I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 15 & 16

Chapter 15: “The Empty Smile—The First Question Midori Couldn’t Answer”

Midori’s third visit came in the second week of June.

This time, her excuse was:

“A preliminary check of the counseling room’s fire safety equipment.”

As student council president, she claimed responsibility for campus safety.

She even brought documents.

Thorough.

Perfect.

So perfect that it was almost suspicious.

“—That concludes the checklist. Thank you for your cooperation, Asagiri-sensei.”

Midori closed her binder.

Three minutes total.

As administrative work, it was flawless efficiency.

But I had noticed something.

First visit: “Monthly usage report.” Five minutes.

Second visit: “Monthly usage report.” Seven minutes.

Third visit: “Fire safety inspection.” —Three minutes.

Each time, the excuse was getting thinner.

She had already used “monthly report” twice in two weeks, so this time she switched to “fire safety.”

Someone like Midori wouldn’t fail to notice how unnatural it would be to repeat the same excuse over and over.

Which meant—

She herself couldn’t put into words the real reason she was coming here.

Something was drawing her to this room.

But she didn’t know what that something was.

That was the difficult part about emotional numbness.

“Midori-san.”

“Yes?”

“Since you’re already here, how about some tea before you go?”

Her smile flickered.

Just for a moment.

0.2 seconds.

Shorter than the 0.3 seconds from last time.

Which meant—

She was gradually getting used to feeling unsettled in this room.

“…Thank you for the offer. However, I still have student council—”

“Work left?”

“Yes.”

“What’s today’s agenda?”

She paused briefly.

“…Selecting the committee members for the cultural festival.”

“The festival’s in September, right? Choosing committee members in June sounds pretty early.”

“It’s always better to prepare ahead of time.”

“True. Very like you, Midori-san.”

“Thank you.”

“—That wasn’t a compliment.”

Her smile didn’t waver.

It stopped.

Like a screen freezing mid-frame.

“…What do you mean?”

“When I say ‘very like you,’ I mean the Midori-san who plans perfectly and prepares far in advance. But taking that as praise—might mean you don’t realize how much pressure you’re putting on yourself.”

Silence.

She didn’t reconstruct the smile.

She remained still, processing.

“Starting festival prep in June shows impressive foresight. But—Midori-san, aren’t you already handling regular student council duties, preparing for final exams, and supervising your club at the same time?”

She didn’t answer.

“If you add cultural festival prep on top of that… how many hours does your day have?”

“…It’s necessary.”

“Necessary—according to who?”

Silence again.

Her fingers traced the edge of her binder without her noticing.

Perhaps a habit she had when thinking.

“…As student council president, I must ensure the academy runs smoothly—”

“That’s the student council president’s answer. I’d like to hear Midori-san’s personal answer.”

She looked at me.

Her perfect smile began to return—

But didn’t quite make it.

The corners of her lips lifted.

Her eyes softened.

But something was slightly off.

Like a nearly finished painting missing its final brushstroke.

About ninety-five percent complete.

Five percent short.

“…My personal answer?”

“Yeah.”

“…………”

Her gaze drifted.

Thi was new.

Until now, Midori had responded instantly to every question with a flawless answer.

She never needed time to think.

It was as if she had a built-in database of correct responses for every situation.

And right now—

That database had returned: No data found.

There were answers from:

“Student council president.”

“Member of the Hojouin family.”

“Top honor student.”

But not from Midori Hojouin herself.

Which meant—

The “personal Midori” wasn’t functioning.

After a long silence, she slowly opened her mouth.

“…I don’t know.”

Those three words might have been the first time she had ever said them at this academy.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

Her voice was calm.

No rise. No fall.

But that calmness was exactly what felt unnatural.

Someone admitting they didn’t understand their own feelings shouldn’t sound this steady.

This was emotional numbness.

It wasn’t that she had no feelings.

It was that the part of her that recognized them had gone quiet.

“I see. You don’t know.”

“…Yes. I’m sorry. I couldn’t answer your question.”

“That’s not something you need to apologize for.”

“But—”

“Midori-san. May I ask you just one thing?”

“Yes.”

“When you said ‘I don’t know’ just now… what did you feel?”

She blinked.

“…What did I feel?”

“Yeah. The moment you said ‘I don’t know,’ did you notice anything? Maybe your body tensed. Maybe your chest felt tight. Maybe your hands grew cold. Anything is fine.”

She fell quiet.

She was turning her attention inward.

It looked unfamiliar.

This girl probably hadn’t listened to her own body in a very long time.

Ten. Twenty seconds.

“…My hands.”

“Yeah?”

“My hands feel… a little cold.”

“Okay. That’s probably tension. When you said ‘I don’t know,’ your body reacted. It tightened.”

“Tension…? Am I tense?”

“Your body is. Even if your mind hasn’t noticed it yet, the body is honest.”

Midori looked down at her hands.

Perfectly cared-for fingertips.

Pale skin without a single blemish.

And yet—

They were trembling.

