— — — — — —
Outside the civic hall, Isshiki Iroha was crouched on the ground, quietly sobbing.
Tears streamed down her cheeks like pearls slipping from a broken string.
"S-Senpai... why are you being s-so mean? I... I know I'm not a very good student council president... sniff... but I've really been trying my best."
"Every night I've only been sleeping a few hours just to make this Christmas event work. I really did give it everything I had. And wasn't it you who talked me into becoming student council president in the first place? Sniff... Then after I got the position, you acted like you didn't even want to help. I begged you, you know."
"You promised you'd help me. Liar. Senpai, you're a big fat liar."
"..."
Oikawa looked down at the crouching Isshiki, his hands awkwardly hovering with nowhere to go.
Meanwhile, the people around them had begun paying attention.
Most of the pedestrians were middle-aged or elderly women. Before long, voices started rising from all directions.
"Oh my, look at that poor girl crying like that…"
"Men these days really don't know how to treat girls properly. Didn't anyone teach you how to be a gentleman?"
"Boy, if you care about her, say something! Silence won't fix anything."
"Honestly, I should've brought popcorn. This is like a drama series I've already watched. I bet he cheated and got caught, tsk, tsk. Next he's going to say he didn't mean it and that they were just friends. Heh, friends in bed maybe."
...
Hearing the comments, Oikawa could only smile helplessly. "Stop crying and get up. I'll buy you dinner."
"No."
The immediate answer made Oikawa's mouth twitch. "I'm giving you one last chance. Miss it, and it's gone. You can eat whatever you want."
"Really?" Isshiki immediately stopped crying and cautiously looked up at him.
Tears still clung to her face, and part of the scarf around her neck had been soaked through. She looked pitiful enough to tug at anyone's heartstrings.
Isshiki hesitated, then stared into his eyes, "You can't take it back later, okay?"
"I won't."
"Hehe." Her tears instantly turned into a smile. But she quickly turned around, secretly pulled out a pack of tissues, wiped away the tears on her face, then blew her nose.
"Senpai, then I want ramen."
When she turned back around, all traces of crying had already vanished.
"You're only getting one chance. Are you sure you don't want me to buy you something expensive?" Oikawa couldn't help feeling confused.
"Ramen is already great. More importantly, I like it." Isshiki shook her head, her usual bright smile returning. It was almost impossible to believe that this was the same girl who had been squatting on the ground crying moments ago.
"Alright. Let's go."
Isshiki followed behind Oikawa, a little cautiously. Every now and then, she would sneak a glance at his back.
"Senpai?"
Oikawa suddenly stopped walking, "Hm?"
"I'll count this as something you owe me." Isshiki wore a natural smile, one Oikawa felt he was seeing for the first time.
"..."
Oikawa reached over, untied the damp scarf around her neck, and replaced it with his own.
Isshiki froze. Instinctively, she almost stepped back, but managed to stop herself. Instead, she watched him with a cheerful smile as he finished.
The scarf she had been wearing was still wet. Oikawa folded it neatly and tucked it into her backpack.
"Senpai, are you actually trying to pursue me? For a second there, my heart really skipped a beat."
"But after thinking about it carefully, you're definitely a playboy. I don't think I can willingly fall for your tricks."
She looked completely serious when she said it.
Oikawa flicked her forehead.
"Ow!" Isshiki rubbed her head and pouted. "Senpai, you can't treat girls like that."
"Hurry up. I've still got things to do after dinner." Oikawa picked up his pace.
Isshiki wasn't annoyed in the slightest and immediately trotted after him.
"Senpai, what are you doing later? Want to come play tennis with me? I'm really good, you know." She tightened the scarf around her neck.
Maybe it was just psychological, but Oikawa's scarf felt much warmer than her own.
"No. I don't know how to play."
"I can teach you. For free."
"No, thanks!" Oikawa rejected the offer without hesitation.
Unfortunately, Isshiki refused to give up.
"Come on. A cute and beautiful underclassman is inviting you. You should accept with gratitude."
"Cute and beautiful?" Oikawa tilted his head. "Are you talking about that first-year girl from the seminar room earlier? She really was pretty cute."
"Tch. The cute and beautiful me is standing right beside you." Isshiki huffed, clearly offended that her charms had been overlooked.
Oikawa simply sped up, offering no response.
...
..
After finishing their ramen, Oikawa headed to the gym near his house. It was around three in the afternoon.
