A/N: Well, guess who's back, with a brand new track? ©Cascada That's right, it's me. And what have I returned with? That's right, Gakutalia. Except this time, it's no longer the first term and the boy's have had their winter break. You know, it's been so long since I've done anything Gakutalia related, and it's so easy to forget just how much you've missed it. I was actually reflecting back to Gakutalia: The First Term, and saw that it had reached 11,000 views! To me, that feels like such a huge achievement, and I'm really excited to see what everyone will think of its sequel.

Please note: If you have not read the prequel to this Fic, there is a very big chance you won't have much of an idea as to what is going on. Although they are separate, there are references to the previous Fic that are vital to the plot. I assure you, the first of the Gakutalia series is light-hearted and enjoyable to read, so it hopefully wouldn't disappoint.

It's the long awaited return. It's Gakutalia: Love Is In The Air.

Prologue

A.J.

The kind of hero that I'll one day be is someone who can positively influence the next generation, but who can also leave a lasting impact on the international world. By the time I am a hero, science won't have had the time to invent gloves that can shoot lasers, goggles to read people's thoughts and cars that can fly. As soon as I'm out of school, I'll do something great that won't go unnoticed by anyone. My name will be remembered for the rest of the world's existence – Alfred Jones, Hero of Heroes, Hero of the World – and, if the rest of the world creates the technology for someone as great as me to use, I could be the Hero of the Universe.

"Alfred, please pay attention, eh?" he looked aside at his mother, who was looking at him in pure desperation.

The office they were seated in was wide, with a long desk that fit both Miss Ronan and Headmistress Bentberne comfortably with space between them. There was a small potted plant standing on the desk nearby him. An open window fluttered its leaves. Alfred saw it mockingly swaying before him, unaffected by the problems a student had to face during school. A clock ticked behind him. Each click rang through his head like an unwanted memory or regret. The world outside – with its grey winter skies, and bare trees with their leafless bones – looked as dismal as how he felt. It was December, just after Christmas, and he had had to come into school for a meeting concerning school related issues. It was his holiday, and he was in school.

"Mr Jones," he swallowed and his eyes flicked towards Headmistress Bentberne, who was giving him a hard stare.

She was a small, tough woman who had learnt how to deal with students from the mistakes of her predecessor, who had resigned once Gilbert Beilschmidt had left school, possibly from stress. Alfred always wondered if having a weak Head of School made it easier to rise in the ranks of popularity. Even Alfred recalled being able to walk all over Mr Lurrey and he hadn't even been at the top of the school at the time. Bentberne was completely different. She wouldn't have put up with Gilbert Beilschmidt's cool kid attitude, and if she was aware about his name scratched in at the bottom of her door, she would have had it removed.

"This is a very important time of your education," Miss Ronan added. "It's in your best interest to hear what we have to say."

"I'm listening," he lied – his head had definitely been elsewhere.

Bentberne leant back in her chair to coolly assess him. "Then you can tell me without hesitation that your general performance in Maths has dropped from a D, to an F?"

"It's not a U," he replied.

"Alfred," his mother warned.

"Yes, it has," he pushed back the feeling of irritation.

Why was it kids like him were picked on and bullied into attempted perfection, when other kids in his class like Heracles Karpusi sometimes skipped school because they were "sleeping"? He hated how educational people of authority selected particular people they deemed easy to push around. Usually, he would stand up for himself more, but since his mum was present, and he didn't want her to be ashamed of him, he held his tongue.

After giving him a cold scowl, Bentberne raised her chin slightly. "Are you aware that your F is dangerously low and that a U grade is possible for you, Mr Jones?"

Anything is achievable for a hero. "No, Ms Bentberne. I wasn't aware…"

"Are you also aware that you haven't been attending all of Miss Ronan's sessions that were specifically designed for your sake?" she asked.

"What?" his mum glanced at him, wide eyed. "Why wasn't I e-mailed about this?"

