I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 04: “Lunchbox Diplomacy and the Flower of Silence—When Two Timelines Cross”

Chapter 04: “Lunchbox Diplomacy and the Flower of Silence—When Two Timelines Cross”

Eighth day after assignment.

The Lunch Box Strategy had entered day four.

This was now the routine between me and Akane on the rooftop:

I showed up with two bentos.
Sat down three meters away.
Placed one in the middle.
Akane came to get it without a word.
We ate in silence.

Sometimes we exchanged a few short lines. Sometimes we didn’t.

We didn’t even bother with small talk about the weather.

And yet, things were changing.

Day three.

Before coming to grab the lunch, Akane asked, “…What kind is it today?”

Day four—meaning today.

The moment I opened the rooftop door, Akane looked at me.

Until yesterday, she only glanced over after I had already sat down.

Today, she reacted to the sound of the door.

A small difference.

But small differences matter.

She had predicted I would come.

I won’t go as far as saying she was waiting—but at least she thought, He’ll probably show up.

That meant she recognized a pattern in my behavior.

A predictable adult.

That was my current position in Akane’s world.

“Today’s katsudon.”

“…Didn’t ask.”

“You asked yesterday, so I figured I’d say it first.”

“…………”

Akane turned toward the fence.

Her ears were red.

(If this were the game, a little “Affection +5” would probably pop up right now. Reality doesn’t give you helpful numbers, but I’ll use ear redness as a substitute. Current estimated affection—Climbed from negative into zero. Maybe.)

I placed the katsudon in the middle.

This time, it was properly heated—just like she told me.

After about ten seconds, Akane came to get it.

She opened the lid and checked the steam rising from inside.

“…You heated it.”

“They asked if I wanted it warmed, so I said yes. Warming up two was kind of embarrassing, though.”

“Don’t get embarrassed over heating up two. You’re an adult, right?”

“Even adults get embarrassed.”

Akane let out a small snort.

Not mocking.

Just lightly exasperated—with something almost resembling familiarity.

We ate in silence.

After a while, while biting into a piece of katsudon, I said casually,

“Fifth period’s math today, right?”

Her chopsticks stopped.

“…Why the hell do you know my schedule?”

“I’m the counselor. I keep track of all the grade schedules.”

Not a lie.

Though it was true I paid special attention to hers.

Her eyes narrowed.

Guarded.

Before she could escalate, I continued,

“I’m not going to tell you to go to class.”

“…………”

“I’m a counselor, not a teacher. Attendance isn’t my job.”

Her chopsticks resumed moving.

The guard wasn’t gone—but she had stepped down from full combat stance.

“Just—”

“Just what?”

“If you’re skipping fifth period every time, I was wondering if there’s something about that time.”

Silence.

Akane stared at her katsudon.

More precisely, she pretended to.

Five. Ten seconds.

“…It’s not like that. I skip other periods too. Not just fifth.”

“I see.”

I didn’t push further.

Today’s goal was simple: 

Let her recognize that I’m the kind of adult who steps forward—

But knows when to step back.

I approach.

If rejected, I withdraw.

I don’t force it.

That balance—

That’s how you close the distance with someone who can’t trust adults.

The bell rang.

“Well, I’ll head back.”

As I stood up, Akane spoke.

“…Don’t bring katsudon tomorrow. Two days in a row is too much.”

“Requests accepted.”

“Wha— It’s not a request. It’s just a complaint.”

“Understood. Complaint accepted.”

An “Annoying…” followed me.

But it no longer carried the sharp edge from the first day.

—

After school.

When I returned to the counseling room, Shizuku was sitting in her usual seat.

—She was already there.

Before I arrived.

“…Shizuku-chan?”

The door should’ve been locked.

Normally, I locked it when I left.

But today I had rushed out at lunch.

Maybe I forgot.

Shizuku had the Kenji Miyazawa short story collection on her lap and looked up at me.

Her eyes peeked through the gap in her bangs.

The same deep-colored eyes as always.

But today—

Something was different.

My instincts picked up on it immediately.

Her expression wasn’t quite the same.

I couldn’t pinpoint what.

With her face half-hidden, only subtle shifts were visible.

But the atmosphere felt off.

