Kryptonians: Man of Steel

Chapter 1545 Hiratsuka Shizuka: Impossible, absolutely impossible

Sharp eyes scanned the rearview mirror and surroundings through the tinted windows like radar: Was someone following them?

Was there any suspicious gaze? After confirming it was safe, she quickly pulled an inconspicuous black sports bag from under the passenger seat.

The subsequent actions were swift and professional, a stark contrast to his usual carefree and fist-driven persona.

She took off her teacher's uniform jacket, revealing a close-fitting black turtleneck sweatshirt.

Next came black athletic pants, a change from the slightly conservative trousers.

A black baseball cap that covered his hair, and a black face mask that almost covered half of his face.

Finally, she even put on a pair of thin black tactical gloves—to minimize the presence of fingerprints and dander.

The entire process was completed in the cramped carriage, with clean and efficient movements and not a single unnecessary sound.

She neatly folded the clothes she had changed out of and stuffed them back into her sports bag, along with the briefcase containing her teacher's supplies, and locked them deep inside the trunk of her sports car.

At this moment, she was completely enveloped in the deep darkness of the night, with only her eyes, which gleamed sharply in the shadow of her hat, visible.

Like a shadow blending into the night, she avoided the main roads with their heavy pedestrian traffic, choosing instead to wander through the alleys and green belts of the residential area.

She knew the area around the school like the back of her hand, skillfully avoiding all intersections and shop entrances that might be equipped with public surveillance cameras. The last rays of the setting sun quickly faded, and dusk settled in, providing her with excellent cover.

Instead of entering through the school gate, she went around to a secluded corner near the sports storage area at the back of the school. There, she found a section of wall that had fallen into disrepair and was partially obscured by dense vines.

She observed for a moment, making sure no one was around, then took a few steps back, took a short and powerful run-up, pushed off the wall, leaped up, and precisely grabbed the protruding bricks on the top of the wall with both hands. Using her waist and abdomen, her whole body flipped over as lightly as a cat, landing with only a slight "thud" as she quickly disappeared into the shadows at the base of the wall.

The movements were fluid, showing signs of well-trained skill.

The campus was quiet; most teachers and students had already left, with only the faint sounds of club activities coming from the distant gymnasium. She moved quickly, skirting the shadows of the buildings, avoiding the few students returning late and the patrolling security guards.

They knew the location of the surveillance cameras by heart, and every pause and turn was precisely timed to hit the blind spots or dead zones of the surveillance.

Finally, the familiar office door came into view. The corridor was deserted. She didn't open the door immediately, but checked the lock and door frame again—there were no new signs.

Just like yesterday and this morning, she inserted the key with the slightest movement, at the exact same angle and with the same force, and turned it. The lock made a soft, familiar "click."

She slipped inside, silently closing the door behind her, but didn't lock it—she wanted "Rabbit" to be able to come in.

The office was dimly lit, with only the faint light from the outside sky outlining the furniture. She didn't turn on the lights. The faint scent of roses still lingered in the air, but now it seemed particularly pungent.

She quickly moved to the best vantage point in the room—a corner behind a tall filing cabinet. From here, she could clearly see the doorway and most of the room through the gaps in the cabinet's edge, yet it was shrouded in deep shadow, so even if someone came in and turned on the light, it would be difficult for the light to shine directly into this spot.

She leaned against the cold wall, crouched slightly, and adjusted her breathing, making it long and almost inaudible. She seemed to blend into the darkness of the room, becoming a silent piece of furniture.

Silence, like thick ink, began to envelop the entire space. Only the ticking of the second hand of the wall clock was amplified infinitely, striking at the taut nerves. Time seemed to stretch out.

Hiratsuka Shizuka's heart was far from calm, unlike her frozen posture. A complex undercurrent surged and churned within her chest.

A powerful urge to capture her burned like a raging fire, scorching the core of her reason. The anger at being spied on, teased, and having her private space invaded never subsided, only enveloped by a cold resolve.

She longed to expose that audacious individual and, using her most proficient methods—whether sharp words or physical "persuasion"—make him deeply understand the price of breaking taboos.

Imagining the panic, bewilderment, or even fear on the other person's face when they are caught red-handed, a cold-blooded sense of satisfaction grows in my heart.

She needs answers, a sense of control, and a complete end to this annoying farce.

Every subtle sound—footsteps in the distant corridor, the soft rustling of the wind through the window—instantly tensed her muscles, sharpened her eyes like knives, and held her breath, waiting for the moment her prey would step into the trap.

However, beneath this powerful will to pursue, a faint, almost self-deprecating expectation, like a stubborn bubble at the bottom of the water, rises uncontrollably and intermittently to the surface of her heart.

This expectation is so absurd, so out of step with the times, yet it truly exists.

Those two bouquets of roses, that carefully selected variety (although she didn't recognize the specific names, she could tell they were of excellent quality), that two consecutive days of silent dedication... was all of this really just a malicious act of humiliation or prank targeting a "leftover woman" teacher?
Could there be... even the slightest possibility that it's some... clumsy... admirer who dares not show themselves?
The moment the thought crossed her mind, it was immediately extinguished by the stern "Hiratsuka Shizuka" in her head.

"madness!"

An inner voice rebuked her, "A woman in her thirties still fantasizing about such unrealistic scenarios? In this way? Sneaking around, not even daring to leave her name, what kind of admiration is this? This is the behavior of a coward, an outright offense!"

She forced herself to recall those unpleasant past experiences: when she was young, she had also received flowers, mixed in with those confessions, some straightforward and some subtle, but what was the final outcome?

It's either a brief, ambiguous relationship that ends without a trace, or a decisive departure after seeing through the other person's true nature.

She had long been accustomed to being single, accustomed to wrapping herself up tightly with the labels of "iron fist" and "leftover woman," isolating herself from unnecessary disturbances and potential harm.

This kind of "romance" hidden in the shadows, like a handout, was not a surprise to her, but an insult! It was a disregard for her independent personality and intelligence!
"He could never be a suitor!"

She silently and resolutely reiterated this to herself in the darkness.

This expectation is a sign of weakness, a distraction from rational judgment. She must discard it completely. She has only one goal: to apprehend the intruder, uncover the truth, and deliver the necessary "education."

(End of this chapter)