The mountain air was crisp that morning, carrying with it the scent of pine and dew-laden grass. Class 3-E's dilapidated building stood isolated from the main campus of Kunugigaoka Junior High School, a physical manifestation of their status as outcasts and rejects. But within those worn walls, something remarkable had begun to bloom—a sense of unity forged through shared hardship and an impossible mission.
They were assassins in training, tasked with killing their teacher before graduation. A teacher who happened to be a super-powered octopus creature capable of destroying the Earth.
It was absurd. It was impossible. It was their reality.
And through it all, one student remained an enigma...
Nagisa Shiota had always been observant. It was his greatest skill—the ability to blend into the background and notice the details others missed. His small stature and feminine appearance made him easy to overlook, and he'd learned to use that to his advantage. Observation was the foundation of assassination, after all.
So it bothered him, more than he cared to admit, that he knew so little about [M/n].
The thought occurred to him on a Tuesday morning, during one of Korosensei's rapid-fire literature lessons. The yellow octopus was zipping around the classroom at Mach 20, writing notes on the board while simultaneously checking each student's work and offering individualized feedback. It was dizzying to watch, but Nagisa had grown accustomed to it over the months.
His gaze drifted, as it sometimes did during lectures, across the classroom. It landed on [M/n], seated three rows over by the window.
The dark-haired boy sat with his usual posture—straight-backed, head resting on crossed arms, eyes closed. Asleep again. His black hair fell in sectioned strands around his face, the longer pieces brushing against his nape. Even in rest, there was something unnervingly still about him, like a statue more than a sleeping teenager.
When had Nagisa last heard [M/n] speak unprompted? When had he last seen the boy smile, or frown, or show any emotion beyond that empty, half-lidded stare?
The more Nagisa thought about it, the more he realized how little he actually knew. [M/n]'s birthday was... sometime in winter, maybe? Or had that been someone else? Did he have siblings? What did his parents do? Where did he live?
The questions multiplied, and Nagisa found himself frowning at his notebook, the lecture forgotten.
"Nagisa-kun, is something troubling you?"
He jerked his head up to find Korosensei's large, round face mere centimeters from his own, the permanent smile somehow conveying concern through sheer proximity.
"N-no, Korosensei! I was just... thinking."
"Nhuhuhu, thinking is good! But thinking about the lesson is better!" The octopus's face flashed red and white in a teacherly scold pattern before zipping away to harass Karma about his sloppy handwriting.
Nagisa glanced back at [M/n]. Still asleep. Still perfectly, unnaturally still.
Who are you? he wondered.
At lunch, Nagisa found himself gravitating toward Karma, Sugino, and Maehara, who had claimed their usual spot on the building's worn wooden steps. The spring sunshine was warm on his face, a pleasant contrast to the cool mountain breeze.
"You've been spacing out all morning," Karma observed, unwrapping his lunch with deliberate precision. His gold eyes glinted with curiosity. "What's eating you?"
Nagisa hesitated, then decided there was no harm in voicing his thoughts. "Do any of you know much about [M/n]?"
The question hung in the air for a moment.
Sugino paused mid-bite, his rice ball halfway to his mouth. "The quiet guy? Dark hair, always sleeping?"
"That's the one."
Maehara leaned back on his hands, tilting his face toward the sun. "Hmm, can't say I do. He's been here since the beginning of the year, right? But now that you mention it, I don't think I've ever had an actual conversation with him."
"He doesn't really talk," Sugino added, finally biting into his rice ball. "I offered him some of my mom's cooking once—she always packs too much—and he just stared at me for like ten seconds before taking it. Didn't even say thank you."
Karma's expression shifted, becoming more focused. "Interesting observation, Nagisa. You're right—we know practically nothing about him. And that's..." He trailed off, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
"Weird," Maehara supplied. "It's weird, right? I mean, we're Class 3-E. We're supposed to be in this together. The whole 'unity through adversity' thing."
"Transparency is key," Karma murmured, almost to himself. "We all agreed on that early on. No secrets that could compromise the mission or each other. But [M/n]..." He looked toward the classroom windows, though they couldn't see inside from this angle. "He's a complete blank slate."
Nagisa felt a small sense of relief that he wasn't the only one who'd noticed. "So what do we do about it?"
