For a plan that relied so heavily on precision, it started with complete chaos.
My alarm didn't go off.
Correction—my alarm went off, but I'd somehow turned it off in my sleep and rolled back into a dream where a giant penguin was judging my fashion sense. I woke up, stared at the time, and experienced the five stages of grief in under ten seconds.
7:32 AM.
It takes me twenty minutes to walk to school. That's without brushing my teeth, packing my bag, or mentally preparing for the most important fake relationship entrance in school history.
Mei was going to kill me. Or worse—erase me from existence using a spreadsheet macro.
I scrambled out of bed, brushed my teeth with the speed of a NASCAR pit stop, and ran out the door while jamming bread into my mouth like every anime protagonist ever.
By the time I saw the school gates on the horizon, it was 7:52 AM. I sprinted the last block, half expecting to see Mei pacing with a stopwatch in hand, calculating how many seconds of credibility we were hemorrhaging.
Instead, I found her standing exactly three meters to the left of the main entrance.
She wasn't pacing.
She wasn't fidgeting.
She was standing still—arms crossed loosely, hair fluttering in the morning breeze like she was filming a shampoo commercial. The serene queen of 2-B.
And me?
I was a sweaty mess, panting like a marathon runner with a lung infection.
"You're on time," she said simply.
I glanced at the clock above the gate.
7:53 AM.
Exactly.
"Barely," I wheezed. "I may have transcended time and space to be here."
"You're flushed. That's good. It gives the impression you ran to see me."
"That's because I did."
"Authenticity. I approve."
She turned and began walking toward the school entrance, her pace calculated to match mine. Not too fast, not too slow. It was like she'd choreographed the whole moment in her head.
Which, honestly, wouldn't surprise me.
As we passed through the gates, I noticed something I hadn't expected.
People were staring.
A lot of people.
"Is that Kusunoki-san?"
"With… who?"
"Wait, isn't that the guy who got a 52 on the math quiz last week?"
"He's in our class… uh, Hasegawa? Haruto?"
"It's Haruki," I muttered to no one in particular.
Mei leaned slightly toward me and whispered, "Maintain a neutral expression. Relax your shoulders. No sudden movements."
"I'm not a deer, Mei."
"To them, you are."
She wasn't wrong.
By the time we made it up the stairs, the school hallway felt like a wildlife documentary. Whispers followed us like a creeping fog. I could practically hear a narrator going, "In a rare and shocking twist of fate, the low-status herbivore has been seen coexisting peacefully with the apex predator."
Mei stopped in front of our classroom and turned to me.
"This concludes this morning's session. Our next public appearance is lunch."
"You make it sound like a press tour."
"In a way, it is."
"You know people are going to start asking questions, right?"
She gave a small nod. "I'm prepared. I've memorized our backstory. We've been dating for two weeks. You confessed to me under the cherry blossom tree in the park. I was touched by your honesty and quiet determination. Our first date was at a bookstore. We share a love of obscure fantasy novels. You lent me your copy of Sky Sorceress Omega: Revenge of the Moon Cult."
I blinked. "That… actually happened."
"I base my lies on fact. It's harder to disprove."
"You're scarily good at this."
"I optimize for success."
We entered the classroom, and the silence was deafening.
Every head turned. Even the teacher looked up from his notes like he'd seen a unicorn walk in holding hands with a leprechaun.
We weren't holding hands.
But we might as well have been.
Our seats were next to each other—thanks to alphabetization and a very cruel god—and as I slid into mine, I could feel the stares piercing my skull.
I heard the sound of a chair dragging violently, and a moment later, my best friend and human megaphone, Tanaka Rika, plopped herself between our desks with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
"Okay," she said, eyes narrowed. "Start talking."
"Hi, Rika. Good morning," I said weakly.
"No pleasantries. Spill."
Before I could say anything, Mei gave Rika a small, polite nod.
"Tanaka-san. It's true. Haruki-kun and I are dating."
There it was.
The nuclear bomb.
Rika blinked once. Twice.
"...You're dating Haruki."
"Yes."
"Like, Akiyama Haruki."
"Yes."
"My Haruki."
