I’d already called your mom… I’d already called your mom… I’d already called your mom…

Her next words were completely drowned out. That single sentence echoed endlessly in my ears, filling me with an unspeakable despair.

Murphy’s Law strikes again: when you think the odds of something going wrong are slim, and figure trying once won’t *just happen* to backfire… well, it almost always does.

So yeah. I got wrecked. And not even in the way I expected. It wasn’t my teacher calling about my morning absence. It was the school administration—about the anniversary festival.

Fine, call *me*. But why call my *mom*?

If I had an anime avatar right now, I’d be flat on the floor in a full prostration pose, utterly broken.

But there was no escaping it. Following Teacher Liang’s instructions, I clattered down the hallway to the administrator’s office to report.

Inside sat one of the vice principals—a guy who basically vanished into the background. He handled everything *except* academics. I’d barely seen him since freshman year, only hearing his name during the opening ceremony speech.

He looked over fifty. Square-jawed face. Thick-rimmed glasses with lenses like bottle bottoms. Deep wrinkles carved into his skin, made even scarier by his perpetually stern expression.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

*Eeek!* Terrifying!

Guilty conscience first, I trembled under his sharp gaze. I forced a nervous chuckle. “Uh… I’m the student coordinator for the anniversary festival.”

“Oh. You.” Strangely, he didn’t scold me. He just glanced up, then buried his head in paperwork again. “There’s arguing in your rehearsal room. Go deal with it.”

Huh? *That’s* it?

You called my *mother* over this trivial mess?

My emotions tangled into a knot.

*Sigh.* What were those troublemakers even fighting about? I pushed open the door to the activity room where everyone had gathered.

“Why won’t you let us perform?!”

The roar hit me the moment I stepped inside. The shouter wasn’t even from our organizing team—total stranger. Never seen him before.

A girl sat nearby, perfectly composed. She spoke gently, trying to calm him. I recognized her—a stunning beauty from the next class over, also on the festival committee, handling reviews and scheduling. “Please understand. We didn’t spot those sensitive elements during initial checks either. We’re all just following orders. If the teachers and leaders blame us…”

“You *said* it was fine back then!” snapped a girl standing beside the shouting guy. Clearly, they’d come as a group. “You approved us! We passed rehearsals! We’ve practiced for over two months, and *now* you say we can’t go on?”

Okay. Got it. Some pre-approved act got flagged during final review. No idea why, but judging by their words… probably rule-breaking content?

What kind of rule-breaking? Easy guess: subversion, violence, or… yeah. The usual suspects.

Subversion? Please. Kids our age wouldn’t dare. And if it *were* truly subversive, they’d be dragged back to class already, not arguing here. Violence? Unlikely. The loud guy had volume and fury, but he was skinny as a rail. Half his group were girls anyway.

Only one option left: *that* kind of content. Since they were still fighting their case, it couldn’t be explicit. Must’ve been heavy innuendo. Borderline stuff.

Neither side noticed me enter. The arguing escalated. Even our usually calm committee members were losing their cool.

“Enough! You *know* it’s your own fault! Go complain to the teachers if you’re so upset—why yell at *us*?!”

“What good are you if we have to run to teachers for everything?!”

“You—!”

Faces flushed red. Sleeves rolled up. Fists clenched.

Showtime.

I planted my feet, drew a deep breath, and roared:

**“SHUT. UP.”**

The sheer force of it froze the room. Everyone stared, stunned silent.

Seriously? Think I’m some harmless cat from *Nekopara*? My morning had already been a dumpster fire. Poking a sleeping tiger? *Bad idea.*

I strode to the center of the room, turning to face both sides. Their eyes followed me, wide with anticipation.

Deadly serious. Eyes sharp as knives. Standing rigid. I curled my lips into a cold smirk… and opened my mouth—

***Ah-CHOO!***

The chill autumn air, the damp pants, the thin shirt and ultra-short skirt… consequences hit hard. Right there, under every single pair of eyes, I let out a huge, wet sneeze.

In that moment? I genuinely wished the floor would swallow me whole.