Karma's grin turned sharp, predatory. "We observe. Carefully. If he's hiding something, we'll figure out what. And if he's not..." The grin softened into something more genuine. "Then maybe we just need to try harder to include him."
The decision to observe [M/n] more closely spread through Class 3-E like wildfire, though with more subtlety than their usual chaos might suggest. They were assassins in training, after all—subtlety was supposed to be their specialty.
What started as Nagisa's idle curiosity became a class-wide investigation, though 'investigation' might have been too strong a word. It was more like... collective awareness. Students who'd previously overlooked [M/n]'s presence began to pay attention to the small details of his daily routine.
And those details, they quickly discovered, were strange.
Observation #1: The Shoe Incident
It was Okano who first noticed the shoe thing.
Physical education with Karasuma was always intense, pushing the students to their limits as part of their assassination training. Today had been no different—two hours of circuit training, hand-to-hand combat drills, and endurance running up and down the mountain path.
By the end, everyone was exhausted, sweaty, and desperate for the showers.
Okano, being one of the more athletic girls, was usually among the first changed and ready to return to class. As she exited the girls' changing room, she nearly collided with [M/n], who was walking down the hallway in his uniform, vest neatly buttoned, tie straight.
And barefoot.
His black shoes dangled from one hand, forgotten.
Okano blinked. "[M/n]-kun, your shoes—"
He stopped mid-stride, looked down at his sock-clad feet as though noticing them for the first time, then glanced at the shoes in his hand. For a moment, his expression remained that same empty, half-lidded neutrality.
Then, without a word, he turned around and walked back toward the boys' changing room.
Okano stood in the hallway, utterly baffled.
When she mentioned it to Kataoka later, the class representative's eyebrows rose. "He forgot he was supposed to wear his shoes?"
"Not exactly forgot," Okano said slowly, trying to articulate what she'd witnessed. "It was more like... he didn't remember that wearing shoes was something he needed to do. Does that make sense?"
Kataoka frowned thoughtfully. "Not really, but I think I understand what you mean. Like it wasn't a natural habit for him?"
"Exactly!"
The two girls exchanged glances, and without needing to say it aloud, both understood: this was something worth noting.
Observation #2: The Food Paradox
Yada was the next to contribute to the growing list of [M/n]'s peculiarities, and hers came during lunch period two days later.
Class 3-E had fallen into the comfortable habit of sharing food. With so many students from different backgrounds—some wealthy, some struggling—it had become an unspoken rule that if you had extra, you shared. It built camaraderie, and besides, some of their classmates' homemade lunches were too good not to share.
[M/n] was often a recipient of these offerings, though Yada had never really thought about why.
Today, she'd brought an extra portion of her mother's tamago sushi and offered it to [M/n], who sat at his desk with what appeared to be a very modest lunch—a single rice ball and a small container of pickled vegetables.
"[M/n]-kun, would you like some?" She offered with a warm smile. "My mom always makes too much."
Those dark, shallow eyes lifted to meet hers. For a moment, he simply stared, and Yada felt an odd chill run down her spine. There was something unsettling about his gaze—not hostile, not cold exactly, but... empty. Like looking at a reflection in still water.
Then he blinked. "What is it?"
"Tamago sushi. Egg over rice. It's really good!"
He looked down at his own lunch, then back at her offering. "Does it have protein?"
The question caught her off guard. "Um, yes? It's egg, so—"
"I'll take one piece."
She handed him the container, expecting him to take one and return it, but instead he studied the contents with an almost analytical focus, selected a single piece that appeared to have the most egg, and handed the container back.
"Thank you," He said, the words flat and practiced, like he'd learned to say them by rote rather than feeling.
Yada smiled anyway. "You're welcome! If you want more—"
"I don't."
And that was that.
Later, Yada mentioned the interaction to Hara, who was known as the "mom" of the class for her nurturing tendencies.
"He only took one piece?" Hara asked, her round face scrunched in thought. "But you had plenty."
"That's what was weird," Yada explained. "It was like he was... calculating what he needed. He asked if it had protein first, and he took the piece with the most egg."
Hara's expression grew more troubled. "Now that you mention it, I've noticed he's really particular about what he accepts. Last week, Kimura offered him some candy, and he refused. But when Kurahashi gave him apple slices, he took them."
