Sakuramoria

Finally hearing the first screech, Futaba contorted her face into a semblance of a smile, though not with much enthusiasm. It was surprising that it had taken so long.
The enormous creature had been looming over them since morning: the more perceptive ones tried to stay away from it, others tried not to turn their heads and pretended not to notice anything, and a third group didn't even realize that something was wrong, habitually rubbing their sleepy eyes and lazily chatting with each other in typical, meaningless dialogues of bored schoolchildren. This familiar immersion in a routine, conserving the energy of their withered, lazy brains, and the lack of an immediate reaction to the danger in the group, lulled most of the "sheep" into a false sense of comfort, as if everything was normal – as if they hadn't been told what region these kinds of characters came from, and what their background was. As if this very demon wasn't capable of tearing their tiny teacher in half with practically no effort when he lost his temper.
Just one look at the student's appearance made it clear that his existence and presence in this place were a bad omen. Normal people don't reach the size of a wardrobe, don't have sharp, menacing horns, and don't turn the color of hellfire without clear reasons – either due to a scientific-evolutionary approach or because they were created that way by a god with a very specific intention. And his arrogant demeanor only completed the picture with a final negative touch.
Futaba kept as much distance as possible from this creature – which, given her size, was easy and effortless to do, without arousing undue suspicion from those around her.
One could only guess how much the headmistress had profited from this deal, once again disregarding the safety of the children entrusted to her and all principles of common sense.