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Title: Oi. 
Author/Artist: MK! 
Pairing: Sawada Shin x Yamaguchi Kumiko 
Fandom: Gokusen (animanga-dramaverse.) 
[A 30_Kisses Challenge] 
Theme: #1 – Look Over Here 
Disclaimer: I don’t own Gokusen or anything affiliated with it (just this 
story!) but I do wish I owned a pet boy.
www.lunap.com // http://www.fanfiction.net/~moonklutz // http://www.possible-soup.net

NOTES: I’m going to try and do this as a series of shorts, like for PGSM, 
so…uh.. >_> Enjoy. I really appreciate feedback! I often get the details of a 
series confused (but remember, this is a combo anime-manga-drama-verse) so if I 
make a mistake or you think I could improve on something, I’d appreciate hearing 
about it! And hey, if you like it, then that’ll make me happy, too. ^^ [I’m so 
sad! No one ever writes for Gokusen!]

	Pigtails. Shin couldn’t decide if she actually just liked to wear them 
(she was a lot like a kid sometimes) or if it was part of the disguise.  The 
glasses as well. Glasses and pigtails.  She looked like an over-grown grade-
schooler sometimes, shorter than everyone in the class, standing at the front of 
the room.  Short. Tracksuit. Pigtails. Glasses.
	Maybe he was crazy.  
	For English class, everyone moved their desks to the front and crowded 
around “Shizuka-chan~”, books ready and eyes focused, more than likely, on some 
favourite part of her anatomy as she moved.  For Math with “Yankumi” the desks 
were far back and no one really cared about her anatomy.  Part of that were the 
pigtails, but mostly, it was probably the track suit.  Fujiyama-sensei wore 
skirted-suits and high heels, after all.  
      Shin’s desk stayed put regardless of the situation – whichever teacher 
taught, whatever was going on, even if a fight broke out and everyone else moved 
theirs to the sides.  Shin’s desk never moved.   
      “….you guys can’t use calculators, that’s why! Even a warehouse won’t hire 
you if you can’t add and subtract!” She was scowling at Uchi again, the usual 
argument repeating itself.  
      Shin laid his head back on the desk and let his eyes slide nearly shut, 
head tilted and propped up on his arm. He could see her from here, but to anyone 
else he looked like he was asleep.  The words weren’t important – he’d learned 
this kind of basic math back in grade school – but he liked to study her.  She 
didn’t pay attention to him in class unless he did something to get her attention. 
Outside of class, she would come to the roof for his advice, but in class he was 
practically invisible.
      She looked unassuming, easy to ignore, until someone made a comment that 
set her off. When that occurred, there was the narrowing of her eyes, her back 
straightening further, and a that demon-aura:  The face she put on whenever 
someone insulted the Yakuza or when her secret was threatened to be exposed. It 
was entirely different from (but nearly equally as frightening as) the face she 
wore when fighting.  
      “Okay, so here’s the easy trick: See how I write 9-1 down here on the 
right, vertically? Now starting from the 8, I’ll write 1-0 beside it on the 
left…” One of her pigtails was stuck on her shoulder, the other falling down her 
back. Shin’s arm was growing numb where his head rested on it.  
      She could be... really oblivious for someone in her position.  How many 
times had he diverted the others’ attention so they wouldn’t notice something? 
Something like their sensei’s resemblance to the Ane-san outside of Tenkai-Kumi 
office, or how her “distant relatives” who came and taught them basketball were 
really strange. “Oi, you know Yankumi. She loves Yakuza movies; it probably runs 
in the family.”  Okay, so it was ridiculously easy, but without his intervention 
she probably would have been discovered a dozen times over by now.  Not to 
mention the number of times he had taken hard hits in her fights.  (He did his 
best to keep the time he had been used as a hostage out of his mind.)  
      And she was completely unaware.  He knew her Grandfather had somehow 
approved of him; it was a strange feeling to receive from the head of a Yakuza 
clan.  It was even stranger to be able to stay there overnight when escaping 
some family problems.
      At home she was different. Everything was different.  It was a bizarre 
combination of Fighting-Yankumi and Yankumi-the-Sensei. Her hair was sometimes 
down, other times in pigtails, however the glasses and track-suit were 
definitely gone, replaced with comfortable jeans and t-shirts rather than 
anything like what Fujiyama-sensei probably favoured.  But even casual like that 
– sitting in a doorway or feet tucked under her at the table where she marked 
tests, it was different. Tetsu and Minoru bowed to her repeatedly, calling her 
“Ojou” while fumbling over one another trying to keep her happy.  She seemed 
oblivious to the longing look Tetsu often gave her, which was both good and 
annoying.
      The Yankumi at home was serious, casual, goofy, relaxed and unguarded in a 
way she rarely was at school.  He’d seen her spar with several of the members of 
the house “just to stretch her muscles” – people he wouldn’t have challenged 
unless he had a damn good reason.  She took them out like they were nothing, 
then laughed with the scariest of them, Kyo-san, over how out-of-shape they 
were.  
      Class 3-D didn’t have a clue.  
      Finally, the class and the day were over, the others scrambled out of the 
room with their things while she shuffled papers at her desk, humming a little.  
Shin stretched back in his seat.
      “Oi, Sawada, class is over!” She didn’t even look up from her papers.  She 
frowned, bit her lip, then stuck her tongue out at something before smiling 
again and gathering her things. Shin pushed his chair back, lifted his bag so it 
was slung over one shoulder and walked up to the front of the now-empty class 
room. She still hadn’t looked at him.  She dug through her bag until she found 
her cell-phone instead.  “Oh good, don’t want to lose this again…”
      “Kumiko.” That was enough. She looked up, startled, mouth open, eyes 
confused, ready to say something. Something likely about how “Yankumi” was okay 
but she was a teacher after all, so Kumiko wasn’t—He cut her off, lips pressed 
to her open mouth briefly. A puff of breath escaped from him, softly, and 
settled into her.  “Look at me next time, baka.”
      And he left; glad his back was to her because his cheeks felt a little 
hot.
      
      Yamaguchi Kumiko slowly raised her hand to her mouth and stared at the 
open doorway. “Sawa…da…?”