I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 03: “The Rooftop Slacker—The Reason I Bring Two Lunch Boxes”

Chapter 03: “The Rooftop Slacker—The Reason I Bring Two Lunch Boxes”

Fifth day after assignment.

Shizuku’s visits continued every day.

She came in. Sat down. Tea. Silence. Memo. Left.

That routine was gradually taking shape.

The content of her notes was slowly changing.

Day three: 『The wind was strong today.』

Day four: 『May I read the books on the shelf?』

From simple reports about daily life to making small requests.

Inside Shizuku, the counseling room was beginning to shift—from “someone else’s place” into “a place I’m allowed to use too.”

In response to her fourth-day note, I wrote back, “Of course. Read as much as you like.”

Shizuku chose one book from the shelf—a collection of short stories by Kenji Miyazawa—and quietly turned the pages in the corner of the room.

The calm look on her face was so peaceful that my past-life fanboy soul nearly exploded.

I suppressed it with three deep breaths.

I was a professional.

Now then.

Shizuku’s progress was steady.

But I still hadn’t made contact with the remaining four heroines.

The one I was most concerned about was—

Akane Hinomiya.

I organized her game settings in my head.

Second-year in the high school division.

The academy’s number-one problem child.

Constantly clashing with teachers due to bad behavior.

A habitual class-skipper.

In the game, she had been the most popular heroine in the “tsundere” slot.

But from the perspective of my former life as a counselor, there were too many warning signs in her behavioral pattern.

Her rebellious attitude.

Her distrust of adults.

The emotional distance she kept from others.

The official setting materials only stated, “Her family situation is complicated.”

But what exactly was hidden behind that single line—

That question had bothered me since before I arrived here.

And this morning—

In the staff room, I overheard the following exchange.

“Hinomiya’s skipping afternoon classes again?”

“Probaby on the rooftop, obviously. Same as always. Let’s just leave her be.”

It sounded like a conversation between her homeroom teacher and the grade supervisor.

Fatigue and resignation weighed down their voices.

“Let’s just leave her alone.”

That single sentence flipped a switch inside me.

(What happens to a child who keeps being left alone—I know the answer.)

Lunchtime.

I bought two convenience-store lunch boxes and headed up the stairs to the rooftop.

—

The rooftop door had a “No Entry” sign hanging from it, but the lock was broken.

Just like in the game.

This was where Haruto met Akane during one of his events.

When I opened the door, the April wind rushed in.

The rooftop was wide.

A bare space enclosed by fencing.

In the shadow of the water tank—she was there.

Akane Hinomiya.

Her uniform ribbon was gone.

Her blazer was tied around her waist.

Her shirt was unbuttoned to the second button.

A full parade of dress-code violations.

Her reddish-brown hair was tied into a messy ponytail.

Leaning against the fence, she stared blankly at the sky.

In the game’s character art, she had been drawn as a “strong-willed beauty.”

But the real Akane—

Was sharper.

Cat-like eyes.

A gaze that constantly assessed her surroundings.

An invisible edge around her, like a warning sign to anyone who approached.

The moment she reacted to the door opening and looked at me—

Her eyes instantly filled with hostility.

“…Who the hell are you?”

A low voice.

In the game, it had sounded cuter.

In reality, it was harder.

Like rejection striking against iron.

“Ren Asagiri. I’m the counselor who started using the counseling room this month.”

“Hah?”

Her eyebrow arched.

“Counselor? Since when did this school have something like that?”

“Since last week. My popularity is basically zero, though.”

“Hmph.”

Clearly uninterested, she turned her gaze back to the sky.

Normally, that would have ended the exchange.

But I stepped onto the rooftop anyway and sat down about three meters away from her.

Her eyes flicked back toward me.

Guarded.

“…What. You here to lecture me about skipping?”

“Nope. Just here to eat lunch.”

“Huh?”

I pulled out a seaweed bento from the convenience-store bag and unwrapped it.

“When I eat in the staff room, the copier’s exhaust makes it way too hot. I was looking for somewhere cooler and ended up here.”

A lie.

A calculated one.

In counseling, saying “I came because I’m worried about you” during first contact is one of the worst possible approaches.

Especially with someone who distrusts adults.

What you need is the stance of “I’m not here for you.”

Make it look like coincidence.

Share the same space without a clear agenda.

Let them gradually conclude on their own: This person isn’t a threat.

Akane continued glaring at me.

Three. Five. Ten seconds.

“…Do whatever you want.”

She spat it out and looked back at the sky.

Good.

I hadn’t been kicked out.

For day one, that was more than enough.

I quietly began eating my seaweed bento.

Akane stared upward.

Only the wind moved between us.

About five minutes later, I took out the second lunch box—the fried chicken bento—and placed it on the ground, roughly halfway between us.

“…What.”

“Bought too much. Want it?”

Her eyes moved to the lunch box.

Then to me.

Weighing my intent.