"Balance," Nakamura interjected, having been eavesdropping on their conversation with her usual shamelessness. The blonde girl leaned back in her chair, arms crossed behind her head. "He's balancing his nutrients. One protein, one vegetable, one carb. He never takes more than he needs from any single category."
Yada and Hara stared at her.
"What? I pay attention." Nakamura shrugged. "But here's the kicker—have any of you ever seen him bring his own lunch?"
The question settled over them like a heavy blanket.
"No," Hara said slowly. "I haven't. I just assumed he bought bread from the store or something."
"Same," Yada admitted.
Nakamura's blue eyes gleamed with interest. "Exactly. He never brings lunch. He only eats what we give him. And he never, ever asks for food. We offer, he accepts or declines based on some internal calculation, and that's it."
The implication hung unspoken between them: What kind of person only eats what others give them?
Observation #3: The Sleeping Pattern
If there was one thing everyone in Class 3-E could agree on, it was that [M/n] slept. A lot.
Takebayashi, ever the intellectual, had started keeping a log out of sheer academic curiosity. He tracked which periods [M/n] stayed awake for and which he slept through, looking for patterns.
What he found was both consistent and baffling.
"He's awake for Karasuma's physical training, always," Takebayashi reported to a small gathering of interested classmates—Karma, Nagisa, Nakamura, Isogai, and Kataoka—during a free period. He pushed his round glasses up his nose and consulted his notebook. "He's awake for math and science. He's awake for assassination technique lectures. But literature, history, English with Professor Jelavić, and any free period? He's out like a light."
"So he stays awake for practical subjects," Isogai observed, his princely features thoughtful. "Subjects that have immediate, applicable use."
"Exactly. But here's the strange part—he never shows signs of fatigue before falling asleep. No yawning, no drooping eyes, no sluggish movement. One moment he's alert, the next moment his head is down and he's unconscious."
Karma leaned forward, interest piqued. "What's his academic performance like?"
"Above average in everything he's awake for. Average in everything he sleeps through." Takebayashi flipped a page. "Which suggests he's either naturally gifted or he studies on his own time. But he never stays after class, never asks for help, and I've never seen him with homework."
"That's because he finishes it during class," Nagisa offered quietly. All eyes turned to him. "I sit close enough to see. During lectures, he takes minimal notes—just key points—and if there's any worksheet or assignment given, he completes it before the period ends. He's efficient."
Kataoka frowned. "But if he's that efficient and capable, why sleep through half his classes?"
"Maybe he's bored?" Nakamura suggested.
"Or maybe he's not sleeping at home," Karma said, his tone darker than usual.
The group fell silent.
"You think he has insomnia?" Takebayashi asked.
Karma's expression was unreadable. "I think we're noticing a lot of strange things that individually seem quirky, but together..." He trailed off, letting them draw their own conclusions.
Nagisa felt that familiar chill again, the one he'd been experiencing more and more when thinking about [M/n]. "Together they paint a concerning picture."
"Exactly."
It was during a free period on a Friday afternoon when everything changed.
Korosensei had been working quietly at his desk—or as quietly as a Mach 20 octopus could work—sorting through administrative documents for the upcoming class trip. The students were scattered around the classroom in their usual clusters, chatting, studying, or in [M/n]'s case, sleeping.
The yellow octopus hummed to himself as he worked through the stack of student files, cross-referencing emergency contact information, medical histories, and travel permissions. It was tedious work, but necessary, and he took his responsibilities as their teacher seriously.
Then he reached [M/n]'s file, and his humming stopped.
The folder was thin. Suspiciously thin.
Korosensei opened it fully, spreading the contents across his desk. His permanent smile remained fixed, but his tentacles stilled—a telltale sign of concern to anyone who knew him well.
The file contained exactly two pieces of information:
Name: [M/n]
Date of Birth: [XX/XX/XXXX]
That was it.
No emergency contact. No home address. No previous school records. No medical history. No guardian information. Nothing.
Korosensei's face cycled through several colors—blue for depression, purple for confusion, red and white stripes for agitation—before settling back to yellow. This was highly irregular. Every student was supposed to have comprehensive documentation on file, especially for situations like class trips where emergency contacts were essential.
"[M/n]-kun," He called out, his voice carefully neutral. "Could you come here for a moment?"
