Haru Takumi had one goal for the school festival: survive the day without adding another entry to the long list of "Haru's Greatest Embarrassments."
That list was legendary.
The crown jewel? His failed confession in front of half the school last year—the one where he tripped over a broom, accidentally launched a soda at the principal, and made a sound like a dying goose as he hit the floor. It lived forever online as the "Confession Catastrophe," immortalized in memes, stickers, and at least one cursed TikTok remix.
So yeah. Today, his only ambition was to stay invisible.
But fate, like always, had other plans.
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Festival Chaos
Minami-kawa High's festival was pure sensory overload. The courtyard blazed with colorful banners, the air thick with the smell of fried noodles, yakitori, and—because of Class 3-C's bad idea—a suspicious amount of bubble machine soap. Students darted between stalls, costumes, and game booths, clutching snacks in one hand and phones in the other.
Class 2-B had set up a café-slash-lottery booth that was already packed before noon.
Haru sat at the edge of the booth, quietly eating takoyaki and trying to look unremarkable.
Too bad Sora Minami existed.
His best friend, human megaphone, and self-proclaimed "festival agent," Sora slammed a tray of fresh takoyaki onto the table like a dealer at a high-stakes poker game.
Sora: "Hey, Love Guru. Did you buy accident insurance this year? Because if you trip again, I'm billing you for emotional damage."
Haru: "Pretty sure filming my pain for TikTok last year already paid your therapy bills."
Sora: "You're welcome for the fifteen thousand views."
Haru glared. Sora just grinned and pointed toward the center stage, where the dreaded "Love Lottery" was about to start. A massive crowd gathered as the MC spun the lottery drum with the flair of a magician.
Students clutched tickets like they were about to win a million yen—or lose their dignity forever.
"Next up," the MC boomed, "Takumi Haru! Come to the stage!"
The crowd cheered. Haru nearly choked on his takoyaki.
Sora: "It's destiny, my guy! This is your redemption arc!"
Destiny could trip on a rake.
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Disaster Guru Awakens
The stage lights were too bright. The microphone was too loud. The audience was far, far too interested.
Haru froze as the MC handed him the mic.
MC: "Takumi, you have thirty seconds! Give the crowd your best confession, love advice, or horror story. Make it count!"
Someone shouted from the back: "Show us your moves, Disaster Guru!"
The nickname hit like a dodgeball to the chest. Haru cleared his throat, pushed up his glasses, and prayed his knees wouldn't betray him.
Haru: "Okay. Rule one of confessing: If you trip, own it. Pretend it's choreography. Bonus points if you bow afterward."
The crowd laughed.
Haru: "Rule two: Avoid fire. No flaming batons, no candle-lit disasters. Love should be warm, not third-degree."
Even Aoi Fujimoto—Minami-kawa's untouchable, graceful senior—looked amused from the audience.
Aoi: "And what if you fail anyway?"
Haru: "Then embrace it. People love a good trainwreck. Instant sympathy points. Maybe even a fan club."
Sora: "Facts. I run his."
Haru: "Also, snacks help. Nothing heals rejection like fried dough on a stick."
The crowd howled with laughter. Phones were up. Haru's thirty seconds of awkward wisdom were already on ten different Instagram stories.
When he handed back the mic, people actually cheered. Someone shouted "Love Guru!" and another yelled, "Start a stream!"
Haru escaped the stage like it was on fire.
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The Birth of #LoveGuruHaru
Sora caught up, beaming like a proud parent.
Sora: "You killed it! Look—#LoveGuruHaru is already trending on school chat."
Haru: "Does disappearing into a hole count as killing it?"
Sora: "Nope. You're a brand now. Get ready for your first customers."
And oh, they came.
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The Love Advice Hotline (Unintended)
Girl 1: "Haru, how do I confess without sounding cringe?"
Haru: "Use interpretive dance. At worst, you're unforgettable."
Guy 1: "Is it bad if I forget her birthday?"
Haru: "Only if you also forget her name."
Girl 2: "Poem or meme confession?"
Haru: "Meme. Safer. Unless your poem is about memes."
Sora: "Confess in haiku. Ladies love syllable counts."
Haru: "Do not listen to him."
The "Love Hotline" notebook appeared out of nowhere—probably Sora's idea—and started filling with requests. Even a teacher joined in.
Teacher: "Takumi, propose with a card trick or a dad joke?"
Haru: "Dad joke. Love built on puns lasts forever."
Sora: "Put that on a T-shirt."
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Enter the Rival
By mid-afternoon, Yudai Tanaka arrived like a storm. Captain of the soccer team, self-declared "Love Expert," and allergic to subtlety.
Yudai: "So this is the Disaster Guru stealing my spotlight?"
Sora: "Stealing implies you had one."
Yudai: "I challenge you. Most creative confession advice wins. Loser performs interpretive dance in front of the principal."
Haru: "I volunteer as loser. Get it over with."
The crowd roared. Aoi, leaning casually near the booth, finally spoke up.
Aoi: "Guru Haru, how would you confess to someone completely mysterious?"
Haru: "Easy. Send cryptic riddles. Or better—awkward group project invites. Nothing bonds like shared academic suffering."
Yudai: "Ridiculous. Flowers, poetry, grand gestures—that's romance."
Haru: "That's a hostage situation. Keep it under five minutes or they're checking TikTok."
The students screamed with laughter. Yudai looked personally attacked.
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The Rapid-Fire Round
From there, it spiraled.
Student: "Haru, love at first sight—real or fake?"
Haru: "Real, but only if you don't immediately trip afterward."
Girl: "Best heartbreak cure?"
Haru: "Chocolate. And if that fails, learn yodeling. Distracts the soul."
Guy: "Is a math equation confession cute or creepy?"
Haru: "If the answer's positive, cute. If imaginary, call a therapist."
Sora: "I once confessed through sock puppets."
Haru: "Explains so much about your love life."
Even the principal wandered by at one point, snickering into his coffee as Haru dispensed wisdom like a vending machine of bad ideas.
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Aoi's Ticket
As sunset painted the festival gold, the crowd finally thinned. Aoi Fujimoto lingered near the booth, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Aoi: "They're calling you the oracle of chaos. You enjoy this?"
Haru: "I enjoy surviving it. That's different."
Aoi: "What's your real advice for confessions?"
Haru: "Be honest. Laugh when it goes wrong. It always goes wrong."
Aoi smiled faintly, then handed him her unused Love Lottery ticket.
Aoi: "Surprise me, Guru. Something no one else has done."
Haru blinked. Was this… a challenge? A trap? Both?
---
Late-Night Legend
Back home, Haru collapsed on his bed. His phone buzzed nonstop—memes, confession requests, even one teacher asking if proposing with magic tricks was romantic or terrifying.
Haru (texting Sora): "Do legends get paid? Asking for my dignity."
Sora: "Legends get fan clubs. Merch coming soon."
Haru groaned, shoving his phone under a pillow.
On his desk, Aoi's ticket waited, a small, dangerous promise.
Tomorrow, the disasters would continue.
And maybe, just maybe, Haru Takumi wasn't done becoming a legend.