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GTS Summoner Ch 14: A Teacher’s Guilt!
🕑 Added 2025-08-14 05:26:04 +0000 UTCMarkus Miller sat stiffly in the vice principal's office, perched on the edge of a chair that felt too small, too cold, and somehow harder than usual—like it had been built specifically for uncomfortable conversations. Across from him, Vice Principal Evelyn Hayes sat with the perfect posture of a statue, her legs crossed, a delicate white teacup balanced in her fingers.
She didn't speak.
She didn't even look at him.
She just sipped her tea slowly, quietly, as if Markus didn't exist at all.
It was terrifying.
He cleared his throat, eyes darting around the office. A couple of picture frames hung slightly crooked on the wall—probably knocked loose from the recent earthquakes, or "structural vibrations," as the repair crews insisted on calling them. There were cracks running down the far corner of the ceiling, where the paint peeled like old parchment. The once-polished floors now had scuff marks and dust clinging to every edge.
Markus fidgeted.
"Ms. Hayes..." he said carefully, trying to fill the silence.
She didn't look up. Instead, she gently set her teacup down on its matching saucer with a soft clink and finally spoke—cutting clean through his sentence like a hot knife.
"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Miller?"
Her tone wasn't harsh, but it carried weight. Authority. The kind of voice that didn't need to shout to make people straighten up in their chairs.
Markus gave a half-hearted shrug. "I have... a pretty good idea," he said. "It's about the day of the attack. I, uh... I wasn't exactly model-teacher material."
Ms. Hayes nodded slowly, still not looking at him directly. "That would be putting it kindly."
Markus winced. "Right."
She leaned forward, folding her hands over her knee. "You abandoned your students, Mr. Miller. During a city-wide emergency. You left them behind when they needed you most."
"I know," Markus said quickly. "And I'm not trying to make excuses. I panicked, yes. But I also had my sister to worry about. She was in the hospital—unconscious—and I couldn't risk losing her. I didn't even think, I just... ran."
The vice principal tilted her head. "And you believe that makes it okay?"
Markus blinked. "No, I'm saying—well—I mean... not okay, exactly, just... understandable?"
Hayes let the silence hang for a beat before speaking again. "We all have families, Mr. Miller. Every teacher in this building has someone they care about. Someone they're afraid to lose. But it is our job—our responsibility—to prioritize the students in our care. If every adult had run when the city fell apart, who would've kept those children alive?"
Markus said nothing. His fingers curled over the edge of his seat.
"But I didn't leave to save myself," he finally murmured. "I left to save her."
That didn't win him any sympathy from Hayes. "Intentions don't erase consequences."
It was then—midway through the verbal gut-punch—that Markus felt something odd.
A dull pressure built behind his eyes. A warmth that spread across his skin, then into his bones. The room began to lose shape—colors bleeding at the edges of his vision. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, but the sensation didn't fade. If anything, it grew worse. His limbs felt heavy. His breath caught short.
"Mr. Miller?" Ms. Hayes asked, frowning now. "Are you even listening?"
Markus sat up straight, forcing his voice to steady. "Yes. I mean—yeah, I am. I just... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disappear like that. I know I messed up. It's just—my sister's in a coma. Has been for years. Ever since the accident. It's just me and her now. I'm all she has. And when everything started collapsing, when people were dying left and right, I—I couldn't risk it. I couldn't lose her too."
Vice Principal Hayes stared at him, her expression unreadable for a long, uncomfortable pause. Then she glanced down, as if weighing his words against something heavy inside her own thoughts.
Outside, a low rumble rolled through the building.
A picture frame dropped from the wall and shattered against the carpet. The floor beneath them shifted slightly, as if the very earth exhaled.
"Earthquake?" Hayes asked, more irritated than alarmed.
But Markus was no longer looking at her.
His mind was somewhere else—caught in a flash of golden light. A field of green. And in the middle of it all, a woman. Tall beyond comprehension. Blonde hair like spun sunlight. Armor glowing like molten silver. Her sword, long enough to pierce the clouds, hung loose at her side as she turned. Slowly. Deliberately.
She looked down at him.
Not the world. Him.
Her lips began to move, mouthing something impossible, incomprehensible. Words he couldn't hear but felt.
Markus gasped as the vision cracked and shattered. He was back in the office, sweat on his brow, his chest heaving.
Hayes raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite finished?"
He nodded quickly, wiping his forehead. "Y-Yeah. Sorry. Just... a rough few weeks, I guess."
She exhaled through her nose, then stood and crossed to her desk.
"I won't lie to you, Mr. Miller," she said, collecting a folder and placing it beside her tea. "You are under a great deal of scrutiny. From me, from the administration, and—whether you realize it or not—from the people who saw what happened that day."
Markus remained silent.
"That said..." She looked over at him again. "You are a teacher. And you have a class to return to. I expect that from now on, your duty to your students will be nearly as strong as your duty to your sister. Do I make myself clear?"
Markus swallowed hard. Then gave a small nod.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good." She turned to her chair, lifting her teacup once more. "Dismissed."
Markus stood, legs a bit unsteady, and made his way to the door.
Behind him, Hayes added without looking up, "One more thing, Mr. Miller."
He paused, hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"
"I expect you to report anything... unusual from now on. No more secrets. No more surprises."
Markus opened his mouth to argue—then thought better of it.
"Got it."
And with that, he stepped out into the hallway, his mind still echoing with the image of that towering woman, and the words he hadn't heard... but knew were meant for him.
