Open Gotta be cool headed (class)

[Kureji]

The very next day after Kureji came to Sand, early in the morning, as the sun outside of the dome was just barely even rising, Kureji was in the Toraono dojo to teach some kids. There was some random post about needing some teachers in return they will be paid. And Kureji is in need of being paid some yen. So he figured, heck, why not?

The place he got was a semi-big area, about two classrooms big, minus desks and chairs. Foam balls were all in the center of the room in a single line. He picked up one ball and tossed it up into the air and caught it. He won't be lame and do introductions. Nah, he's got more exciting ways to teach. As soon as the first person walks through that doorway, he would launch that foam ball at the person, aiming for the torso area, not putting chakra into his throw, since that could very easily turn something as harmless as a foam ball as a dangerous projectile.

(Welcome to class nerds O_O)
(for continuity purposes, this is before Kureji enters the event)

 

[Chikamatsu Suisen]

The boy moved down the halls of the Toraono dojo with soft, even steps, pale hair catching in the faint morning light. His eyes gleamed with curiosity, wide with the thrill of uncertainty. Today he would be instructed not by his clan, but by a stranger. A teacher beyond the Chikamatsu. Already his thoughts danced with mischief, schemes budding in his mind like seeds just waiting for water. 'Perhaps a frog in the chalk drawer? Or a puppet strung to tumble from the rafters?' The possibilities were endless.

He stepped across the threshold, head tilted in innocent intrigue, and for Kureji, the sight was uncanny. The boy’s likeness was unmistakable. He was a mirror of Chikamatsu Shin, but as if he walked into the classroom in his younger years, the very same features etched upon his face. Yet this child had no idea who stood before him, a once near rival of his father's where fatal blows were almost exchanged over the protection of his father's pupils.

The moment lasted only a breath before the teacher’s “lesson” began. The ball left Kureji’s hand and in the next instant, thwack! Struck Suisen squarely in the chest.

The boy clutched at himself as if pierced by an unseen spear. His eyes rolled upward, legs buckling beneath him. With a ragged gasp, he collapsed upon the floorboards, flailing weakly.

"Ah! Woe is me, struck by so foul a missile! This cruel and senseless world hath no mercy for an innocent babe such as I! O, accursèd fate, that even a foam-born orb should carry the weight of doom upon my breast!

He staggered in a half-sitting sprawl, hand pressed to his chest, voice rising in tremulous despair.

"Mark me well, kind spectators! Though I am but a child unblooded by the field, already I am damned! The yokai stir, their claws outstretched, eager to seize my tender soul! What wicked jest is this, that in my youth I should perish, unloved, undone, unshriven? Alas, I go, I go, into that endless dark!"

With a final, overdrawn sigh, Suisen sprawled flat upon the dojo floor, arms cast wide in imitation of a tragic martyr. He gave a last twitch for good measure, then stilled, face slack, awaiting the reaction of both teacher and classmates to his most magnificent death