I coughed. "I'm not property."
Rika looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "You're telling me this isn't a prank? Or a long-term social experiment? Or… blackmail?"
Mei shook her head. "None of the above."
"Then explain. In small words. Use pictures if needed."
I prepared for the worst.
But Mei just smiled gently.
"I like quiet people. Haruki-kun doesn't talk much, but when he does, it's thoughtful. He's kind. He doesn't put on airs. He's… real."
I nearly choked on my own tongue.
Rika looked at her. Then at me. Then back at her.
And finally, she just muttered, "I need to sit down," and walked back to her desk like she'd just seen a ghost.
The rest of the morning passed in a haze. I tried focusing on lessons, but every glance I got from classmates felt like a laser beam. A few people even came up to me during breaks to "casually" ask if it was true.
I gave vague, mumbly answers.
Mostly because I didn't trust myself not to say something stupid and break the illusion.
Lunchtime arrived.
I wasn't sure what to expect, but I should've known Mei wouldn't let something as simple as eating food derail her plan.
She approached me at my desk, lunch in hand, and said, "Let's eat together. Courtyard. Far table. Better sight lines."
I didn't argue.
The courtyard was mostly empty except for a few third-years napping in the shade. We sat down, and Mei opened her lunch with surgical precision. It was neatly packed, color-balanced, and arranged like a bento from a cooking anime.
My lunch? Slightly squashed rice balls and a leftover croquette wrapped in foil.
She noticed. "You should let me pack yours."
"That's dangerous," I said. "I might fall in love for real."
She paused, then said, "I would rate that joke… seven out of ten. Flustered delivery, but decent timing."
"Harsh but fair."
We ate in silence for a while.
Then she asked, "Are you uncomfortable?"
"With the situation?"
"With pretending."
I shrugged. "I thought I would be. But it's kind of… fun?"
She looked surprised. Just for a split second. But I caught it.
"It feels like I'm someone else," I said. "Like I've been cast in a role. The background character finally getting a side story."
"You're more than a background character," she said.
I looked at her.
And for a moment, I thought I saw something genuine in her expression. A flicker of warmth behind the analytical mask.
Before I could say anything, a shadow fell across our table.
"Kusunoki-san."
It was Shirogane Makoto.
Six feet tall. Hair so perfect it looked sculpted. Tie always straight. Shoes always polished.
He looked like he'd been ripped out of a dating sim's rich-kid rival archetype.
"I need a word," he said, eyes locked on Mei.
She glanced at him, then back at her bento. "I'm eating."
"It won't take long."
Makoto's gaze shifted to me. I tried to sink into my chair and become invisible.
It didn't work.
"I see you've been… keeping company."
"He's my boyfriend," Mei said plainly.
Makoto scoffed. "Come on, Kusunoki-san. This is beneath you."
Her chopsticks stopped mid-air.
"Excuse me?"
"Look at him. He's not even on your level. This is clearly some kind of joke, or maybe you're trying to send me a message. I get it. You're annoyed. But this—"
"I wasn't sending you a message," she said, voice cold now.
Makoto opened his mouth again, but Mei stood up.
"I told you I wasn't interested. You didn't listen. So I found someone who does."
She walked around the table, took my hand, and pulled me to my feet.
I was too stunned to move. My hand was in hers. Warm. Steady.
"This isn't fake," she said. "So please stop trying to rewrite my decision."
Makoto looked between us, his jaw clenched. But he said nothing.
Just turned and walked away, shoulders stiff.
As soon as he disappeared, Mei let go of my hand and sat back down.
I sat too, my brain still rebooting.
"Wow," I said. "That was… intense."
"I don't like being talked over."
"Remind me never to cross you."
She gave a rare, small smile. "Don't worry. You're safe."
The bell rang, cutting through the moment like a knife.
As we stood and walked back to class, I found myself wondering something strange.
This whole thing was supposed to be an act.
But that didn't feel like acting.
Not when she held my hand.
Not when she defended me.
Not when she smiled, even just a little.
And as I walked beside her, shoulder to shoulder, I realized something terrifying.
I might be starting to wish this fake relationship was real.