"Don't worry, Mrs Jones," Miss Ronan said politely. "We only discovered that recently as well…"

"It seems you have a very kind brother, Mr Jones," Bentberne drummed her fingers methodically against the table. "Do you usually push Matthew around until he relents and attends these things for you?"

"Oh, maple," his mum looked horrified. "Alfred?"

"I got him to agree," Alfred mumbled, suddenly feeling cornered by Bentberne's unwavering gaze and heard his mum sigh irritably from beside him.

"Did you also realise that Matthew is currently at a high B grade for Maths where he currently stands, and is expected to achieve an A by the end of the year, therefore not being in need for Maths clinics?" Bentberne continued her vicious onslaught.

"I didn't realise that," he gritted his teeth. "Just suspected it…"

"So, Mr Jones, was it worth it?" Bentberne shrugged. "Or would it have been more sensible to sit through an extra few hours of Maths per week?"

Alfred raised his head and dared to meet her cruel, grey eyes. He opened his mouth in protest, but no words came to him. There were very few times when Alfred Jones was speechless, but this was one of them. He couldn't muster a sensible argument that would smack Bentberne's flat on the ground, whilst remaining aggressively polite and composed.

"I suspected it," she said, and he realised just how bad he'd sounded. "The most important question, though, is what are you going to do? We can't make you got to these clinics, Mr Jones, and you're at perfect liberty to say you don't want them. However, will that benefit you? Next year, you won't be here anymore. Your time at school will be over, or it should be. Many universities like good grades in core subjects such as Maths, English and Science; the top universities will ask for a B in the lowest for Maths. They don't want students who don't try and let their grades fall to U. It's all about how you come across, Mr Jones, not your brother – unless you intend him to sit your exams for you?

"I can tell you that Matthew won't be doing that," she continued. "When Matthew Jones walks into the exam hall with his Maths equipment, prepared for that last onslaught of exams, he will be sitting that exam for Matthew Jones, not Alfred Jones. Hopefully, as predicted, he will get an A and his chosen universities will accept him for the good quality student he is. But what will Alfred Jones get? I would like to change the story's outcome, and say he walks out alongside his brother with a perfectly satisfying B and that his chosen universities will certainly pick him because his refreshing personality is paired with good grades. However, I can't write Mr Jones' story – he'll wander out behind his brother feeling like he could've done better. He'll get a U, an F, a D- or maybe even a C, if he wings it. His chosen universities will falter and retract any offers they've made. He might get into university, but retaking the year or moving on and getting a job will certainly be paths he'll have to consider. I normally don't feel the need to talk to my students in this way, Alfred, but if you don't pick up your grades, you're going to drop your quality of life."

He must've shown something on his face, because the brutality left her expression and she showed a nod of some kind of satisfaction.

"What are you going to do, Mr Jones?" she asked again. "It's more important that you realise now, rather than later, when problems aren't so easy to change."

"I-I…" the letter tumbled from his mouth, but his brain had yet to formulate a sentence. All eyes in the room were focused on him, expecting him to say or do something in the next moment.

He thought about what Mr Winchester would say. He would tell him to be perfectly honest.

"I… don't know."

His words seemed to puncture his mother, who visibly deflated to hear him so uncertain. He was usually more confident than this. He liked to believe he wasn't actually concerned about this Maths issue and university?

"How about I rephrase the question for you, then?" Bentberne was merciless. "Do you wish to discontinue your additional Maths sessions with Miss Ronan?"

He wanted to say 'yes' so desperately, but a large part of him knew that was the wrong answer. There were very few times in real life when there was an incorrect answer, but he could definitely see the negative consequences of answering with 'yes'. But he wanted to be cool. He wanted to be like Gilbert Beilschmidt.

"I don't know," he repeated.

"You… don't know?" there was a deep interest buried in those steel coloured eyes.

