The auditorium was quiet now.
After the mini-preview performance, the stage lights had dimmed, the audience dispersed, and only the faint hum of the air conditioning echoed between velvet curtains. I stayed seated near the edge of the stage, legs hanging over, still trying to process what had just happened.
I'd actually… done well. People clapped. Teachers nodded. Koharu beamed like I'd punched the sun and won.
That should've felt good. But instead, all I could think was: what now?
"Hey," a voice said behind me.
I turned. Koharu Minami, in all her chaotic glory, was standing there, clutching her school bag to her chest. She wore a strange expression. Not her usual mischief. Not even the energetic "let's ruin another club today" spark.
This look was quieter. Nervous, almost.
"Can we talk?"
I shrugged. "Technically we are."
She pouted. "You know what I mean. Somewhere not echoey."
We ended up backstage, near the prop corner, surrounded by half-painted scenery boards and a forgotten papier-mâché dragon head. The quiet hum of the school outside was muffled here. A pocket universe of fake swords and dramatic lighting gels.
She sat on a bench beside a rack of costumes, twiddling her fingers. "You were really good today."
"Don't sound so surprised," I muttered. "I do have feelings, contrary to popular belief."
"Yeah, but... you actually felt them this time. Out loud." Her voice softened. "I always knew you could."
I stared at her. "Why do you care?"
She blinked.
"You keep dragging me into stuff. Clubs. Festivals. Your weird dream about 'finding your story.' You call me NPC-senpai and treat me like some quest item that needs unlocking. Why?"
Koharu hesitated. Then she pulled her knees up, resting her chin on them. "Because you're the only one who doesn't treat me like a main character."
"…Come again?"
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Everyone else either wants me to be their manic pixie daydream or a failure to gawk at when I mess up. You don't do either. You just… talk to me. Like I'm normal. Like I don't need to be special to matter."
I blinked.
"I guess I don't know what love is," she said quietly, looking away. "But when I'm with you, I forget I'm trying to be the heroine."
That line hit harder than I expected.
I rubbed the back of my neck, unsure what to do with the weird warmth rising in my chest. "You don't need to be. You're fine the way you are."
She looked up, wide-eyed.
"…Even if you're a total chaos gremlin," I added. "And have no concept of personal space. And talk like a shonen protagonist on caffeine."
She laughed—really laughed—and wiped her eyes. "Jerk."
There was a long silence. Not awkward. Just full. She leaned toward me, hesitant, like she wasn't sure where the ground ended. I felt my breath hitch. Her hand brushed mine, tentative.
"Minami—"
The lights died.
We both froze.
"Emergency protocol activated," said the monotone school speaker, crackling to life. "Power grid abnormality in Theater Building. Investigation in progress."
"…Are you kidding me?"
From the darkness, the soft glow of a phone screen lit up a slim figure entering the room.
Mitsuki Shiranui.
She adjusted her glasses, holding a portable tablet in one hand. "Sorry. That was me."
Koharu pulled back quickly. I could feel the space between us shift.
"I was rerouting power for a lighting puzzle," Mitsuki said, blinking. "Didn't know you two were in here. My bad."
Koharu stood, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt. "No worries. We weren't doing anything weird. Right, Senpai?"
I didn't answer.
Mitsuki looked at me. Just looked. Her gaze was unreadable, but not cold.
"I see," she said after a moment, and turned away.
We exited the dark stage room one by one. The building glowed with emergency lighting, casting elongated shadows across the walls.
Koharu reached out and gently tugged my sleeve.
I turned.
"I'm not giving up," she whispered. "Not on the story. Not on you."
I didn't know what to say. So I just nodded.
Across the hallway, Mitsuki walked ahead, back straight.
On the upper balcony, I spotted another silhouette leaning against the rail.
Riku Saionji.
He smiled when our eyes met—smug, amused, and unreadable.
Three steps ahead. Four secrets deep.
And just like that, the curtain dropped on Arc Two.
All of us were facing forward now.
One girl holding my sleeve.
One girl walking away.
One rival watching in the shadows.
And me, stuck in the middle.
The NPC might be in the story now… but who the hell was writing it?
---
To be continued