I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 14: “A Trembling Voice—The Day a Piece of Akane’s Past Slipped Out”

Chapter 14: “A Trembling Voice—The Day a Piece of Akane’s Past Slipped Out”

Akane’s visits to the counseling room became routine within just three days.

Of course, she absolutely refused to admit she was “coming regularly.”

“It’s too loud in the classroom.”

“It’s raining, so I can’t use the rooftop.”

“I was just passing by.”

The fact that she prepared a different excuse every single day—

Was that dedication?

Or just stubborn awkwardness?

Even her arrival pattern was unique.

Shizuku would come right after school and quietly read.

Akane would show up about thirty minutes later, kick the door open like it owed her money, and flop into a chair looking irritated.

That thirty-minute gap probably wasn’t a coincidence.

In her own way, Akane was trying to avoid arriving while someone else was already there.

But lately, Shizuku had been staying longer.

So they kept running into each other more often.

The two of them existed in a strange balance.

Shizuku would secretly observe Akane from behind her book.

Akane would say, “Don’t stare,” yet still allow Shizuku to remain quietly in the room.

There was no real conversation.

Akane would mutter, “What?”

Shizuku would shake her head.

That was it.

And yet—

Simply sharing the same space was already a change for both of them.

—

The sixth day after school.

That day, for once, Shizuku had already gone home.

She had library committee duties and left a memo before leaving.

『Sensei, let’s continue the sea drawing tomorrow. Thank you for the tea today.』

Ten minutes after Shizuku left, Akane showed up.

She opened the door and glanced around the room.

“…That girl’s not here today?”

“Shizuku-chan had library duty. She went home.”

“Hmm.”

Akane dropped into her usual chair.

I poured tea.

Lately, whenever I placed a cup in front of her, she drank it without comment.

The first time, she had stubbornly said, “I don’t need it.”

Now she simply took it.

It was just the two of us.

Different from our rooftop lunches.

On the rooftop, there had been sky and wind.

In the counseling room, there were walls, a ceiling, and silence.

Sometimes, in an enclosed space, people talked more.

Akane sipped her tea and looked up at the ceiling.

“…Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Before you became a counselor, what did you do?”

It was sudden.

And it was the first time Akane had shown interest in my past.

I decided this was the right moment.

Self-disclosure in counseling is a double-edged sword.

Share too much, and the focus shifts to the counselor.

But used carefully, it builds trust.

It reminds them that this person is human too.

For someone like Akane—who didn’t trust adults—

Revealing just a little could thin the wall between us.

“I studied psychology in college and turned it into a job. —Honestly, it was harder than I expected.”

“Hard? Just from listening to people?”

“Listening is the easy part. What’s hard is listening… and still not being able to do anything.”

Akane looked at me.

Her usual irritated expression remained, but beneath it—curiosity.

“What do you mean, not being able to do anything?”

“A counselor isn’t a doctor. I can’t prescribe medicine. I’m not a teacher, so I can’t fix grades. I’m not a parent, so I can’t control what happens at home. —All I can do is listen, think alongside them, and support them until they can stand on their own.”

“…………”

“And when someone is hurting right in front of you, and that’s all you can do… you start to feel powerless. —At my previous job, I almost broke because of that.”

I wasn’t lying.

I was just softening the details of another life.

Akane listened quietly.

No jokes. No teasing.

“…So what did you do when you almost broke?”

“I quit. Once. Then I rested for a while… and ended up here.”

In my previous life, I died.

In this one, I simply say I quit.

After a long silence, She muttered—

“…So you’ve run away before too.”

“Yeah. And running away isn’t always a bad thing.”

“…………”

Akane wrapped both hands around her teacup.

She stared at the tea, now lukewarm.

“…Maybe I’m running away too.”

“From what?”

“…I don’t know. The classroom. Classes. —Maybe everything.”

Her voice lowered slightly.

I waited.

There was something I had learned from our “lunch diplomacy.”

Akane had her own rhythm.

After silence, she would quietly let the truth slip out.

You couldn’t rush her.

One minute.

“…My dad was the worst.”

The air shifted.

Her voice was flat.

Not because she was used to telling the story—

But because if she let emotion into it, she would fall apart.

“He drank. Got violent. Hit my mom. Hit me too. Since before I even started elementary school.”

“…………”

“One day, my mom was just… gone. I woke up and she wasn’t there. No note. Nothing. —I was in third grade.”

I said nothing.

As a counselor, in moments like this, listening was the only requirement.

No comments.

No analysis.

Even sympathy could interfere.

Akane continued, her tone steady.

“After that, my dad got sent to a facility. I went to live with my grandma on my mom’s side. She wasn’t a bad person. But she was old. Just taking care of me was already a burden.”

She kept staring at the tea in her cup.

“When I was in middle school, Grandma collapsed too. She’s in a care home now. I live alone in the dorm. —This academy’s fully residential. Tuition’s covered by Grandma’s savings and a scholarship. If not for that, I probably wouldn’t even be in high school.”

