expression didn’t change immediately, but I saw it—the slight hesitation in her eyes.

Her lips parted like she was about to answer, but nothing came out.

I stepped in before things got too awkward.

Ruffling Mia’s hair, I said, “You’re thinking too much, kid. Why would God ask someone to do something bad? If someone claiming to be God tells you to do something evil, then they aren’t God at all.”

She blinked up at me, confused.

I smirked. “That’s not a god—that’s a devil.”

Mia stared at me for a second before nodding slowly.

Then, she ran off to rejoin the other kids.

I turned back to Nana, who was still looking at me—her blue eyes unreadable.

“What?” I asked.

She just shook her head with a small smile. “Nothing. You’re good with kids.”

I scoffed.

“Not really.”

The rest of the afternoon was… unexpectedly nice.

I didn’t plan on staying long, but I ended up helping with small things—moving supplies, setting up food, making sure no one tripped over the watering cans.

The kids eventually pulled me into their games, and before I knew it, I was playing tag with a bunch of kindergarteners.

Nana, meanwhile laughed as the kids tackled her, her warmth spreading to everyone around her. She bandaged one boy’s scraped knee with such care it almost felt like a prayer. She wiped another’s tears when his plant died, promising they could plant a new seed together tomorrow.

It was a weirdly wholesome sight.

By the time I checked my phone, the sun was already setting.

“Huh. Time flies,” I muttered.

Nana smiled. “Guess you were having fun.”

I stretched. “I should get going.”

The kids waved goodbye as I left.

Not long after, I got a message from Amber.

[Amber: Meet me at the coffee shop.]

I sighed but changed course.

…

When I got there, Amber was already sitting at a table, happily eating a slice of strawberry cake. Lynn was next to her, sipping her drink.

I sat down across from them. “What’s this about?”

Amber ignored me and took another bite of her cake.

I watched her chew. Then, with a smirk, I said,

“You know that’s high in calories, right? Might ruin your face.”

Amber’s fork stopped mid-air.

She smiled sweetly. “Do you want me to burn your face?”

Lynn sighed. “Enough, you two.”

She set a folder on the table and slid it toward me.

“We called you here because we got a tip. There’s a spy from the White Cult hiding in the city.”

I frowned. “White Cult?” Lynn nodded. “They’re an extremist group that believes ability users are an abomination. They see themselves as holy warriors, but really, they’re just another group of radicals.”

Amber chimed in, licking a bit of frosting from her fork.

“They hate people like us. Which means they’re a pain.”

Lynn simplified it even more, explaining in a way even a child could understand.

I pieced things together.

“So basically… they’re crazy zealots with a god complex?”

Lynn nodded. “That’s one way to put it.”

Then, she pulled out a photograph.

I looked at it—and my stomach dropped.

It was a picture of Teacher Nana.

Standing there, smiling gently.

The same gentle smile she gave the kids.

Only now, it sent a chill down my spine.