In the morning
.
Liza Trist, the homeroom teacher of Class Seven, was walking toward the police building. She had received a report from her students. The police didn’t actively support them. That was the most absurd thing she had ever heard.
“Damn it, making me work!” Liza clicked her tongue upon entering the police building. She wasn't fond of extra tasks, but she had to handle them since her influence exceeded that of her students.
Liza walked to the counter and spoke directly. “I want to speak with your chief." Her voice carried authority and a cold tone.
“Now," she pressed, causing the police, who were tasked at the counter, to gulp nervously.
“P-please wait a moment,” the police replied before hurrying off to somewhere.
Liza sighed and ran her hand through her hair. She lacked the patience to wait for the police to return, so she decided to go directly toward the chief’s office.
“Ma’am, you can’t—“