Koharu Minami didn't show up to school.
Which should have been a dream come true.
No interruptions during lunch. No being dragged into clubs that probably violate a few education board guidelines. No impromptu panty raids by accident (long story). No weird declarations about fate, or me being her "mysterious route character."
And yet…
The halls were too quiet. My bento tasted bland. I kept looking at the empty desk in Class 1-B like a dog waiting for its chaotic owner.
She never came.
Not that day.
Not the next.
By the third day, I cracked.
---
It was a Wednesday, late afternoon, when I found myself standing awkwardly outside a downtown manga café.
The kind with faded posters of magical girls and mecha pilots in the windows.
And there she was.
Koharu.
Hunched over a stack of manga volumes at a low table, half a melon soda in one hand and her cheek puffed out like a pouty chipmunk.
She wore a hoodie way too big for her—hood up, sleeves long enough to hide her fingers. Her schoolbag was slumped beside her like she'd kicked it into submission.
She looked… small.
I stepped inside. The bell jingled.
Her eyes flicked up. When she saw me, she froze. Then scowled.
"If you're here to tell me I'm ruining my attendance record, I already know."
"No," I said. "I'm here to ask why you've been ghosting school like a dropout protagonist."
She turned away.
"Don't wanna talk about it."
"Too bad. I walked here. That's basically a romantic gesture."
She muttered something into her soda.
I sat down across from her.
"…Didn't think you'd care," she mumbled after a beat.
I shrugged. "Didn't think I'd ever be forced into nude figure drawing club either, but here we are."
A ghost of a smile flickered on her lips.
Then vanished.
"I just… thought if I stayed home, people would forget I signed up for that Culture Fest slot," she said. "No one's gonna miss some loud, annoying first-year with too many ideas and no follow-through."
"You'd be surprised," I said. "The Theater Club actually emailed me. They were ready to stage a tragedy about a mysterious girl who disappeared and left only melon soda behind."
She rolled her eyes. "You're such a dork, Senpai."
"Pot, meet kettle."
We sat in silence for a while.
Then I leaned forward.
"You said I was an NPC," I said. "But aren't you the one running away from her story?"
She flinched.
"I'm not running."
"Then what are you doing? Side questing in a manga café?"
"I'm just… stuck, okay?" Her voice cracked. "Every time I try to do something important, I mess it up. And now, with the festival… I thought I could make something meaningful. Something cool. But maybe that's not me. Maybe I'm just a side character in everyone else's show."
"You're not."
"Then what am I?"
I reached over the table.
Her eyes widened as I poked her forehead.
"You're the pain-in-the-butt main heroine of my weird dating sim life. Congratulations."
Her cheeks flushed pink.
"Wh-What kind of sim do you think this is!?"
"The ecchi kind. You climb into my bed twice. You've tripped over and flashed me three times. You ate my pudding from my bento. Honestly, you're lucky I haven't reported you to the Ministry of Lewd Behavior."
"I tripped by accident!"
"On a flat hallway floor?"
She threw a napkin at me. "Y-You pervy vending machine!"
"See? Even now, you're back in form."
I smiled. She stared at me.
"…I really did mess things up, though," she said quietly.
"You didn't mess anything up."
"I froze when he talked to me. I didn't say anything back. He was right—I'm just someone who always gives up."
"You didn't give up on me."
She blinked.
"You're the only person who's ever noticed I was even there. You turned my NPC life into a main route. So maybe it's my turn."
"…To do what?"
I reached into my blazer.
And pulled out a ridiculous, badly-folded hand-drawn flyer that said in fat bubble letters:
"NOW RECRUITING: Cast for the Culture Fest Stage Performance!"
Drawn sparkles. Terrible chibi art of her. And the tagline:
"Let's write our story—together."
Her hand flew to her mouth.
"You… made this?"
"It took me four hours and two YouTube tutorials."
"It's awful."
"I know."
She started laughing.
Like, full-on snorting.
I sighed. "It was supposed to be romantic."
"No—it is! It's just so you."
She wiped her eyes.
"Senpai…"
"What?"
"Thanks."
"…I'm not blushing."
"I didn't say you were."
"I'm not!"
"You totally are."
She leaned forward suddenly. Close. Too close. I could smell her shampoo—green apple and chaos.
Then—
Squish.
Her hoodie slipped.
And her—uh—assets accidentally pressed against my hand on the table.
We both froze.
"…Senpai," she whispered, voice like a horror movie ghost. "Your hand is committing a crime."
"I DIDN'T MOVE IT."
"Are you… fondling my future?"
"I'M TRYING TO RETRACT IT."
The café owner cleared his throat in the distance.
Koharu backed off, face crimson.
"I-It's fine! Total accident! Hahaha! Ha…"
I groaned into my hands.
"…So much for subtle romance," I muttered.
She twirled a straw in her soda. "You know…"
"What?"
"You really aren't an NPC."
I looked at her.
She smiled softly.
"You're a really bad vending machine. But maybe a really good route."
Something in my chest fluttered. Dammit.
She stood up, hoodie flopping over her hips.
"I'll come back to school."
"Good."
"But if we do this festival thing…"
"Yes?"
"We go all out."
"Define all out."
"Costumes. Music. Romance. Action. Maybe tentacles if we're desperate."
"Why are tentacles always your backup plan?!"
She grinned. "You said I was the main heroine, right?"
"…God help me."
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[To Be Continued]
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