I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 10: “Five Pairs of Eyes—The Counseling Room Is No Longer Just My Place”

Chapter 10: “Five Pairs of Eyes—The Counseling Room Is No Longer Just My Place”

Mid-May.
A little over a month had passed since I was assigned here.

When I opened the counseling room door that morning—

There were flowers on my desk.

Small white flowers arranged in a tiny glass bottle. Baby’s breath.

A memo was attached. Rounded handwriting.

『Sensei, thank you for this past month』

Shizuku.

It had been exactly one month since I arrived. She had remembered—and even prepared flowers for me. The key… she must have left them early in the morning. Yesterday during lunch, when she stopped by, I had left the room unlocked.

I moved the glass bottle to the windowsill.

The baby’s breath, touched by sunlight, cast delicate little shadows.

(One month already. That was fast. Who would’ve thought that I—a single line of game text—would one day receive flowers from my favorite heroine? I’d love to tell my past-life self about this—actually, no. He died from overwork. He wouldn’t have had the time to appreciate it anyway.)

Just as I was about to sink into sentimentality—

The day began.

—

Morning.

Unusually, the counseling room door opened during the break after first period.

It was Rin.

“Morning, Sensei! Got a minute?”

“Good morning. What’s up?”

“Well, it’s about a first-year in our club. She’s been kind of down lately. Comes to practice some days, skips others. Even when I try to talk to her, she just laughs it off and won’t say what she’s really feeling.”

Rin didn’t pull out a chair for a junior this time—

There was no junior. Today, she had come alone.

“So you want to talk about her.”

“Yeah. I was wondering if there’s anything I can do to help.”

I offered her a seat. She sat down, back straight as always.

“What’s her name?”

“Sato. First-year. She was coming to practice normally until April, but after the holidays, something’s been off…”

Rin carefully explained her junior’s situation. Changes in expression. Attendance patterns. The way she interacted with teammates. She had been watching closely.

As I listened, two thoughts crossed my mind.

One—Rin still came to this room “for someone else.” Not for herself.

Two—But the fact that she came here alone today… that was progress.

Last time, she had physically brought her junior with her.

This time, the junior wasn’t here.

Rin had walked into the counseling room by herself. Even if it was “for someone else,” her resistance to coming here alone had clearly lowered.

“Rin-san, you really pay close attention to her.”

“Huh? No, that’s just normal for a senpai.”

“Normal, huh. —But not many senpai notice small changes like that and then actually come here to ask for advice.”

Rin’s smile wavered for just a moment.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to praise. It was that being praised for being “reliable” felt complicated to her.

“I’ll keep an eye on Sato-san too. If she comes here, I’ll handle it. And Rin-san—”

“Yes?”

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Huh? I’m to—”

“Totally fine, right? Were you about to say that?”

Her mouth stopped mid-sentence.

“…Am I that easy to read?”

“Just a little. From a counselor’s point of view.”

Rin was quiet for a few seconds. Then she let out a soft laugh.

The first genuine one today—not the polished, cheerful version.

“Sensei, you really are kinda weird. You’re always looking at what’s behind people’s words.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“Ahaha. —Alright then, thanks! I’m heading back to club!”

She waved with her usual sun-bright smile and left.

After her footsteps faded down the hallway, I jotted down a note.

“Rin Kagurazaka. Visited alone (consulting about someone else). Showed genuine reaction when ‘I’m fine’ was anticipated. Psychological barrier to visiting appears to be lowering. Next step—whether she can come here for her own concerns.”

—

Lunchtime.

My rooftop bento with Akane had gone beyond a daily routine.

It had become a ritual.

Today’s menu—

“Oi, what’s this?”

“Homemade bento.”

“Huh?”

Akane’s eyes widened.

I explained. Last night, on a whim, I made it myself. Tamagoyaki, grilled salmon, and kinpira gobo. I used to cook in my previous life, so it wasn’t difficult. It looked simple, but I could vouch for the taste.

“…So it’s not convenience store stuff?”

“I thought I’d switch it up for once. I made two. Want one?”

Akane stared at the box for about five seconds.

Then, without a word, she reached out.

She opened the lid.

Tamagoyaki, salmon, kinpira gobo. Two identical sets of side dishes neatly arranged.

She took a bite of the tamagoyaki.

Chewed.

“…………”

“Well?”

“…It’s sweet.”

“I lean toward the sweet side for tamagoyaki. Would you have preferred savory?”

“Not really. —It’s not bad.”

Her ears were red.

(My boss in my previous life used to say, “Feed someone something you made yourself. That’s what works best.” …It wasn’t exactly written in any counseling textbook, but maybe he was onto something.)

While we ate, Akane suddenly spoke.

“…That transfer student.”

“Hanasaki-kun?”

“Today he left his eraser on my desk. I don’t think it was on purpose.”

“Yeah.”

“…So I went to return it, and he said, ‘Thanks! Hinomiya, you’re so kind!’”

“…I see.”

“—It’s not like I returned it because I’m kind. Someone else’s stuff was in the way, so I just gave it back.”

“Right.”

“Exactly. He keeps slapping ‘kind’ onto everything.”

She grabbed a piece of kinpira gobo a little too roughly.

“…If it were you, what would you say?”

“Me?”

“If I returned your eraser.”

I thought for a moment.

“‘Thanks, that helped.’ Probably that.”