She was sitting stiffer than usual.

The hand holding the book carried faint tension.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ll make some tea.”

I prepared it the usual way.

Same tea leaves.
Same temperature.
Same cups.

I placed it in front of her.

She reached for the cup—

Then stopped.

Instead, she took out her memo pad.

Normally, she only wrote right before leaving.

Today, she began writing at the start.

The first time since day three.

She slid the note toward me.

『Sensei, you go to the rooftop for lunch every day?』

(…That question again.)

Last time, it had been, “Sensei, where do you eat lunch?”

I answered, “On the rooftop.”

Now the word “every day” had been added.

Not a one-time event.

She had noticed it was ongoing.

My counselor brain engaged.

Two possibilities.

One: simple curiosity.

She had started taking interest in my daily life. A positive sign.

Two: anxiety about my absence.

She may have come during lunch, found the room empty, and wanted confirmation.

That would require caution.

Which was it?

Not enough data to conclude.

So I answered honestly.

“Yeah. Lately, I’ve been eating on the rooftop.”

Shizuku wrote again.

『With someone?』

My heart skipped.

As a counselor, I understood exactly what that meant.

She wanted to know whether I was meeting someone.

Or—

She already suspected.

Rooftop at lunchtime.

Akane was there. I was there.

Just the two of us.

You couldn’t see the rooftop from her classroom.

But she might have seen me leaving with two bentos.

Or heading toward the stairs.

How should I answer?

Lying would be easy.

—“I eat alone.”

But lies fracture trust.

And Shizuku was someone who had already experienced adults dismissing her voice.

The moment she sensed dishonesty, that fragile trust would shatter.

So I answered carefully.

“There’s a student who happens to be there. We’re not eating together, though.”

Not a lie.

Calling it “eating together” would be inaccurate.

We sat three meters apart.

What I had with Akane was sharing space—

Not sharing time.

At least, not yet.

Shizuku didn’t write anything further.

She lifted her tea and took a sip.

Then she opened her Kenji Miyazawa book and began reading.

Outwardly, nothing had changed.

But—

Her fingers turned the pages slightly faster than usual.

She didn’t seem to be reading.

It looked more like she was using the motion to steady herself.

(…………)

This was the first faint sense of something catching.

Counseling textbooks state: “If a client shows excessive interest in the counselor’s private life, it may be an early sign of transference.”

No.

Too soon.

It’s too early to label it that.

Shizuku had almost no connection to the world.

She had only just gained one “person she can communicate with.”

Of course she would be curious.

That’s natural.

It should be natural.

(You’re overthinking, Ren Asagiri. Your old fan bias is interfering. Stay calm. Stay professional. Stay objective.)

Shizuku closed her book.

Ten minutes earlier than usual.

She placed a note on the desk and stood up.

『Sensei, may I come here during lunch tomorrow as well?』

I stared at the words.

During lunch.

Here.

Until now, she had only come after school.

She wanted to expand that into lunchtime too.

As a counselor—

I should welcome that.

Increased visit frequency meant her sense of safety was strengthening.

But—

My lunchbox diplomacy with Akane happened during lunch.

If Shizuku came at noon, I wouldn’t be able to go to the rooftop.

Contact with Akane would break.

At the same time, I had no reason to refuse Shizuku.

If I rejected it, she might interpret that as rejecting her.

(…What do I do.)

“Of course you can. I sometimes step out briefly during lunch, though. If that happens, could you wait in the room? I’ll leave it unlocked.”

It wasn’t perfect.

But it preserved Shizuku’s place here—

While maintaining contact with Akane.

For now, it was the best balance I could manage.

Shizuku looked at me for about three seconds.

Then she gave a small nod.

And left the room.

After the door closed, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.

(…Taking care of one person is already difficult. Handling two at once—One on the rooftop. One in the counseling room. Their time slots overlap. This isn’t just a scheduling problem. A quiet tug-of-war over “my time” may have already begun.)

I had only made contact with two of the five.

The remaining three—Midori Houjouin, Rin Kagurazaka, and Mio Kujou—were still untouched.

Eight days since assignment.

Fifteen days until the game’s protagonist arrives.

There isn’t enough time.