“Don’t need it. I don’t take handouts.”

“It’s not a handout. I just can’t eat two by myself. Feels like a waste.”

“Not my problem. Learn your own stomach limit.”

“Fair point.”

I smiled.

She clicked her tongue and looked away.

The lunch box remained in neutral territory.

Fifteen minutes later, the bell rang to signal the end of lunch break.

“Well then, I’m heading back. You can throw that away if you want.”

I left those words behind and walked toward the door.

I didn’t look back.

If I had, it would’ve said, I care whether you eat it.

Right now, I needed to maintain, I’m not interested in you.

As I closed the door, I heard a faint sound behind me.

Plastic rustling.

The lid opening.

(—She’s eating it.)

As I walked down the stairs, I made a small, restrained fist pump.

(Plan A: “Lunch Box Strategy.”

Success on day one—the lunch was consumed.

In the game, Haruto’s first rooftop encounter with Akane ended with “You’re annoying. Get lost.”

He didn’t have a lunch box.

Of course not. He was the cafeteria type.

…But I had two convenience-store bentos as my weapon.

The oldest form of communication in human history is sharing a meal.

This was a classic move in the counseling world.

No—calling a lunch box a “classic move” feels too dramatic.)

The nonstop commentary in my head was just the aftershock of tension.

Akane’s gaze had weight.

In her eyes, there was always a scale measuring one thing: Can I trust this adult?

From experience, kids who look at you that way—

Have been betrayed before.

(I’m curious about what lies inside that “complicated family situation.” Very curious. But now isn’t the time to pry. First, she needs to recognize: This guy isn’t dangerous. That alone is enough.)

—

The next day.

I brought two lunch boxes to the rooftop again.

Akane was there.

Same spot.

Same posture.

When she looked at me, her gaze lingered half a second longer than yesterday.

“…You came again?”

“It’s nice and cool up here.”

“Cool? It’s April. What are you even talking about?”

“Still better than sitting next to the copier.”

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My seat’s right by it. The exhaust heat is brutal.”

For a split second, she looked like she might say something else.

Instead, she muttered, “Not my problem,” and looked away.

I sat in the same place as yesterday and opened my seaweed bento.

The fried chicken bento went to the midpoint again.

Same actions.

Same distance.

Same lines.

Repetition creates comfort.

Predictability builds trust.

Ten minutes later—

Today, Akane came to get the lunch herself.

Without a word, she picked up the bento and returned to her spot.

I said nothing.

Not “So you’re eating it.”

Not “That’s good.”

If I reacted, she would feel like she’d accepted charity—and that would end this experiment.

We ate in silence.

Wind.

Distant shouts from club activities.

The faint tap of chopsticks against plastic.

Akane popped a piece of karaage into her mouth—

Then muttered,

“…It’s cold.”

“It’s from a convenience store. They asked if I wanted it heated, but warming up two would’ve been embarrassing, so I said no.”

“Idiot.”

“Yeah. Total idiot.”

Silence.

She took another piece.

“…Heat it up tomorrow.”

I kept my eyes on my lunch box, hiding the smile that tried to surface.

“Okay.”

(—“Tomorrow.”

Not “Don’t come back.”

But “Heat it up tomorrow.”

A line that assumes I’ll be here again.

That’s permission.

Akane Hinomiya… your tsundere difficulty setting is about thirty percent higher than it was in the game.)

As I left the rooftop, I mentally reviewed the situation.

Akane Hinomiya.

Second day of contact.

Accepted the lunch.

Used the word “tomorrow.”

More back-and-forth than yesterday.

Hostility trending downward.

However—no carelessness allowed.

Her walls are thick.

They won’t crumble over a single lunch box.

From here on, it will take time.

Even so—

Two convenience-store bentos’ worth of communication.

That’s a weapon the game’s protagonist doesn’t possess.

—

When I returned to the counseling room, Shizuku was standing in front of the door.

A little earlier than usual.

Because I had been on the rooftop, the room had been locked.

“Sorry, I stepped out for a bit. Kept you waiting.”

Shizuku shook her head gently.

I unlocked the door, brewed tea, and sat in my usual seat.

She took her usual seat as well.

Today, Shizuku pulled out her memo pad immediately.

Normally, she only wrote just before leaving.

She slid the note across the desk.

『Sensei, where do you eat lunch?』

(…………Huh?)

This—was a question.

Until now, every note had been a report or a request.

“May I come again?” “The tea was delicious.” “May I read the books?”

Today, for the first time, she asked me something.

Actively seeking information.

That meant the quality of our communication had advanced.

At the same time—

It meant she had noticed my absence.

As a counselor, I should feel pleased about the first part.

The second part, however, required caution.

“I was eating on the rooftop. The staff room gets pretty hot.”

Half true.

The other half left unsaid.

Shizuku wrote again.

『I see.』

That was all.

And yet—

The letters looked slightly more pressed into the paper than usual.

Probably my imagination.

Probably.