A single line from the game’s setting book flashed through my mind.

“Her family situation is a little complicated.”

—A little.

This was “a little”?

An abusive father.

A mother who disappeared.

A grandmother hospitalized.

Living alone in a dorm.

One sentence in a game couldn’t begin to contain the weight this girl had carried.

Akane continued.

“I thought all adults were trash. My dad hit people. My mom ran away. Teachers just sigh and say, ‘Again?’ —No one ever really looks at me.”

“…………”

“But—”

For the first time, her voice trembled.

“You brought lunch. Every day. Same place. Same time. Even when I complained. Even when I yelled at you.”

“…………”

“W-Why?”

She looked at me.

Her eyes were wet.

She was trying desperately not to cry.

A seventeen-year-old who had never allowed herself to cry was standing at the edge of breaking.

“W-Why do you bother with someone like me? I’m a pain, right? I snap. I-I say awful things. I talk back to teachers. —Normally, people would just leave me alone.”

I thought carefully.

I didn’t want to answer this wrong.

“…At my previous workplace, there was a kid a bit like you.”

Akane’s eyes flickered.

“She didn’t trust adults either. No matter how much I tried to talk to her, she wouldn’t listen at first. But one day—”

I paused.

“—There was a day when that kid finally ate my lunch for the first time. And that’s when I thought… I’m glad I kept doing this job.”

It wasn’t a lie.

I was simply replacing the “previous workplace” with my lunch diplomacy with Akane.

“You’re the same, Akane. The first time you ate my lunch—that convenience store fried chicken bento. It was cold, wasn’t it? When you ate it, I was honestly happy.”

That was it.

The dam broke.

She didn’t make a sound.

She forced her voice down.

But the tears wouldn’t stop.

She covered her face with both hands, shoulders shaking, and cried.

I quietly placed the tissue box within her reach.

I didn’t do anything else.

There was a strong urge to put a hand on her shoulder.

But I didn’t.

Akane was sensitive to being touched.

She had lived through violence from her father.

Until she allowed it herself, I would never initiate physical contact.

Five. Ten minutes.

Her tears gradually slowed.

She used several tissues, wiping her face roughly.

Red nose.

Swollen eyes.

And the first thing she said was—

“…I’m not crying.”

I almost laughed.

“Okay.”

“I’m not. This is just a yawn.”

“Got it. A yawn.”

“…………You’re annoying.”

That was the usual “You’re annoying.”

No sharp edges.

The kind that came after she felt safe.

Akane stood up.

She crumpled the tissues and tossed them into the trash.

She stopped at the door—

And without looking at me, said—

“…Bring lunch tomorrow too.”

“Got it.”

“I want hamburg steak.”

“You had hamburg steak yesterday.”

“Shut up. I want hamburg steak.”

The door closed.

Just a little—

More quietly than usual.

—

Alone in the counseling room, I opened my notebook.

My hand trembled slightly as I picked up the pen.

A counselor’s hand shaking wasn’t a good sign.

It meant I had been emotionally affected by what the client shared.

As a professional, that was close to failure.

But—

What else was I supposed to do?

The weight that girl carried easily broke through any professional wall.

I began to write.

『Akane Hinomiya. Sixth visit. Voluntary disclosure regarding past family environment. Father’s violence. Mother’s disappearance. Grandmother hospitalized. Details based on client’s account. Tears present. No avoidance behavior. Remained in the room until the end. —Trust relationship has entered a new stage. Possible transition toward trauma processing in the future. However, do not rush. Move at Akane’s pace. Absolutely do not rush.』

I put the pen down.

On the wall were the drawings Shizuku and I had made together.

On the desk sat the baby’s breath flowers.

Steam from the tea curled gently into the air.

This room was no longer a dusty, unused space.

It was Shizuku’s place to belong.

Akane’s shelter.

The room where Mio once took a single sip of tea.

The place Rin came to talk about her junior.

The place Midori visited under the excuse of a “monthly report.”

Five girls.

Each for her own reason.

Each at her own pace.

All beginning to connect to this place.

And at the center—

Was me.

A nameless side-character NPC.

“…That’s heavy.”

The words slipped out.

Heavy.

Five sets of wounds were heavy.

In my previous life, I was crushed under the weight of just one.

Now it was five.

Simple math said five times heavier.

(But this time… I have something I didn’t have before.)

I looked at the baby’s breath by the window.

At the drawings on the wall.

At the small pile of tissues on the desk.

“There are people who stay here.”

That was what my previous self lacked.

The one who supports others also needs support.

It was probably written on the very first page of a counseling textbook.

And it was the one line my previous self forgot.

(…For now, I should think about tomorrow’s hamburg steak bento. Homemade or convenience store? If it’s homemade, the meat juices will— No. Focus. Finish the record.)

I pushed the sentimentality aside and picked up the pen again.

A counselor’s daily life was always quiet.

Always steady.

And never flashy.