I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 02: “A Mob NPC’s Daily Life—Vice Principal, Could You Please Remember My Name?”

Chapter 02: “A Mob NPC’s Daily Life—Vice Principal, Could You Please Remember My Name?”

Second day after assignment.

In the staff room that morning, I received my first rite of passage.

“Ah, um… the counseling teacher. Good morning.”

“It’s Asagiri. Good morning.”

“Ah, yes. Asagiri-sensei. I’m sorry, even though we met yesterday.”

The vice principal’s white-haired head dipped apologetically.

No need to apologize. Even in the game world, mobs weren’t meant to be remembered. Honestly, the fact that he asked my name again was already generous.

My assigned seat in the corner of the staff room was next to the copy machine.

Calling it a “seat” might be generous. It was more like a patch of space gently warmed by the copier’s exhaust.

(…Just like how the game treated me.)

At what could loosely be called the neighboring desk sat the school nurse, Tsubaki-sensei. Since the counseling room was next to the infirmary, we were technically neighbors.

She was a plump woman in her forties—an entirely original character who never appeared in the game.

“Asagiri-sensei, some tea?”

“Thank you.”

I accepted the teacup she offered.

She hadn’t gotten my name wrong yesterday either.

How ironic that a character who didn’t exist in the game was kinder to me than the official cast.

“Is the counseling room usable?”

“Yes, somehow. I cleaned it yesterday.”

“Oh my, by yourself? You should have told me. I would’ve helped.”

“No, it’s fine. I wanted to set it up myself.”

That wasn’t just politeness.

The layout of a counseling room directly affected a visitor’s psychology.

The angle of the chairs.
The way the light entered.
The smell.
The temperature.

Every detail sent a message.

It wasn’t something I wanted to leave to someone else.

Tsubaki-sensei looked slightly surprised, then smiled softly.

“…You’re quite serious, aren’t you? The previous counselor only came maybe once a month.”

“Once a month…?”

“He was part-time. That was three years ago, before the budget cuts. It’s been empty ever since.”

That explained the dust.

“Were there any students who used the counseling room?”

“Oh… as far as I know, none.”

Exactly as expected.

If this world followed the game’s setting, the counseling room was “a room that exists but no one uses.”

There was no event in the game where anyone actually came here.

And yet—

Yesterday, she did.

Shizuku Yukimura had taken an action that didn’t exist in the game’s scenario.

(An event that should never trigger in the game has already happened. …This world may be based on the game’s settings, but it’s moving as its own reality. Which means—depending on what I do, something might change.)

“Tsubaki-sensei, may I ask something?”

“Yes?”

“There’s a first-year student in the high school division—Shizuku Yukimura, I believe.”

For just a moment, her expression dimmed.

“…Yukimura-san. Yes, she’s here.”

“If there’s anything you know about her—”

She wrapped both hands around her teacup, thinking.

“She’s a serious girl. Her grades are excellent. She’s never once submitted an assignment late. But—”

“But?”

“She hardly talks to anyone. It’s been almost a year since she enrolled, but according to her homeroom teacher, she doesn’t have a single friend she could call close.”

“…………”

“She comes to the infirmary sometimes. But she doesn’t say anything. She just lies down for a while and then leaves. At first, I thought she wasn’t feeling well, but it doesn’t seem to be that—”

She lowered her eyes, searching for the right words.

“—It looked like she was searching for a place to belong.”

At those words, I closed my eyes briefly.

Searching for a place to belong.

A place she couldn’t find in the classroom.
A place she couldn’t find even in the infirmary.

And yesterday, she came to the counseling room.

『may I come again?』

Maybe that note really meant—“Can this place become somewhere I belong?”

“Thank you, Tsubaki-sensei. That was helpful.”

“I’m glad to help. …Asagiri-sensei, please take care of that girl.”

“Yes. That’s my job.”

The morning remained quiet.

Of course it did. No students even knew the counseling room existed. And even if they did, no one would rush to confide in a counselor on his second day.

I sat at my desk and began organizing what I knew from the game.

I bought a notebook and started writing down everything I could remember.

The heroines’ profiles.
The event timeline.
The relationships between the main characters.

I reviewed the timeline of Bloom Garden once more.

The game’s protagonist, Haruto Hanasaki, transferred into the academy right after Golden Week in May.

It was now the second week of April.

That gave me about three weeks.

Those three weeks were my advantage.

Before the game “started,” I needed to understand the heroines’ real conditions and begin supporting them where possible.

If Haruto arrived first, it would be too late.

Once his smooth, handsome-protagonist mode activated, the scenario would begin treating the heroines as “capture targets.”

(I won’t let that happen.)

It sounded cool in my head—

But the real problem was how to create points of contact with the heroines.

A counselor’s job was mostly about waiting.

If they didn’t come to you, nothing began.

Showing up uninvited went against the basic principles of counseling—

At least, it was supposed to.

According to my game knowledge, out of the five heroines, the only one likely to come to the counseling room on her own was—

Shizuku.

The other four weren’t the type to seek help.

