I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 07: “Tears Behind the Curtain—A Prince Must Never Show Weakness”

Chapter 07: “Tears Behind the Curtain—A Prince Must Never Show Weakness”

Fourteenth day after my assignment.
Nine days until the game’s protagonist transfers in.

My contact with the four heroines had been progressing—each in their own way.

Shizuku’s daily visits had completely become a habit.
She had even started stopping by during lunch. 

The number of words in her memos increased day by day, and recently—for the first time—she told me her favorite book genre.

Fantasy.

I will spare you the internal chaos I experienced upon learning my favorite heroine’s favorite genre.

As for Akane, the Lunchbox Diplomacy had reached day ten.
The amount of conversation between us had clearly increased.
Yesterday, she spent a full five minutes criticizing my “disastrous lack of taste” in choosing bentos.

She was talking just to complain.

Which meant she was creating her own reason to talk to me.

A good sign.

With Midori—

Only that one meeting.
She came for student council business, and there hadn’t been a second visit.

As expected.

Midori wouldn’t come on her own.
I was still waiting for the right moment to make a move.

Rin had brought underclassmen to the infirmary twice since that day.
The tape on her ankle had been rewrapped, but the method was still clearly self-taught.

When it came to caring for herself, she stubbornly refused to rely on anyone.

Still—

Whenever she saw me now, she would wave and say, “Ah, Counselor-sensei!”

And then—the fifth one.

Mio Kujou.

She was the only one I hadn’t made contact with yet.

The star actress of the drama club.

“The Prince of the Academy.”

Overwhelmingly popular with the girls, always surrounded by admirers.

There was no opening to approach her.

In the game, the trigger had been the protagonist accidentally witnessing her “girlish side.”

But deliberately creating “accidents” wasn’t exactly a counselor’s style.

—That said.

If I stuck to style, the protagonist would arrive in nine days, and I’d still have never met the fifth heroine.

So today, I decided to attend the drama club’s spring performance.

—

Hanazono-gaoka Academy’s auditorium was impressive—exactly what you’d expect from a private school.

About three hundred seats.

Even though it was an after-school performance on a weekday, around eighty percent of them were filled.

Most of the audience were female students.

They weren’t just here for the drama club.

They were here for “Mio Kujou on stage.”

I took a seat in the back corner.

An adult man who wasn’t a teacher attending a student performance might look strange, but I had already explained to Tsubaki-sensei that I wanted to observe extracurricular activities as part of counseling. Officially, at least, I had a reason.

The lights dimmed.

The curtain rose.

And there—

Standing on stage—

Was Mio Kujou.

I forgot to breathe.

In the game illustrations, she had been described as a “beautiful, androgynous girl.”

That wasn’t wrong.

But the real Mio went far beyond the word “beautiful.”

Her black hair was slicked straight back.
White shirt. Vest. Slacks.

Dressed in men’s clothing.

And yet her beauty wasn’t something you could categorize as male or female.

It felt… transcendent.

The moment she stepped onto the stage, the air changed.

All three hundred people in the audience focused on her at once.

So this was what star presence looked like.

The play was Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.

Mio played Viola disguised as a man—Cesario.

A woman playing a woman pretending to be a man.

A double mask.

Her acting was flawless.

A dignified voice.
Confident movements.

When she took up a sword in one scene, cheers erupted from the audience.

“So cool.”
“Like a prince.”
“Prince’s amazing.”

The girls around me whispered with sparkling eyes.

But in the darkness of the audience, I was watching something else.

Her eyes.

On stage, Mio perfectly embodied the “prince.”

Her lines, her expressions, her posture—everything was controlled at a high level.

And yet—

Only her eyes were slightly different.

It was hard to explain.

If I had to put it into words—

She wasn’t enjoying it.

The performance was perfect.

But there was no joy in it.

It felt precise.

Cold.

Like she was fulfilling a duty.

In my past life, I had counseled drama club students before.

You could tell the difference between an actor who was “alive” on stage—

And one who was simply “doing a job.”

You could see it in their eyes.

Mio was the latter.

The performance ended.

Curtain call.

Thunderous applause.

Mio stood at center stage and bowed gracefully.

The lights came back on.

Excited students began filing toward the exits.

I moved against the flow of people and headed backstage.

—

Backstage buzzed with post-performance heat.

Drama club members were changing out of costumes, removing makeup, praising each other for a job well done.

I slipped through the crowd and headed toward the back.

The star actress would likely have her own dressing room.

That had been the setup in the game too.

At the end of the hallway—

A door with a small plate that read “Kujou.”

The door was slightly open.

Through the crack, I heard a sound.

At first, I couldn’t tell what it was.

A thin tremor in the air.

Broken.

Trying to be suppressed—yet leaking out anyway.

Crying.

I stopped walking.

Through the gap, I saw—

Mio’s back, sitting in front of a mirror.

Still wearing her male costume.

Hair slicked back.

Still the dignified prince.

And yet—

She was crying at her reflection.

Silently.

Her shoulders trembling.

Staring at herself in the mirror.

“…How long…”

A hoarse whisper slipped out.

“How long do I have to keep—”

The rest never became words.

She reached toward the mirror.

Her fingers traced the outline of the “prince” reflected there—

As if she wanted to erase that image.

And I—

I saw it.

I hadn’t meant to.

I had said I would “create an accident,” but I hadn’t expected one like this.

