Chapter 4: Confessions and Cherry Trees
I never asked for this.
Lunch used to be my sacred time. My escape. A peaceful fifteen-minute slice of bliss where I could eat in silence, maybe watch pigeons fight over crusts, and mentally prepare myself to not be noticed for the rest of the day.
But then she happened.
"You eat like an old man," Koharu Minami said, already halfway through my side of pickled daikon.
"I am an old man spiritually," I muttered.
We sat under the largest sakura tree behind the school, where the petals fell like lazy pink snow. It was a popular spot for third-years to confess during spring. Or to cry after getting rejected.
I hadn't done either. Yet.
"Why are you here again?" I asked.
"Because you're weirdly peaceful to eat lunch with."
"You stole half my bento."
"That's how I show affection."
"…Is this why you have no friends?"
She pouted, cheeks puffed out with rice. "I have you."
"I'm not your friend."
"You're right," she said, eyes glinting. "You're more like a convenience store mascot. Always there. A little dead inside. Weirdly comforting."
"…Wow."
Koharu took another bite, legs swinging from the bench. She'd unbuttoned her top collar in the spring heat, revealing a hint of her collarbone and the soft slope of her neck. Not that I was looking. Much.
Okay, maybe a little.
I was a teenager, not a monk.
"Hey, Senpai," she said between bites, "you ever think about dating?"
I blinked. "That came out of nowhere."
"Humor me."
"…I guess. Sometimes."
She leaned in, suspiciously close. "What kind of girl do you like?"
"The quiet kind."
"So... not me."
"Definitely not you."
She grinned. "Liar. You like 'em loud and dangerous."
"I like mine not yelling at me over miso soup."
"Yelling is a love language."
I sighed. "Is being obnoxious your whole personality?"
"Only the top layer. I have depths, Senpai. Deep, mysterious, sexy depths."
"You're a kiddie pool of chaos."
"You love it here," she said smugly, licking stray rice off her thumb. I looked away.
Why was that strangely distracting?
"Your ears are red, Senpai."
"No, they're not."
"Blushing is also a love language."
"I'm not blushing."
"Then you're overheating. Quick, unbutton your shirt."
"I'm not falling for that again!"
She winked. "You did last week."
"I was tricked!"
"You looked great in that tank top."
"It was a vest!"
"A vest with no shame."
I groaned and turned away, but my heart was doing that annoying thing where it sped up for no reason. Probably high blood pressure. Or stress. Or Koharu.
Especially Koharu.
"Still," she said suddenly, softer now, "you're kind of nice once you stop acting like a vending machine."
I froze.
There was a pause. A long, petal-laced silence.
"…A vending machine?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said, nibbling her chopstick. "You know. Just standing around, saying nothing. Predictable. Hard to get anything good unless you kick it."
"You kicked me yesterday."
"And you gave me your pudding."
"That's not how relationships work."
She giggled, but her smile faltered just for a second. A tiny flicker in her eyes—vulnerability. Regret? Loneliness? Something quiet and hidden behind all the teasing.
Then it was gone.
"Anyway," she shrugged, "it's fine. I like vending machines. I trust them more than people."
"…That's a weirdly sad thing to say."
"Don't overthink it, Senpai. I'm too cute to be tragic."
She wasn't looking at me when she said it.
And somehow, that made it sting more.
"…You okay?" I asked before I could stop myself.
She blinked. "Me? Duh. I'm always okay."
Then she yawned and stretched, arms raised high—shirt lifting just enough to reveal a flash of her waistline.
I choked on my rice.
"Careful, Senpai," she smirked. "If you stare too hard, I'll charge you."
"I wasn't—!"
"You were."
"...Fine. A little."
"Knew it. Senpai's a closet perv."
"I'm not!"
"You didn't even blink when I wore my bloomers backward yesterday."
"That was because you were wearing them on top of your skirt!"
"It's called fashion."
"It's called detention."
She grinned, laying back on the bench like a cat sunbathing.
A breeze rustled the branches above. Petals fell around her—on her cheeks, in her hair. She looked peaceful for once. Pretty, even. A chaos gremlin in aesthetic lighting.
"…Why do you keep bothering me?" I asked.
"Because you let me."
"…That's not a reason."
She turned her head lazily. "Sure it is. You act all grumpy, but you never tell me to go away."
"Because you never listen."
"Exactly."
"…Wait, that doesn't—"
"Also," she said, sitting up suddenly, "you're kinda hot when you're flustered."
"I am not—"
"Too late," she poked my cheek. "Now you're officially in my harem."
"I didn't agree to this."
"You don't get a choice, NPC-senpai. You're the secret route."
"I refuse to be part of whatever messed-up dating sim you're playing."
"Too bad. You're already the hidden character with a tragic backstory and soft thighs."
"I do not have soft thighs!"
"I tripped over them last week. Very pillowy."
"You tripped because you tried vaulting the science table!"
"Details."
She stood up suddenly, brushing her skirt. Her thigh-high socks slipped a little, revealing pale skin and the faintest bruise.
"You should stop throwing yourself into walls," I said before I could think.
"You noticed?" she said quietly.
"…Hard not to."
For a moment, she didn't say anything. Then—
"Thanks, Senpai," she said, almost too soft to hear.
I blinked.
"…For what?"
"For... being here, I guess."
And just like that, she was back to herself again, flipping her beret back onto her head (when did she get a beret?) and kicking the tree trunk like it owed her money.
"You coming?" she asked, already skipping away.
I stared at the space she'd left behind. At the fallen petals. At the warmth still lingering beside me on the bench.
I stood up.
And followed.
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[To Be Continued]