Two hours later, he came home completely exhausted.
The moment he stepped inside, he collapsed onto the sofa.
If possible, he didn't want to move another inch, but hunger eventually won out.
After resting for about ten minutes, he got up and wandered over to the refrigerator to inspect its contents.
There were vegetables. There were even fruits.
All of it had been bought a few days ago when Kawasaki dragged him shopping.
The problem was... He didn't want to cook. Not even a little.
After thinking for a moment, Oikawa closed the refrigerator and flopped back onto the sofa.
Then he pulled out his phone and sent Kawasaki a message. "Mama Kawasaki, I'm hungry. I desperately, desperately want to eat your cooking. Especially your signature dish, fried fish."
Kawasaki replied almost instantly, "I am NOT your mother!!"
Oikawa smiled.
A second message from Kawasaki arrived. "Are you coming?"
Oikawa typed back immediately, "I miss you. Especially today. Can you come instead?"
This time, Kawasaki took much longer to respond.
After what felt like forever, a single message appeared.
"No."
Then another followed. "If I come over... you'll just do something weird again."
"When have I ever? I swear on my conscience that I would never do anything strange to Ms. Kawasaki." Oikawa typed with complete sincerity.
Was he really that kind of person?
Of course not. He was a respectable gentleman.
Kawasaki's reply came back immediately. "Your conscience is rotten to the core. That's what you told me before. You yourself admitted it many times."
Apparently, she wasn't buying his solemn oath.
"But I'm really hungry. I've melted into the sofa and can't even walk anymore. Boo hoo. You don't love me anymore… What's even the point of living? Ahwoo, I might as well die of hunger."
If swearing didn't work, then acting pitiful would.
And judging by the long string of Typing... beneath Kawasaki's name, the tactic seemed surprisingly effective.
The indicator lingered for a very long time.
Finally, a reply appeared, "Then wait a bit."
Just four words. Yet they were enough to make Oikawa spring off the sofa.
He quickly sent back, "I'll be waiting."
Then he headed straight to the bathroom for another shower.
After showering, something suddenly occurred to him.
He immediately messaged Taishi, "Taishi, what are you doing?"
The response came almost instantly. "Oikawa-nii, I'm bringing you fried fish. My sister just finished cooking it and told me to deliver it. Besides the fish, there are pork cutlets and tempura too. She just made them."
Oikawa slowly collapsed back onto the sofa.
Like a salted fish that had completely lost its dreams.
Now he finally understood why some men didn't want to marry women with younger brothers.
They really got in the way.
[Oikawa: "What about your sister? Didn't she come?"]
[Taishi: "She did. Buuut she told me not to tell you she came… She's standing right behind me."]
[Oikawa: "Well done! Taishi, I'm going to give you a big gift."]
Alright.
Oikawa took back what he'd thought earlier.
Sometimes having a younger brother wasn't so bad. If you built a good relationship with him, he could double as a spy.
After a moment's thought, Oikawa sent Kawasaki another message. "Kawasaki, if you already made food for me, why send Taishi instead of coming yourself?"
Kawasaki replied, "Because I'm afraid certain people might do bad things."
"Who? Tell me who it is. I'll go see how much courage he has, daring to do bad things to my wife." Oikawa typed with furious indignation, as if it wasn't him.
This time, Kawasaki took quite a while to reply. "Not your wife… at least not yet. Y-You… stop saying embarrassing things."
Oikawa smiled. "It's only a matter of time anyway. And did you say 'not yet'? Heh… I'm really happy with our progress, my dear wife."
The 'Typing...' indicator beneath her name remained for a very long time.
Eventually, it disappeared without another message.
Then, five or six minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Oikawa opened the door and found Taishi standing there.
"Where's your sister?"
Taishi didn't answer. Instead, he subtly glanced in a direction.
Oikawa patted him on the shoulder, told him to come in, then quietly slipped outside.
Soon, he spotted Kawasaki hiding beside a wall.
The moment she saw him, she instinctively tried to run.
Too late.
Oikawa pulled her straight into his arms. "Since you're already here, why are you sneaking around?"
"W-Who's sneaking around?" Her voice was tiny and flustered.
"Then what are you doing?" Oikawa asked, hugging her tighter.
"Stop it. Taishi's right there. What if he sees us?"
Kawasaki tried to break free. Unfortunately, Oikawa seemed much stronger than before.