Across the classroom, the dark-haired boy's eyes opened. There was no grogginess, no disorientation from being woken suddenly. One moment he was asleep, the next he was alert. He rose from his desk and approached without question, his movements fluid and silent.
The classroom's ambient chatter died down as students noticed the interaction.
"Yes, Korosensei?" [M/n]'s voice was quiet, flat, completely devoid of inflection.
The octopus gestured to the open file with a tentacle. "I was reviewing the documents for our class trip next week and noticed your file is missing some information. Quite a bit of information, actually. We'll need an emergency contact number at minimum, and a home address for—"
"I don't have those."
Korosensei paused. "I beg your pardon?"
"I don't have an emergency contact or a home address." [M/n] stated this as simply as one might comment on the weather, his dark eyes fixed somewhere around Korosensei's shoulder rather than making direct eye contact.
The classroom had gone completely silent now. Even Karma had looked up from his manga, interest clearly piqued.
Korosensei's face flickered blue briefly. "Everyone has a home address, [M/n]-kun. Where do your parents live? Where do you go after school?"
"I don't have parents." The words were clinical, detached. "And I don't have a home."
The statement hit the classroom like a physical force.
"You don't... have a home?" Korosensei repeated slowly, his voice uncharacteristically small.
For the first time, [M/n]'s expression shifted slightly—not quite confusion, but something adjacent to it. His head tilted a fraction to the side, like a bird examining something curious.
"A home?" he asked, as though testing the word. "Why would I have a home?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered, as twenty-seven students and one alien teacher tried to process what they'd just heard.
Nagisa felt his chest tighten. Why would I have a home? Not "I lost my home" or "I don't have a home right now." The phrasing suggested [M/n] didn't understand the fundamental concept of why a person would need a home at all.
Kaede's hand had moved to cover her mouth, her green eyes wide. Kataoka looked stricken. Even Terasaka, usually so brash and unconcerned with others' problems, had a deep frown creasing his face.
Korosensei recovered first, his teacher instincts overriding his shock. "[M/n]-kun, where do you sleep at night?"
"Different places." A pause. "Wherever is convenient."
"And where do you keep your belongings?"
"I don't have belongings beyond what I carry."
"What about meals? Where do you eat?"
"Here, usually. Sometimes I acquire food from the convenience store."
Nakamura's sharp mind caught the careful word choice. "Acquire?"
[M/n]'s gaze shifted to her, that same hollow, half-lidded stare that never seemed to focus quite right. He didn't answer.
The implication was clear enough.
Isogai stood from his desk, his role as class representative kicking in. "Korosensei, we need to contact social services or—"
"No." [M/n]'s voice cut through the room, still flat, but with a firmness that hadn't been there before. "No authorities."
"[M/n]-kun," Korosensei said gently, his tentacles reaching out in a gesture of comfort though he didn't quite touch the boy. "You're a minor. There are systems in place to help children who don't have—"
"I don't need help." The statement was absolute. "I've been fine. I will continue to be fine."
"But you're homeless," Kurahashi said, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. "You're living on the streets and stealing food and—"
"I'm clean. I'm fed. I attend school. I meet all basic requirements." [M/n] rattled off the points like a checklist. "There's no problem."
Karma leaned back in his chair, studying [M/n] with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable for anyone else. "You use the school showers, don't you? That's why you're always here before Korosensei in the mornings."
[M/n] didn't confirm or deny, but the lack of denial was answer enough.
"The food we give you," Hara said quietly, her nurturing instincts clearly in overdrive. "That's your only food, isn't it? You don't buy lunch. You don't have groceries at home. You only eat what we offer you."
Again, no answer. But the silence spoke volumes.
Sugaya, usually quiet and focused on his art, spoke up. "And your school supplies? Your uniform?"
"I take what I need to function." [M/n] showed no shame, no guilt. "It's efficient."
Nagisa's mind was reeling, pieces clicking together with horrible clarity. The shoe thing—growing up without shoes, going barefoot would be normal, and remembering to wear them would be a learned behavior, not instinctive. The food selectiveness—when you don't know where your next meal is coming from, you learn to balance nutrition carefully, take only what you need. The sleeping—if you're not sleeping safely at night, you catch sleep whenever you can during the day.
"How long?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How long have you been living like this?"
[M/n] looked at him, and for just a moment, Nagisa thought he saw something flicker in those dark eyes. Something ancient and tired.