“…………That’s it?”

“That’s it. Just the facts. You returned the eraser. Thank you. —No adding extra meaning on my own.”

Akane stared at me for a few seconds.

“…That part of you is annoyingly accurate.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you.”

She turned away with a huff.

But—

Her bento box was completely empty.

—

After school.

When I returned to the counseling room, I saw two figures standing in front of the door.

Shizuku—and Mio Kujou.

For a moment, I wondered if my eyes were playing tricks on me.

Mio was here.

The same Mio who had told me backstage, “Don’t come back.”

The two of them stood side by side in front of the door.

Not together exactly—more like they had arrived at the same time. Shizuku held her bag to her chest, looking down as usual. Mio leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, staring in the opposite direction.

Zero conversation.

Complete silence.

“…Sorry to keep you both waiting.”

When I spoke, Shizuku lifted her face slightly. Mio glanced at me, then quickly looked away.

I opened the door. Shizuku headed to her usual seat.

Mio—

Stopped at the entrance.

In or out.

She hesitated.

There was no emotion on the prince’s face. A perfectly controlled expression.

But her feet wouldn’t cross the threshold.

I deliberately said nothing. No “Come in.” No “Is something wrong?”

Three. Five seconds.

Mio—

Took one step forward.

She entered the counseling room and sat in a chair diagonally across from Shizuku. Arms still crossed. Eyes fixed on the window.

“…It’s not like I have anything to talk about.”

That was the first thing she said.

Her voice was low, fully in prince mode.

“I just needed a quiet place—for a bit. The classroom’s noisy.”

“I see. It’s quiet here. You can stay as long as you like.”

Mio didn’t reply.

Arms crossed, she continued staring out the window.

Shizuku sat in her usual seat, book open.

Three people in one room—and no one speaking.

It was a strange kind of space.

Shizuku’s silence was a wordless comfort.

Mio’s silence was a wall that rejected words.

Both were silence—

But their temperatures were completely different.

I poured three cups of tea.

One for Shizuku.

One placed near Mio on the side table—close enough to reach, but not forced on her.

She looked at the tea.

Just looked. She didn’t reach for it.

Ten minutes passed.

Mio’s crossed arms loosened slightly. Not consciously—her body was simply beginning to adjust to the room’s quiet warmth.

Twenty minutes passed.

Her gaze shifted from the window to the bookshelf.

Her eyes traced the spines of the books.

I said nothing.

Around thirty minutes later—

She stood up.

“I’m leaving.”

“Yeah. Come by anytime.”

She walked toward the door.

On the way, she must have noticed the baby’s breath on my desk.

Her steps paused for a split second. She looked at the small white flowers—

Then said nothing, and left.

After the door closed, I gathered the tea cups.

When I picked up Mio’s untouched cup—

It was slightly warm.

…No. Looking closer, the surface sat just a little lower.

One sip.

While I wasn’t looking, she had taken just one sip.

(…You’re really awkward, huh, Your Highness?)

Shizuku lifted her face from her book and looked at me.

She held out a memo.

『Will she come again?』

The same question. The same one she had asked about Haruto.

But this time, the meaning was slightly different.

With Haruto, it had been anxiety about a stranger coming here.

Now—

It was about someone other than herself entering this space.

“I don’t know. That depends on her.”

She looked at me for three seconds.

Then she gave a small nod and returned her gaze to her book.

It was a nod that felt like she had swallowed something down.

—

On the way home.

As I stepped out of the school building at sunset, I heard voices near the main gate.

“President, you worked late again today! If there’s anything I can help with—”

“Thank you for your concern, Hanasaki-kun. But I am quite alright.”

Haruto and Midori.

Haruto was talking to her again. He had probably offered to help once more. Midori declined with a flawless smile. No matter how many times she refused, Haruto kept trying.

It was persistence.

It was insensitivity.

And it was kindness.

After Midori walked away, Haruto scratched his head with a wry smile.

“Man… this isn’t really going how I thought.”

I heard him mutter to himself.

He was troubled.

Troubled because his goodwill kept missing the mark.

(…You know, you could try listening a little more to what’s behind their words. When Midori says “I’m quite alright,” is she really fine? —Well, if that were easy, no one would struggle. It took me a whole month just to begin seeing even a little of it myself.)

I walked past Haruto without saying anything.

In just one day, four people had stepped into the counseling room. Rin, Akane, Shizuku, and Mio. Midori had come two weeks ago.

All five of them were beginning to connect to that small room in their own ways.

Rin came to consult “for someone else.”

Akane through rooftop bentos.

Shizuku through her daily visits.

Mio under the excuse of “needing a quiet place.”

Midori under the name of a “monthly report.”

Each of them had found their own reason—

To come stand near me.

As a counselor, I understood what that meant.

Trust was being built.

That, in itself, was a good thing.

But—

I could also feel the danger of all five threads tying themselves to me alone.

If I collapsed.

If I disappeared.

Those five threads would all be left hanging in midair.

In my previous life, I died because I held onto too many threads like that.

(I won’t repeat the same mistake. At least—that’s what I tell myself.)

On the way back to the dorm, I looked up at the evening sky.

The counseling room was no longer just my place.

That small room was slowly becoming a refuge—for those girls.

That made me happy. As a counselor. As a person.

But having myself at the center of that refuge—

What would that lead to?

I still didn’t know.