Just slightly.

She stared at them with a strange expression.

As if they belonged to someone else.

There was distance in her gaze.

“…I didn’t know. I didn’t know my hands could shake.”

Those words hit me harder than I expected.

For seventeen years, she had ignored her body’s signals.

Fatigue.

Tension.

Anxiety.

All of it filtered out as unnecessary noise for “Perfect Midori Hojouin.”

And as a result—

She had become someone who didn’t even notice her own hands trembling.

“Midori-san. Thank you for coming today.”

“…For the fire safety inspection—”

“Yeah. For the fire safety inspection.”

I smiled.

I didn’t expose the lie.

I accepted her excuse exactly as she presented it.

“When the fire safety equipment needs checking again, feel free to stop by anytime.”

She looked at me.

The perfect smile—

Didn’t return.

Instead, something else surfaced.

Not a smile.

Not a blank expression.

Something in between.

The face of someone just beginning to feel again.

“…I’ll consider it.”

The same words as last time.

But her voice sounded different.

Just slightly—

Warmer.

She gave a small bow and left the counseling room.

Her footsteps faded down the hallway.

Even and steady, as always—

Except for the last few steps, which seemed just a little unsteady.

—

Alone again in the counseling room, I wrote my notes.

『Midori Hojouin. Third visit. First time verbalizing ‘I don’t know what I’m feeling.’ Noticed trembling in her hands (possible return of self awareness). Failed to restore her smile—not a ‘failure,’ but a weakening of the mask. Judged as a positive change. From next session onward, approach by guiding attention to physical sensations. Ask not ‘What are you feeling?’ but ‘Where in your body do you feel something?’ It’s too early to name emotions. First step is helping her notice that emotions exist at all.』

I put the pen down and looked out the window.

Midori’s recovery might take the longest out of the five.

Shizuku had a voice.

Even if she couldn’t use it, it existed.

Akane had anger.

Clumsy, loud, messy—but she could push her feelings outward.

Midori—

Seemed to have nothing.

Her emotions were there, but she couldn’t recognize them.

Even if she wanted to be angry, she didn’t know how.

Even if she wanted to cry, she couldn’t find the reason.

The goal wasn’t to tear off her “perfect” armor.

It was to help her realize there was a person inside that armor.

Slow work.

Almost exhausting work.

(But today, she said, “I don’t know.” Her perfect answer database returned “no data found.” That was her first step outside of it.)

The baby’s breath flowers swayed quietly by the window.

Chapter 16: “‘I’m Tired’—The Day Rin Stopped Smiling for the First Time”

Third week of June.

Friday, the day before the Inter-High preliminaries.

Rin came to the counseling room.

Not for a junior.

Not for paperwork.

Alone.

“Sensei, got a minute?”

The usual sun-bright smile.

The usual cheerful voice.

On the surface—nothing had changed.

“Of course. Have a seat.”

She sat down.

I poured tea. Today, it was just the two of us. Shizuku had library duties. Akane hadn’t arrived yet.

“You’ve got the match tomorrow, right? The Inter-High preliminaries.”

“Yep! If we win, it’ll be our first time making it to the prefectural tournament with our year. I’m super nervous—okay, that’s a lie. Not nervous at all. I’m the type who shines under pressure.”

Smile.

A perfect smile.

“How’s the team doing?”

“Great! The juniors have improved a lot, our formations are solid. As long as I score, we’ve got this!”

“Sounds reliable.”

“Obviously. Leave it to me!”

She laughed.

Her voice bounced.

Her gestures were big.

But—

I was watching.

Her left foot.

Under the chair, she was unconsciously rubbing her ankle.

That sprain—

Had it really healed?

“Rin-san, how’s your ankle?”

Her smile froze for 0.3 seconds.

“Huh? Oh—yeah, I’m totally fine! Fully healed. Completely.”

“Really?”

“Really! Sensei, you worry too much. I’m tough.”

—I’m fine.

—No problem.

—I’m strong.

Rin’s usual script.

I didn’t press further.

If I said, “That’s not true,” she would only reinforce the smile.

So I approached from another angle.

“Rin-san, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Are you having fun right now?”

She tilted her head.

“Fun? Doing what?”

“Soccer.”

Silence.

One. Two. Three seconds.

Her smile remained in place.

Remained—

But the light in her eyes dimmed, just slightly.

“It’s fun! Soccer is my—”

“Rin-san.”

I gently cut in.

“It took you three seconds to answer.”

Her mouth stopped.

“If it were truly fun, it wouldn’t take three seconds. You’d answer immediately.”

“…………”

“I’m not saying you hate it. But—maybe it’s not as fun as it used to be.”

Her smile wavered.

Not a small tremor.

A deep one.

Like a crack running through a building’s foundation.

“…Why would you think that?”

“You were rubbing your ankle. Without realizing it. —It hurts, doesn’t it? But you can’t rest. You’re the captain. You’re the ace. If you sit out, the team struggles.”

