Tadano Taro was ordinary in every conceivable way, a boy whose entire existence could be summarized in one word: average.
His height was neither short nor tall, his face was neither handsome nor ugly, his body neither athletic nor frail, and his grades hovered precisely in the middle range of his class, never remarkable enough to draw praise, yet never poor enough to invite concern.
He was the kind of person you could see a hundred times in a day and forget the moment you looked away, a person so plain that even the world itself seemed to overlook him.
If there was anything, anything at all, that made him stand out even slightly, it was Tachibana Rei, his childhood friend.
She was bright, cheerful, and beautiful in a way that seemed to draw attention wherever she went, the kind of girl who could make a dull day feel alive with just a smile.
And for someone like Taro, whose existence was otherwise invisible, she was the one gleaming thread in the dull fabric of his life.
For Taro, there was a twisted kind of satisfaction in being the one who stood beside her.
Whenever Rei would approach him in the hallway, waving happily or calling out his name, he could feel the eyes of other boys drilling into his back, filled with jealousy and disbelief.
They were stronger, smarter, better looking, yet it was him she chose to stand beside.
It was a feeling he never admitted to anyone, but deep inside, it was the one thing that made him feel superior, the one proof that he wasn't just a face in the crowd.
And yes, he was in love with her. He had been for as long as he could remember. But he never confessed, not once, because some part of him always hesitated.
Some part of him whispered that maybe it wasn't love at all, just comfort born from years of familiarity.
After all, he was starting to feel the same nervous flutter in his chest when he saw other girls.
There was Himejima Haruka, the stoic beauty whose expression never changed even when surrounded by admirers.
Just one glance from her could make his heart skip a beat, the cold indifference in her crimson eyes both intimidating and alluring.
And then there was Rindou, the stern Student Council President whose mere presence commanded respect.
She was strong, serious, someone far beyond his reach, yet he couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be noticed by her.
That confusion gnawed at him, made him restless, made him question what love truly was. Was it comfort? Admiration? Desire? Or was it something else entirely?
And that was why, on this particular day, Tadano Taro found himself standing in front of a small café tucked quietly between two modern buildings, a humble family-owned shop that smelled faintly of coffee and freshly baked bread.
He wasn't here for food. He wasn't even here for coffee. He was here because of a girl.
Fujiwara Touka.
He had seen her only once before, sitting quietly in the corner of the school library, her face hidden beneath long, uneven bangs that cast a shadow over her eyes.
At first glance, she looked like any other quiet girl, plain and unremarkable. But then, a gust of wind had blown through the open window, and for a brief moment, her bangs lifted.
And in that instant, Taro's heart had stopped.
Behind that curtain of hair was a face so delicate and striking that it left him speechless.
Her beauty wasn't loud like Rei's or commanding like Haruka's, it was quiet, unassuming, the kind of beauty that hid itself from the world, making it all the more unforgettable.
That single glimpse had burned itself into his memory, replaying over and over every time he closed his eyes.
Through whispers in class and casual gossip, he learned that Touka's family owned a small café.
It took him days to gather the courage, but today, he was finally here. He wanted to see her again, to confirm something for himself.
Was it love that he felt when he saw her that day? Or was it just another illusion, another fleeting attraction born from curiosity?
As he stepped inside, the soft chime of the doorbell announced his arrival. The scent of roasted coffee beans and warm pastries greeted him.
His eyes swept the interior, and there, behind the counter, arranging cups with quiet precision, stood the girl who had haunted his thoughts ever since that day.
Fujiwara Touka looked up, her eyes meeting his for the first time, and Tadano Taro's heart began to beat faster.
Just like before.
*
*
*
Seijirou climbed the stairs and entered his gaming room, where Haruka and Rei were still seated in front of the computer, focused and quiet as the soft hum of the CPU filled the room.
He walked toward them and leaned slightly forward, ready to offer help, but Haruka turned her head sharply, meeting his gaze with those calm, analytical eyes, and said flatly, "It's already finished."
Seijirou blinked in surprise. "Already? I wasn't gone that long, was I?"
Haruka didn't even look away from the monitor as she replied, "You were gone for twenty-three minutes. That was more than enough time to finalize the data and compile the layout. You only need to double-check everything to ensure there are no mistakes."
Seijirou rubbed his chin, "You finished it in twenty-three minutes? How efficient. No wonder they call you an android."
Haruka tilted her head. She had never heard anyone call her an android. She's not that robotic is she?
Seijirou waved his hand, as if not wanting to continue the topic. Haruka didn't insist, she was not interested either way.
"Well, I guess I'll double check everything just so I can say I helped in making this. I don't want you to complain to teach that I let you two do all the work."
Rei turned around, waving her hands quickly with a flustered smile. "Ah, no, it's fine! We didn't mind at all, really. You've let us use your computer and even double check the contents, so please don't feel bad."
Haruka hummed, her cold calculative eyes staring at him, as she speaks in her usual steady tone. "Division of labor is natural. There is no need for sentimentality."
Seijirou hummed. "Still, I feel like I owe you both. How about you stay for lunch?"
Haruka immediately shook her head.
"That's unnecessary. It would be more efficient for us to return home, eat there, and continue our review. It saves time and resources."
Rei gave a small, apologetic smile. "Yes… I don't want to impose on you or Suzune."
Seijirou raised a brow, then spoke with that calm but slightly persuasive tone he often used when arguing logic with Haruka. "If you eat here, it's actually more efficient. Because when you return, you can focus on your studies all afternoon without interruption."
Haruka tilted her head, her eyes in a daze as if deep in thought.
After awhile, she straightened and nodded. "That reasoning is sound. It is indeed far more efficient. Very well. I shall accept your generosity."
He nodded and glanced toward Rei, "And you, if you call your parents and tell them you'll eat here, that means they won't have to prepare food. You'd be saving them effort and money."
Rei hesitated but then slowly nodded too. "If you put it that way… I guess it's fine. Thank you for the meal, then."
Seijirou smiled faintly, satisfied that logic worked better than hospitality. "Good. Suzune will handle the food. You two just relax for now."
Rei quickly stood up. "I'll help in the kitchen! It's the least I can do for inviting us for lunch."
Haruka also stood, her tone calm but decisive. "If I assist as well, meal preparation time can be reduced by an estimated thirty percent. That seems more efficient."
Seijirou sighed lightly, shrugging as he walked toward the door. "You two really don't know how to take it easy, do you? Fine. Do what you like. But if Suzune tells you to stop touching things, don't argue with her."
Rei chuckled softly, following behind him. "I'll be careful."
Haruka crossed her arms, giving a small nod. "Understood. I'll adjust based on the situation."
Seijirou shook his head as they left the room together, thinking to himself that these girls were not just diligent students, but also far too serious for their own good.
It seems outside of being easily pressured and lacking common sense, these heroines were quite a normal, good people.