Midori probably believed her “perfect self” didn’t need counseling.
Rin didn’t even recognize her issues as problems.
Mio was too proud to show weakness.
And Akane likely thought “counselor = hypocrite.”

(Which means I’ll have to make contact in a way that feels natural. …Ethically, that’s walking a fine line. But in this world, I don’t have the luxury of doing nothing.)

I stopped writing and looked out the window.

Students were walking beneath the cherry blossoms in the courtyard. It was lunchtime.

They laughed with friends, opened their lunch boxes, and enjoyed their youth.

And among them—

I found myself unconsciously searching for the heroines.

(…That over there is Rin Kagurazaka. Wearing her soccer club jersey, surrounded by underclassmen. She’s laughing. She’s always laughing. —What’s hiding behind that smile?)

(…And that’s Mio Kujou. With the drama club girls. Standing in the center. Playing the “prince.” She looks confident. —But yesterday, she was crying backstage.)

(Midori Hojouin… I don’t see her. Probably in the student council room. Working even during lunch.)

(Akane Hinomiya isn’t around either. Skipping class on the rooftop somewhere, if the game settings are accurate.)

And then—Shizuku Yukimura.

“…………”

In one corner of the courtyard, beneath a cherry tree, a girl sat alone.

A book lay open on her knees.

She avoided everyone’s eyes, reading as though cut off from the world.

The other students passed by as if she didn’t exist.

Like she was invisible.

(Not that I can talk. I’m invisible in this academy too.)

A mob NPC.

And a girl who couldn’t speak to anyone.

In this game world, maybe the two least noticeable people had met yesterday in that small counseling room.

For a brief moment, it almost felt like fate.

(…No. The moment a counselor starts talking about “fate,” it’s over. Stay professional.)

After school.

In the cleaned-up counseling room, I brewed tea and waited.

Same tea leaves as yesterday.
Same temperature.
Same cups.

In counseling, “the same” matters.

For the visitor, seeing that nothing has changed quietly says: This place is safe.

The clock ticked to fifteen minutes after dismissal.

(…Maybe she won’t come. Yesterday might’ve just been an impulse. After calming down, she might’ve thought, “Maybe I shouldn’t.” For someone with selective mutism tendencies, coming two days in a row is a high hurdle—)

Knock, knock.

The sound was slightly firmer than yesterday.

I felt my expression soften into a smile.

As a counselor, that reaction wasn’t ideal. Feeling “happy” that a client showed up was technically ego on the therapist’s side.

—I knew that.

“Come in, it’s open.”

The door opened.

Unlike yesterday, Shizuku opened it herself.

A small step forward.

Yesterday she knocked but couldn’t turn the handle.

Today, she did.

(Good. That’s progress.)

Shizuku sat in the same seat as yesterday—the one by the window, where she could see the exit.

She held her bag on her knees and looked at me.

Those deep-colored eyes peered through her bangs.

I poured tea and placed it gently in front of her.

“Welcome. It’s the same tea as yesterday.”

Her gaze dropped to the cup.

And today—she reached for it a little faster.

She wrapped both hands around it.

Took a sip.

Swallowed softly.

Silence.

No words again today.

And that was fine.

If she could sit through silence on her second visit, it meant she was beginning to see this place as somewhere silence was allowed.

Just like yesterday, I sipped my tea and casually muttered,

“Today I was sitting next to the copy machine in the staff room. It’s surprisingly warm from the exhaust. I’m a little worried about summer, though.”

Her eyes shifted slightly.

“And the vice principal still can’t remember my name. He called me ‘the counseling teacher.’ I mean, he’s not wrong, but… I did introduce myself yesterday, you know?”

For just a moment—

Her lips moved.

Was that a smile?

I couldn’t see clearly beneath her bangs.

But her shoulders were more relaxed than yesterday.

That much was certain.

About twenty minutes later, Shizuku took out her memo pad again.

With the same pen as yesterday, she began writing.

It took a little longer this time.

She placed the note on the desk and stood up.

I looked down.

『The tea was delicious.』 And below that— 『I’ll come again tomorrow.』

Yesterday, it had been a question: “May I come again?”

Today, it was a statement: “I will.”

In just one day, doubt had turned into certainty.

“—I’ll be waiting.”

Shizuku gave a small nod and left.

After her footsteps faded, I carefully placed the note in the drawer—next to yesterday’s.

(She came two days in a row. And today she opened the door herself. The note was longer too. “The tea was delicious” is a personal impression. She put her own feeling into words and shared it. That’s… a significant step.)

My counselor brain was running at full speed.

So was the former-otaku part of me.

(I now possess two handwritten notes from my favorite heroine. This is a family heirloom. No—this is a counseling record. Absolutely not fan merchandise. …It’s not fan merchandise, but objectively speaking, her slightly rounded handwriting is adorable— No. Professional. Be professional.)

I lightly slapped my cheek.

Outside the window, the evening light painted the cherry blossoms gold.

She would come again tomorrow.

And somehow, I had to reach the other four as well.

Twenty days until the protagonist arrived.

The quiet, steady days of a nameless counselor NPC had begun.