I did not think about a nurse.
I did not think about a nurse.
Let the record show that I, Haruma Kazuki, age seventeen, innocent victim of a dangerously horny subconscious, did not consciously imagine a nurse outfit.
But the brain is a treacherous organ.
It does things.
Stupid, dangerous, trope-triggering things.
Which is the only explanation for the horror unfolding in my living room right now.
"I brought bandages just in case you caught a cold from the rain," said Natsuki-sensei, in a tight white blouse, a red cross pin on her chest, and the calm, casual tone of a woman who has no idea how insane she looks right now.
I stared.
Not at her.Past her.
Into space.
To a version of myself in another timeline.
One that didn't have reality-bending pervert powers.
That guy was probably doing homework right now. Blissfully un-haunted.
"I also brought cold medicine," she added, crouching down and placing it on the table.
I flinched at the crouch. The skirt was—too short.
Too dangerous.
My mind was like an overheating computer fan.
I couldn't even look at Aya.
I could feel her judging stare drilling into the side of my face like a power tool.
"Sensei," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "What exactly made you think a nurse outfit was necessary?"
"Hm?" She tilted her head, confused. "I always keep one in my car for first aid drills."
"That doesn't answer—"
"You're a student. You were in the rain. I'm just doing my job."
"This is not your job!!"
"I'm nurturing your physical well-being."
"You're giving me a different kind of illness!!"
Aya finally spoke.
A slow, deadpan tone, filled with cold satisfaction.
"So. You imagined this, didn't you."
"I didn't!" I cried. "I swear it! I was just thinking—'haha, what if this ends with her doing a nurse thing too'—but not in a pervy way! More like—like genre awareness!"
Aya pointed at the living, breathing fanservice cliché making tea in our kitchen.
"That's exactly what this is."
"I was being ironic!"
"Your irony broke the laws of nature."
Natsuki-sensei brought over the tea.
"Here, Aya-chan. Drink this. You might be developing symptoms too."
Aya raised a brow. "Symptoms of what, exactly?"
"Delirium. Exposure to idiocy. Psychological damage from living with a cursed teenage boy."
She handed over the cup with a gentle smile.
Aya blinked.
Then muttered, "...Okay, she's kind of good at this."
I stared into my own cup of tea, steam fogging my glasses.
My thoughts were a soup of denial and despair.
This wasn't just random anymore.
The pattern was too tight.
One thought—one dumb, tropey mental image—and bam, thirty minutes later it shows up in my life. Like the universe is subscribed to my subconscious with push notifications.
What next?
What happens if I imagine a beach episode?
What if I accidentally think "haha what if all the girls ended up in the same bed somehow"?
What if I—
Stop.
No.
No stray thoughts.
No genre awareness.
Just monk-like discipline from now on.
I needed to avoid all cliché setups like the plague.
But the plague is hard to dodge when it lives with you.
Because that's when Aya, now clearly enjoying herself way too much, smirked and said:
"So. Kazuki. Hypothetically."
"No."
"If you did have to think of a new fantasy—"
"Don't."
"—and it involved, say, a hot spring—"
"I WILL JUMP OUT A WINDOW."
Unfortunately, Natsuki-sensei overheard.
"Hot spring?"
We both froze.
Her eyes sparkled with casual curiosity.
"That's not a bad idea. I actually know a place. There's a faculty discount."
Aya leaned toward me and whispered, "You thought it too, didn't you."
"I DIDN'T MEAN TO!"
Now I was trapped.
In my own home.
With my teacher in a nurse outfit, my childhood friend actively trying to test the limits of my curse, and my brain firing off genre scenarios like a machine gun at a harem anime convention.
Every time I tried to think of nothing, I somehow imagined everything.
I went back to my room.
Locked the door.
Sat in the closet.
And whispered to the darkness:
"Dear god, please let this be a dream. Or a mental breakdown. Or a really elaborate VTuber prank show. Anything but what it is."
My phone buzzed again.
A new message.
From Kurose Rika.
[Kurose]: I read that stress can cause vivid, inappropriate thoughts. You should let someone monitor you. I'm free this weekend.
I curled up into a ball.
The harem was expanding.