Disclaimer: I don't own any Azumanga Daioh characters.

Note: I can't believe I'm doing this, but I gotta wrap this up. I started this story in my first semester of college and it seems fitting that I should end it in these weeks before I graduate. Now that I think about it, not too long ago I was two steps away from becoming an immature, 25 year old, self-loathing high school English teacher in Japan. It sounds crazy but I think writing out certain things in this story has become one of the reasons I've taken more responsibility for my life. Maybe fan fiction has its uses after all. But this website still kinda sucks. Go to fos-ff dot net instead.


Yukari gently pulled open the door of the classroom and slid inside. She walked to the desk and set down her record book, looking out over the students. The students stared back.

"My name is Yukari Tanizaki," she said and forced a smile because that's what teachers did. "I'm your homeroom teacher."

"Good morning, Miss Yukari," said a girl sitting in the front row.

Holy mother fucking god on a stick.

Miss Yukari.

She froze. What was she doing up here, she wondered. Was she really supposed to take responsibility for these students in the way that she remembered her own homeroom teacher doing for her not four years ago? These students were looking up to her now in a way that frightened her terribly. Were there to be an emergency, would they turn to her for help? Because in case of an emergency, she knew she'd be the first one out the door and leaving them all to fend for themselves. Fuck 'em.

She wasn't ready. She couldn't be a pillar of maturity for these kids. Hell, every time she rode on an escalator she still felt a desire to climb it in the opposite direction. She still played video games and she still liked to go out and party. She liked to get drunk. How many of her own teachers had been like this?

Holy hell, she was a teacher. This caused her to think deeply about herself: She was an infrequent drug user. And a teacher. Everyone who knew her knew she had a tendency to whine and get angry like a child when she didn't get her way. And now she was a teacher. She was passive-aggressive and defiant when she was upset. And now she was a teacher. She was incredibly dissatisfied with her life and was only made angrier by the fact that she had no one to blame but herself.

"Well," she began and opened her roll book. "I guess I'll take attendance."

Fuck. Thirty students? What a waste of time. She pointed to the student right in front of her desk, a round boy with a buzz cut.

"You, fatty," she said. "Take roll would ya? I gotta go see somethin' real quick." And with that she left the room, ignoring the thirty odd glances that followed her.

Teacher be damned. At the very least she could make sure that she wouldn't be the only one suffering.

Nyamo grabbed the bag of groceries from the back seat of her car. Juggling the groceries with her back pack and gym bag she made her way up the stairs to her door and fumbled for her keys.

Today had been a good day. She'd gotten in four miles after school, paid her utility bill, gotten her shopping out of the way, and now she had an hour to shower and get dressed before she had to meet Eiko for a drink in Shinjuku.

Once inside she set her bags by the door and then went into the kitchen to put all the groceries away. Bread, milk, salmon fillets, mango pudding, coffee grounds-

Shit. Mail.

She finished with the groceries and then hurried back out the door in her socks, going on tip toe all the way to the mail boxes that stood between the parking lot and the main road. Once at her mail box she punched in her code and opened the door to retrieve her mail which she shuffled through on her way back, nearly tripping over an orange cat that had been sunning itself by the first step.

Bill, bill, advertisement, bill, catalogue. I don't remember ordering anything from them. What's this?

Amid the bills and spam was a shorter envelope with her name and address hand written across the front. In the corner was a stamp with a picture of two birds cuddling on a branch, and in the other was Yukari's address. Distracted by this she barely avoided running into her door, grappling for the knob and letting herself inside.


She was suspicious at once and her lip curled. Now what manner of rubbish was that woman up to now?

It had been four months since Nyamo had run from Yukari's house and her life was already once again back on track. After being reprimanded for her unprofessional behavior, unapproved extensions of leave, and a vacation to Hokkaido taken on short notice, she was back to teaching five days a week: basketball, volleyball, track, swim club. This was the material that composed her life, what she wanted to compose her life. She was Nyamo Kurosawa. Just today a girl had to come to her for relationship advice. Ah, to be the shoulder for those who actually needed and deserved it.

She sighed and plopped down on the edge of her bed, turning the envelope this way and that. Should she even open it? Perhaps she was a little curious as to what it could be, though she was sure it wasn't an apology or any sort of confession on Yukari's part. Yukari wouldn't have done that. She was too proud. Too defensive.

Knowing that envelope would have just burned a hole in her brain, Nyamo tore the top open and yanked out the letter inside.

It wasn't a letter. It wasn't even a greeting card. It was one card a little bigger than a post card and a made of a slightly thicker form of paper with a designer border and everything. Nyamo turned it right side up to read.

Yukari Tanizaki and Shoichi Saito

together with their parents invite you

to join them in celebrating

their marriage on Saturday the-

Nyamo shot up. "Fucking hell!"



And who the fuck is Shoichi?

This couldn't be serious. Who was this Shoichi person who Yukari could have gotten to marry her within a such short span of time? And who was he to marry her despite her pregnancy with a schizophrenic drug dealer's kid?

She read the rest of the invitation but there was nothing of further interest. In the envelope there was a smaller card with a return envelope for her RSVP.

She paced the room. This was too much. Yukari couldn't get married.

Married? Yukari? She can't even do her own laundry!

It was almost laughable. Actually Nyamo did find herself laughing. She slumped onto her bed and tossed the invitation to the floor, if indeed it was an actual invitation and not Yukari's last desperate attempt to get some attention.

Either way, Nyamo had already promised herself that she was through being fed off of. She was done with Yukari and everything involving her. So what if Yukari was going to have a shotgun wedding? It wasn't Nyamo's problem. Nyamo's only problem right now was what she was going to wear to meet Eiko. Yukari was a big girl and would have to face the consequences of whatever choices she made. She would make mistakes and maybe Nyamo would be there to see them and maybe she wouldn't.

She tossed the invitation into the trash and then went to get ready for her date.

Yukari, what am I going to do with you?

She wondered, and the answer came to her then and she smiled softly.


Because no matter what, she knew everything was going to be alright. Everything was going to be just fine.

Note: That's the end of Control but not the end of the story. The sequel has long since been planned out but I have other loose ends to tie up first. It's strange. A lot of crap has happened during the course of this story, some of which actually made it into the story itself. Ah well. If you made it this far then I at least hope you enjoyed it. It was certainly a ride for me.