I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 17: “The Prince in Front of the Mirror—The Day Mio Drank a Second Cup of Tea in the Counseling Room”

Chapter 17: “The Prince in Front of the Mirror—The Day Mio Drank a Second Cup of Tea in the Counseling Room”

Mio Kujou’s visits to the counseling room were irregular.

Unlike Shizuku, who came every day, or Akane, who came almost every day, Mio appeared once or twice a week without warning. She would drift in quietly, sit down without a word, and leave just as silently.

She usually stayed around thirty minutes. During that time, we barely exchanged a single word.

Her excuse was always the same.

“I needed a quiet place.”

I accepted it and poured tea.

For the first few visits, Mio didn’t touch it.

On the third visit, she took a single sip.

From the fourth visit onward, she drank half.

Today marked the sixth time.

The door opened.

Mio never knocked.

At first, I almost told her, “At least knock.” But I quickly understood why she didn’t.

Knocking meant asking, “May I come in?”

Mio hated asking for permission.

—“If I want to enter, I enter.”

That was the prince’s stance.

However—

The way she opened the door had grown quieter each time.

The first time, she pushed it open forcefully.

Today, she opened it normally.

“…………”

She entered without a word.

She took her usual seat—the one near the exit, diagonally across from where Shizuku normally sat.

I brewed tea and placed a cup beside her.

Today, there was already someone there.

Shizuku was by the window, reading a book.

This was the third time Mio and Shizuku had shared the room.

They never spoke to each other.

They were aware of each other’s presence, but they didn’t interfere.

To Shizuku, Mio was simply “the quiet person.”

To Mio, Shizuku was “the person who doesn’t get in the way.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Ten minutes passed.

Shizuku began packing up.

She left a single note behind, then quietly exited the room. 

She gave me a small bow—

And to Mio as well, just the slightest nod.

Mio watched her.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

I couldn’t tell what she was feeling.

Once Shizuku was gone, the counseling room held only the two of us.

Mio took a sip of her tea.

Silence.

Usually, thirty minutes would pass like this.

But today—

Mio spoke first.

“That girl.”

I didn’t rush to respond.

“That girl… doesn’t talk here?”

She meant Shizuku.

“Yeah. It’s hard for her to use her voice.”

“Hard?”

“Sometimes, when she feels nervous or scared, her voice just won’t come out.”

Mio seemed to consider that.

“…Her voice won’t come out.”

“Yeah.”

“Even if she wants to talk, she can’t.”

“That’s right.”

A long silence followed.

Mio stared down at her teacup.

“—I’m the opposite.”

I stayed quiet and waited.

“My voice works. It works just fine. On stage, in front of hundreds of people. I can deliver every line perfectly. —But…”

Her voice shifted.

It was no longer the prince’s stage voice.

It dropped lower, rougher—plain and unpolished.

“—They’re all just lines.”

“…………”

“If the words are written in a script, I can say as many as you want. But… my own words won’t come out.”

Mio wrapped both hands around the cup.

It was the first time I had seen her hold it that way. Until now, she had always picked it up casually with one hand.

“That girl can’t make a sound, right? I—my voice works. But there’s nothing inside it. I don’t know which one is better.”

I remembered something Shizuku once wrote.

—『She’s a little like me.』

She had said that about Akane.

And now, Mio was saying she was the opposite of Shizuku.

The five heroines each carried different wounds.

But at the root—

They were all connected to the same place.

The place where they couldn’t show their true selves.

“I want to hear your words, Mio-san. Not your lines.”

Mio looked at me.

Her eyes were sharp.

The same intensity she had shown backstage when she glared at me and asked if I had seen.

But this time, there was no hostility.

No judgment.

It was something more desperate—

Testing.

Was this man really willing to listen?

Would he accept words that didn’t belong to the prince?

“…Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“When you saw me crying backstage—what did you think?”

The tears backstage.

More than a month had passed since that day.

This was the first time Mio had brought it up on her own.

“Do you want the honest answer?”

“I don’t need anything else.”

“—I thought you looked like you were in pain.”

“…………”

“That’s all. Not about being a prince. Not about masks. You just looked like you were hurting.”

She lowered her eyes.

“…You’re not going to ask why?”

“If you want to tell me, I’ll listen. If you don’t, I won’t ask.”

“You’re always like that. —You wait. You just keep waiting.”

“That’s part of being a counselor.”

“Don’t lie.”

That caught me off guard.

“It’s not just your job, is it? If it were only work, you wouldn’t keep pouring tea for someone who sits here in silence six times in a row.”

Sharp.

This girl had an eye for the heart of things.

“…Maybe it’s not just work. Honestly—I am curious about you, Mio-san. Not only as a counselor.”