"I don't want to do them, but I feel obliged to do so for the sake of my future," he answered numbly.

"We can make a compromise," Miss Ronan suddenly added in, and the attention was turned to her instead. "We can try and make the clinics more entertaining, or even change the atmosphere…"

"Atmosphere?" Bentberne seemed confused.

"Well," Miss Ronan licked her lips nervously. "I tend to find that, as far as students go, Alfred is less willing to listen to his teachers. I wonder if having help from another student would benefit Alfred more?"

"Another student?" Bentberne raised an eyebrow. "To have suggested this, you must have someone in mind, Miss Ronan."

"Yao once offered to help me," Alfred sat upright. "He can teach me."

Miss Ronan smiled sceptically at that. "Yao will distract you from your learning, and you'll distract him from his teaching. That won't work. Although very good at Maths, Yao wasn't the person I had in mind."

"Go on, Miss Ronan," Bentberne cast him a sideways glance. "I'm sure Mr Jones will be willing to work with any student if he truly wants to improve his grades."

Alfred nodded hesitantly and offered a nonchalant shrug to the three women.

"I was thinking Kiku Honda would be able to do it," Miss Ronan chirped.

"That smartass?" Alfred blurted out, and watched his mother turn to him in wide eyed horror. "I mean, Kiku?"

"Kiku's one of the best in class," Miss Ronan's tone had become significantly more icy. "He's also very focused, which is what I think you'll need."

But I don't like Kiku, Alfred thought in bitter despair. He always makes me look like a total idiot in class.

"I'm also sure he'll be more than willing to do this for you," Miss Ronan said.

"What do you think, Alfred?" his mother reached out to affectionately hold his arm. "Do you think this'll help you improve your Maths grade?"

The childish answer was 'no'. The correct answer: 'yes'.

With a sigh, Alfred allowed himself to relent with a muttered, "Yes." It completely went against his pride, and he was sure having Maths sessions with Kiku Honda wasn't something Gilbert Beilschmidt would've done. His idol, who had left school for about two and a bit years now, had supposedly reached an A grade from Miss Ronan's help. Alfred wasn't sure whether to feel concerned that the older Beilschmidt child was better at Maths than him, despite his overly rebellious attitude or pleased that he'd surpassed Gilbert in something.

"I'll e-mail Kiku, then, and he'll arrange something with you," Miss Ronan's shoulders relaxed – he wondered what would have happened had he said 'no'.

"Seeing as we've managed to get something settled," Bentberne looked pleased. "You'll have a chance of improving your grades."

"That's good," his mum said. "Thank you very much for all of this. We appreciate it a lot."

Bentberne stood and shook his mum's hand, as did Miss Ronan. Alfred felt like they'd signed a contract with his life pinned to it. He was moaning out of frustration inside, but he kept a straight face on the surface. If he put his hands in his pockets, he could hide they were sweating and slightly shaking. If he put on a perpetually bored expression he could hide his annoyance. If he leant to one side, he didn't look like he was hunched and walking to his own funeral. He followed his mum out of the office and back to her car. Before he took his seat in the front, he inhaled deeply, savouring the fresh air.

Once he strapped himself in, his mum turned to him. "I can't believe you sent Matthew to your clinics, eh?"

"I know, but I really hated going," he sunk low in his chair.

"Oh, well, that's hardly an excuse," she shook her head in disappointment as she started the car.

He glowered at his mother, wondering how, whatever he did, it somehow ended up in disappointment. One minute she was praising the ground he walked on, the next he was one step away from being exiled from the house. Sometimes, it felt like he couldn't do anything right…

"It's the truth, though," he answered bitterly, and that resulted in a silent and awkward drive home.

A/N: I'm sorry! It started on such a serious note! If you have anything to comment, please! Leave a review! I love to read what people say about what I've written, and it means a lot, even if it's just the odd comment! Thank you so much for patiently waiting for this to arrive, and until next time!