“…………”

“You keep practicing without rest. Your body’s close to its limit. And you’re still smiling. —That’s not fun.”

The counseling room fell silent.

Rin stared at me.

The smile was still there—

But it was empty.

Her facial muscles were holding the shape out of habit.

Five. Ten seconds.

“…………Sensei…”

For the first time—

Her voice didn’t bounce.

“You really notice the worst things, don’t you?”

It was low.

Unpolished.

Like twilight after the sun had already dipped below the horizon.

“My ankle still hurts. Honestly. It’s not fully healed. —But I can’t say that, can I? The match is tomorrow. If the captain says, ‘My ankle hurts,’ the team’s morale drops.”

“…………”

“The juniors rely on me. Coach expects things from me. My parents—well, whatever about them. But the team…”

She covered her face with both hands.

The smile disappeared.

“…I’ve always been like this.”

“Always?”

“Always. Since elementary school. In front of everyone, I’m the energetic, cheerful Rin-chan who can do anything. If someone’s struggling, I help them. If someone’s down, I cheer them up. And when I’m the one hurting—”

Her voice slipped through her fingers.

“I smile. …If I’m smiling, everyone feels safe. They think, ‘If Rin-chan’s smiling, everything’s fine.’ If I cry, everyone gets anxious. So I don’t cry. Even when I’m tired, I say I’m not. Even when I’m in pain, I say I’m not.”

“…………”

“But—”

Her voice trembled.

“…I’m tired, Sensei.”

She lowered her hands.

And there it was—

Rin’s face without a smile.

A face I felt like I was seeing for the first time.

The smile had peeled away, revealing what lay underneath.

Fatigue.

Resignation.

And guilt.

The guilt that said, I shouldn’t be saying this.

“I can’t tell the team. I can’t tell the juniors. I can’t tell my friends. —If Rin-chan complains, everyone gets worried.”

“…You can say it here.”

She looked at me.

“In here, there are no juniors relying on you. No coach expecting anything from you. Just a background NPC counselor whose name no one remembers and who works next to a noisy copy machine.”

Her eyes wavered.

“This background NPC counselor doesn’t need you to be cheerful. Doesn’t need you to smile. —I just want you to be honest.”

Silence.

A long one.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

“…Sensei, I…”

“Yeah.”

“My ankle… really hurts.”

The moment she said it—

The tears spilled over.

No sound.

No sobbing.

They simply rolled down her cheeks and fell from her chin.

Rin stared blankly as she cried.

She looked surprised by it.

Like someone who didn’t know how to cry.

The tears came, but her face didn’t know what expression to make.

She was half-smiling—

While crying.

“…Haha. Why am I even crying? This makes no sense. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“No, but… crying in front of you— I’m the captain—”

“You don’t have to be the captain in here. You can just be Rin Kagurazaka.”

She bit her lip.

More tears fell.

This time, they didn’t stop.

She didn’t make a sound.

Unlike Akane, she couldn’t explode with emotion.

Rin only knew how to cry quietly.

Because she didn’t really know how to cry at all.

I placed the tissue box beside her.

I did nothing else.

Five. Ten minutes.

Her tears gradually subsided.

She wiped her eyes and sniffed—

Then let out a long breath.

A very long breath.

Like she was exhaling years of “I’m fine.”

“…Sensei.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m playing tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“My ankle hurts. But I’m playing. Not for the team—I mean, not just for them. I want to play.”

I smiled slightly.

“If that’s your honest answer, then I’ll support you.”

“…But.”

She looked at me, nose red.

“After the match— can I come back here?”

“Of course.”

“Not to talk about a junior. About me.”

She might not even realize how big that step was.

Coming to the counseling room not “for someone else,” but for herself.

A wall she had never crossed—

She had just stepped over it.

“I’ll be waiting. Anytime.”

Rin stood up.

Her eyes were red, but her expression qas different from before.

Not smiling.

But not fake, either.

The face of someone still tired—

Yet slightly lighter.

“…Alright. I’ll head out. For tomorrow.”

“Go get ’em.”

She walked to the door.

Her hand rested on the doorknob—

Then she looked back.

“Sensei.”

“Yeah?”

“You should stop calling yourself a background NPC. —To me, you’re not background at all.”

The door closed.

I remained in my chair for a while, unable to move.

(…Not background, huh.)

There was someone who would say that to me—

A former one-line NPC in a block of game text.

It didn’t make me happy as a counselor.

It made me feel—

A little saved, as a person.

I opened my notebook.

『Rin Kagurazaka. First voluntary visit for her own concerns. Admitted ankle pain. Acknowledged her ‘smile mask’ and cried. Expressed intention to return for herself. —Major turning point. From here, she begins relearning how to rely on others. Do not rush. Move at her pace.』

I set the pen down.

Outside the window, the evening sun lit up the soccer field.

Tomorrow, Rin would run there.

On an ankle that hurt.

But—

On an ankle she had admitted hurt.

And that would make her run differently from before.