“…………”

“I saw the kid who cried backstage stand on stage the very next day as a perfect prince. It would be strange not to wonder about that.”

Mio stared at me for a long moment.

Then—

For the first time, she leaned back against the chair.

In six visits, this was the first time she had used the backrest.

Some of the tension had eased, just a little.

“…I started acting in fourth grade.”

Mio began to speak.

Her voice was low and quiet.

“At first, it was fun. Becoming someone else. Playing a role that wasn’t me and getting applause for it.”

“…………”

“In middle school, they cast me in male roles. I was tall. —I hated it at first. But once I played a male role, I got popular. ‘So cool.’ ‘Like a prince.’ The girls became obsessed with me.”

Her finger traced the rim of the cup.

“…So I kept playing the prince, because that’s what people wanted. On stage, and off stage. And before I knew it—I forgot how to be anything else.”

“…………”

“I always wear pants. I speak in a masculine way. I act confident. —It’s all part of the prince setting. Exactly as the script says. But I didn’t write that script. I just adjusted myself to fit the ‘Mio Kujou’ everyone else wanted.”

Her voice grew even softer.

“When I look in the mirror, I can’t tell anymore. Who is that reflection? Is it Mio Kujou? Or the prince? —Where am I in all of this?”

Backstage tears.

The fingers that traced the outline of her reflection in the mirror.

That day—

Mio had been searching for herself.

“…I’ve never told anyone this.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“Don’t pity me—”

“I’m not. It’s not pity. I just understand you a little better now. That’s all.”

Mio looked at me.

She held my gaze for a moment—

Then quietly looked away.

“…………You’re a strange man.”

“I get that a lot.”

“You’re a counselor, but you don’t act like one.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t analyze. You don’t put people into categories. You just… listen.”

“That’s how I do things.”

She finished the rest of her tea.

—It was the first time she had emptied the cup before I even offered a refill.

Without a word, I reached for the pot.

“Want another?”

She hesitated for just a second—

Then gave a small nod.

A tiny nod.

It reminded me of Shizuku’s.

I poured the second cup and set it in front of her.

She wrapped both hands around it and took a sip.

“…Not bad.”

“Thanks.”

“I meant the tea. Not your skill.”

“If the tea gets praised, that’s enough for me.”

The corner of her mouth lifted—just slightly.

Not a prince’s smile.

Not a stage smile.

Just a relaxed expression.

“…I’ll come again.”

“Anytime.”

“I won’t knock.”

“I know.”

Mio stood and walked to the door.

She placed her hand on the doorknob—

And didn’t look back.

But just before the door closed, her voice lingered.

“—Thank you.”

A small voice.

Not a line from a script.

Mio Kujou’s own voice.

The door shut.

Alone in the counseling room, I washed the two empty cups.

For the first time in six visits, Mio had finished her tea.

She accepted a second cup.

She talked about her past.

She said, “Thank you.”

Each one was a small thing.

But—

For Mio, every single one was something not written in the prince’s script.

Speaking about her weakness.

Thanking someone.

Drinking a second cup of tea.

Outside the script, Mio was awkward and quiet.

But—

She clearly had words that belonged to her.

—“When I look in the mirror, I can’t tell who’s there.”

I still didn’t have an answer to her question.

But—

Even if she couldn’t recognize the face in the mirror, she could recognize the taste of the tea she drank in this room.

She could say, “Not bad.”

That meant her “self” was there.

Midori couldn’t understand her emotions.

Shizuku couldn’t use her voice.

Akane could only express herself through anger.

Rin could only say, “I’m fine.”

Mio could only speak through lines.

Five girls, each in her own way, had lost sight of her true self.

And in their own ways—

They were slowly beginning to find them again.

Using this small counseling room as their first step.

I opened my notebook.

『Mio Kujou. Sixth visit. First real self-disclosure. Spoke about how she started acting, how the ‘prince’ personality was formed, and her confusion about her own identity. Finished her tea + accepted a second cup. Said ‘thank you.’ —Confirmed that Mio has her own words inside her. From here on, use the counseling room as a place where she speaks in her own voice, not scripted lines. Don’t rush. This child has her own pace. Trust it, and wait.』

I put the pen down.

Outside the window, the sky was turning orange.

The long June day was finally starting to fade.

All five of them had now sat in the chairs of this room.

And each of them, in her own way—

Had begun to remove her mask, just a little.

That was the end of my work for Chapter Two.

From here on—

We would be stepping into deeper waters.

I was ready.

(…Probably. I think I’m more ready than I was in my last life.)

I finished the now-cold tea and switched off the lights in the counseling room.