No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn't escape.
And she couldn't bring herself to really hit him.
"If he sees us, he sees us. He'll see it eventually anyway." Oikawa didn't look concerned in the slightest.
"You shameless jerk," Kawasaki muttered a curse under her breath.
"Oh, I can be even more shameless."
Before she could say anything else, Oikawa leaned in.
The only sounds that escaped her were muffled little protests.
In the end, she gave up resisting and closed her eyes.
December in Chiba. By six in the evening, the moon was already hanging in the sky. Yet tonight, even the moon seemed shy about what was happening below. Only a thin crescent peeked out from behind the clouds.
The moon was beautiful, certainly. But the blush on the face of the girl in his arms was something he knew he would remember for the rest of his life.
...
..
After dinner, Oikawa switched into work mode.
He began organizing every detail of the upcoming Christmas event.
What he'd presented earlier during the day had only been a rough framework. There were still countless details that needed to be nailed down.
The work itself wasn't difficult. Just tedious.
Fortunately, with his experience handling both the school festival and the all-school sports meet, Oikawa was more than comfortable with this kind of planning.
Not to mention he had Yukino and Yui's support.
In a little over an hour, the entire Christmas proposal was complete.
He immediately sent it to Isshiki. "Read it a few times and try to memorize it. At tomorrow's joint-school meeting, you'll need to fulfill your responsibilities as student council president. Just follow what's written."
After thinking about it, Oikawa felt the message sounded a little too harsh.
So he added a cheerful "Good luck!" sticker afterward.
Isshiki's reply came almost instantly. "Senpai, you're amazing! Just wait. Tomorrow I'm definitely going to shock everyone!"
A moment later, messages began arriving one after another.
"Senpai, what are you doing now?"
"Senpai? ...Hello?"
"Helloooo? Anybody there?"
Oikawa, naturally, was nowhere to be found. The moment he finished dealing with everything, he turned on his PC and put on his headphones, ready to dive into entertainment.
...
..
In a luxury apartment—
After a full day of studying, Yukino finally set her books aside and closed her eyes to rest.
Some time later, the fatigue eased enough for her to pick up her phone and scroll through Twitter.
Before long, a post featuring an interview with Copycat-sensei caught her eye.
Her thumb stopped. She tapped the video.
As the interview audio began to play, Yukino's brows slowly furrowed.
A strange sense of familiarity surfaced in her mind.
After a moment of thought, she replayed the clip.
Then replayed it again.
And again.
A familiar face flashed through her thoughts.
Yukino paused. Then she opened Copycat's Twitter profile and started reading through every post.
This smug way of talking... it felt oddly familiar too.
Her brows knitted even tighter. One suspicion after another surfaced in her mind.
A conclusion she had previously rejected suddenly returned, "Could Oikawa actually be Copycat-sensei?"
"No. Impossible. That guy couldn't possibly be Copycat. How could he write a light novel that good? No way. Absolutely impossible."
Yukino vigorously shook her head, refusing to believe her own reasoning.
Yet moments later, she found herself murmuring again, "...But is it really impossible?"
"Your Lie in April signed copies are incredibly difficult to obtain. Yet that guy somehow got over a dozen of them at once..."
"Wait. I have a signed copy too."
Suddenly remembering something, Yukino hurried to her bookshelf and pulled out her two autographed copies of Your Lie in April.
Copycat's signature was clearly written on the title page.
Next, she began searching through old documents.
She distinctly remembered still having one of the budget request forms from the school sports festival.
After a lengthy search, she finally found it.
Panting slightly from all the rummaging, she spread the document out on the desk.
On one side was Copycat's signature. On the other was Oikawa's.
Yukino narrowed her eyes and began comparing them.
The same characters were present in both signatures. She examined them carefully. Very carefully.
They were identical. Exactly identical.
Yukino slumped into her chair.
Her teeth gently bit down on her lower lip.
Oikawa was Copycat. There was no doubt about it.
"Bastard!" Yukino gritted her teeth. "No wonder he made that bet with me. Even though he didn't bring it anymore, he was still hinting at it—forcing himself on my snacks and tea."
"So that's why. He's Copycat… a rotten bastard, a scumbag, a liar. The readers weren't wrong to curse him out."
"Oikawa, you're just as much of a jerk in real life! You absolute bastard!"
Yukino's voice was practically dripping with resentment.
.
.
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