Through the crack in the door, I saw her tears.

Tears falling while she was still dressed as the prince.

Tears of someone who no longer knew who she was.

As a counselor, should I step in?

The answer—

No.

If I walked in at this moment, she would shut down completely.

Being seen in her weakness would terrify her.

My game knowledge backed that up.

Mio was proud.

Especially about maintaining her identity as the “prince.”

If someone witnessed the moment that mask slipped—

To her, that would be—

Creak.

The floor beneath my feet creaked.

The old wooden boards groaned faintly under my weight.

She turned.

Her tear-filled eyes met mine through the gap.

Time stopped.

One. Two seconds.

Her expression shifted—

From crying—

To anger.

She shot to her feet, nearly knocking the chair over.

The door was yanked open.

Her hand flew toward my collar—

And stopped just short.

She must have realized I was an adult, not a student.

Even so—

Her eyes burned with fierce flames.

“—Did you see?”

Her voice was low.

Nothing like the prince on stage.

It was tight. Urgent.

“Just now. Did you see it?”

There was the option to lie.

—“I was just passing by. I didn’t see anything.”

But—

I don’t lie.

I decided that long ago.

The way I stayed honest with Shizuku.
The way I approached Akane without hidden motives.
The way I cut to the core with Midori.
The way I told Rin, “Being able to move isn’t the same as being fine.”

I don’t lie.

“I saw.”

Mio’s face twisted.

“—You were crying.”

Silence.

Her fists trembled.

For a moment, I thought she might punch me.

And if she did, I would have deserved it.

But she didn’t.

Instead—

She flipped the “prince” switch.

In an instant.

Over the tear-stained face, a dignified expression settled.

Her voice lowered into that calm, commanding tone.

“…Forget it.”

The prince’s voice.

An order.

“Forget everything you saw. If you don’t—”

“I won’t forget.”

Her eyes widened.

“I won’t forget. But I won’t tell anyone.”

“…………”

“I promise. What I saw today stays with me. Until you decide you want to talk about it, I won’t bring it up.”

She glared at me.

As if weighing me.

Testing me.

“…Who are you?”

“The counselor from the counseling room. Ren Asagiri.”

“Counselor?”

Her eyes narrowed.

Caution.

And just a faint trace—

Of interest.

“So you won’t forget, but you won’t tell. …You’re a half-hearted man.”

“Maybe. But I think that’s better than lying.”

A long silence followed.

Voices from the drama club members drifted closer down the hallway.

She quickly wiped the traces of tears with her sleeve.

In seconds, she returned to her perfect “prince” face.

That speed—

It must have come from years of practice.

“…This conversation is over. Don’t come back.”

“Alright. But—if you ever feel like talking, the counseling room is always open. It’s next to the infirmary. It’s in a quiet spot, so you can come without anyone seeing.”

That last line was intentional.

What Mio feared most was being seen as weak.

So knowing there was a place where no one would see—

That could become an escape route.

She wouldn’t come now.

But someday, when she reached her limit—

Just knowing there was somewhere she could go might make things a little easier.

Mio said nothing.

She returned to her dressing room and closed the door.

Firmly, this time.

—

On my way home.

As I walked across the school grounds under the evening sky, I replayed the day in my head.

I had made first contact with all five.

Shizuku—daily visits, communication through memos. Trust building steadily. However, early signs of dependency require caution.

Akane—Lunchbox Diplomacy. Conversations increasing. Guard slowly lowering. But I still haven’t touched the core issue—her family situation.

Midori—only one contact so far. Confirmed that 0.3-second blank. I need to create another opportunity to meet her.

Rin—first contact through her junior’s injury. Confirmed the “I’m fine” mask. We now have a relationship where we see each other regularly.

Mio—caught her crying backstage. Strong rejection. But I made sure she knows the counseling room exists.

Five girls. Five different cases.

Each of them carrying wounds the game never showed.

Each of them living while hiding those wounds.

And in nine days—

Haruto Hanasaki will arrive.

The game’s protagonist.

Bright, handsome, overflowing with communication skills.

Once he comes, the game scenario will start moving.

The heroines will be pulled into the story as “capture targets.”

His route—is surface-level.

Choose the right dialogue option, and affection goes up.

That kind of system.

Will he notice Midori’s emptiness?

Will he see through Rin’s “I’m fine” lie?

Will he be able to hold Mio’s tears?

Will he respect Shizuku’s silence?

Will he reach past Akane’s anger to the fear underneath?

(—Probably not. Not the game’s protagonist.)

That’s why I’ll do it.

The nameless counselor NPC—

No character portrait. No flashy introduction. A single line of text proving I exist.

From behind the scenes.

Without anyone noticing.

I’ll protect their hearts.

(…Well, saying it is easy. Taking care of five girls at the same time? In my past life, that would’ve been a guaranteed overwork death route. I did not reincarnate just to die from overwork again. Please, for the love of everything, don’t break down, Ren Asagiri.)

I turned back and looked at the school building, glowing in the sunset.

From one of the windows, I could hear laughter from the drama club.

Somewhere in there—

Was the prince who had been crying just minutes ago.

She probably wasn’t crying now.

She had likely already put the perfect mask back on, laughing together with her club members.

But I knew.

Those tears.

That voice.

Those slender fingers tracing the outline of herself in the mirror.

I won’t forget.

Just like I promised—

I will never forget.