"Always," [M/n] said simply.
The word settled over Class 3-E like a shroud.
"[M/n]-kun," Korosensei said, and for the first time since they'd met him, the alien's voice wavered. "Please. Let us help you. Let me help you. I am your teacher, and it is my responsibility to ensure your wellbeing, not just your education."
"I don't need—"
"You sleep in the forest, don't you?" Chiba spoke up, his long bangs hiding his eyes but his voice certain. "I've seen the same area of disturbed undergrowth near the old shrine path. Someone's been bedding down there regularly."
[M/n]'s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly—the most emotion any of them had ever seen him display.
"You're sixteen years old," Kanzaki said softly, her polite demeanor cracking to show genuine distress. "You should have a home. You should have people taking care of you. You should be safe."
"Safety is relative." [M/n]'s tone hadn't changed, but something in his posture had shifted. He was still standing perfectly straight, perfectly controlled, but there was a tension there now, like a wire pulled taut. "I am alive. I am functional. That is sufficient."
"No, it's not!" Okano burst out, standing up so quickly her chair scraped loudly against the floor. "That's not sufficient! That's not even close to sufficient! You're a person, [M/n], not a machine!"
"Okano-san is correct," Korosensei said firmly, and his face had shifted to a pattern none of them had seen before—a deep, determined red with white highlights. "This cannot continue. At minimum, I must report this to Principal Asano and—"
"No."
The single word was sharp, cutting, and for the first time, [M/n]'s carefully controlled facade cracked. His eyes widened slightly, his breath quickened just a fraction, and his hand moved unconsciously to grip his opposite shoulder—a defensive gesture.
"No authorities," He repeated, and now there was something in his voice. Not quite fear, not quite panic, but something in that family of emotions. "No reports. No systems. No one else."
"We can't just ignore this," Kataoka protested.
"You can." [M/n]'s eyes swept across the classroom, and for the first time, he seemed to really see them all. "You have been. For months. Nothing has changed except your awareness. My situation remains the same. I remain the same."
"But now we know," Karma said, and his usual playful tone was completely absent. "We can't unknow this, [M/n]. We can't just pretend everything's fine when it clearly isn't."
"Why not?" The question was genuine, curious in that detached way. "Ignorance was preferable for you. You were comfortable. Now you're distressed. This benefits no one."
Maehara shook his head slowly. "That's not how caring about people works, man. We're Class 3-E. We're in this together, remember? All of us."
"Including you," Nagisa added quietly.
[M/n] stood there, surrounded by his classmates' concern, looking utterly lost. Like he'd suddenly found himself in a situation he had no script for, no learned response to deploy.
Finally, he spoke, and his voice was quieter than before. "What do you want from me?"
"Let us help you," Korosensei said immediately. "At minimum, let me arrange proper housing. I can speak with the Principal, explain the situation—"
"The Principal expelled me to this class for a reason." [M/n]'s interruption was flat. "Involving him will result in complications."
"Then we'll figure something else out," Isogai said, his leadership voice firm. "But you're not sleeping in the forest anymore. That's non-negotiable."
For a long moment, [M/n] was silent. His eyes dropped to the floor, his shoulders held rigid.
Then, barely audible: "Why?"
"Because you're one of us," Sugino said simply. "And we take care of our own."
Buen día, acabo de encontrar tu perfil y me encantaron tus dibujos, si no estas ocupado, puedes dibujar a sugaya x mimura, y a kaede/yukiko, es que hay muy poco contenido de este par :( y personalmente son mis ships favoritos, gracias por leerme!
Aww, thank youuu, this is a bit late but here's yukikae and sugaya/mimura :>
ok very specific gripe about assassination classroom
But how comes the series is all "be yourself, use your hobbies, despite everyone judgement, for good" then just... Never questions the roasting of Mimura air guitaring?
Look at my boy! He's so unwell afterwards
Ik now there are more scenes later in the manga that again use it as a Punchline. It just encapsulates that weird gap of "things that are just never Not the Joke/Mocked" which kind of defeats the show messaging 😭
t's not even used in a "do it anyway, grow strong and proud" like some others, it's just. There.
(hi rinka btw happy belated birthday to you)
Anyway unconsequential nitpicking rant over, have a good day.
