I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 32: “Cultural Festival—On Stage and Behind the Scenes”

Chapter 32: “Cultural Festival—On Stage and Behind the Scenes”

First week of October.
The day of the cultural festival.

From the morning, the academy had transformed into a completely different place.

An arch stood at the main gate, with a sign that read, “Hanazono-gaoka Academy—42nd Autumn Cherry Blossom Festival.”

Tents for food stalls lined the schoolyard, and each classroom window was decorated by its class.
It was an open day with outside visitors allowed in, so from early morning, families and alumni were already walking around.

I was busy preparing the counseling room’s exhibit—the “Mind & Wellness Experience Corner.”

A simple stress check, personality tests, and a consultation booth titled “Ask the Counselor.”

Two student council members arranged by Midori were handling reception.

“Asagiri-sensei, is everything ready?”

Midori came to check first thing in the morning.
She wore an executive committee armband and held a binder in her arms.

“All good. More importantly, you must be busy today, Midori-san.”

“Yes. But—”

Midori adjusted the binder against her chest.

“This year, my juniors are handling patrols in each area, so I can focus on overall coordination. Compared to last year… I have a little more room to breathe.”

“That’s nice. Seeing you with some breathing room feels new.”

Midori smiled.
A relaxed smile—no, slightly different today.

Maybe it was the excitement of the festival morning, but her expression looked more natural than usual.

“…Well then, Asagiri-sensei. I’ll return to my rounds. If anything comes up, please contact me via the transceiver.”

“Got it. —Midori-san, enjoy it too. Even the committee chair is allowed to have fun.”

Midori’s eyes widened just a little.

“…I will manage accordingly.”

The usual reply.
But at the corner of her lips—there was a faint, soft curve.

—

Morning.

The counseling room’s exhibit was more crowded than I expected.

The simple stress check was especially popular.

“I didn’t know my stress level was this bad!”
“Huh, mine’s actually low!”

Voices like that filled the room.

The personality test had a line too.

Three of Rin’s teammates came together.

“Rin told us about you—said there’s a really good teacher here!”

Nice bit of word-of-mouth.

A few students quietly stopped by the “consultation booth.”

Nothing too serious—

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately,”
“I had a fight with my friend.”

That level was enough.

The goal was to make the counseling room feel more approachable.

In the early afternoon, Haruto dropped by.

“Sensei, this place is packed! —Hey, can I try the stress check too?”

“Go ahead.”

Haruto filled out the sheet, then looked at the result and laughed.

“Stress level: ‘Low.’ —Yeah, figures. I’m not really the type to worry much.”

Haruto was aware of it himself.
Not worrying much could be a strength—
But it also made it harder to notice how deep other people’s struggles could be.

“Hanasaki-kun, how’s the haunted house going?”

“It’s doing great! Hinomiya’s seriously amazing at painting scary faces—everyone who comes in is actually screaming.”

“Akane is?”

“Yeah! She’s got real talent for drawing. The ghosts she painted on the cardboard look way too real—she even made some elementary school kids cry. Hinomiya was like, ‘Shut up, don’t cry, brat,’ but then she secretly gave them candy after.”

Akane giving candy to a crying kid.
That awkward kind of kindness—that was so like her.

“Hanasaki-kun, putting Akane on the decoration team was the right call.”

“Ah, you figured it out? Hinomiya wasn’t really taking part in the class event, so I wanted her to do something. I knew she was good at drawing. I’ve seen her doodling in the corners of her notebook during class—it was seriously good.”

He paused briefly, then went on.

“But—at first, Hinomiya really didn’t want to do it. She was like, ‘Don’t just write my name without asking.’ But once I handed her the cardboard, she just quietly started cutting. —I don’t think she’s the type to do something she really hates. If she actually did it, then maybe she didn’t hate it that much.”

That analysis—was right.
Akane wouldn’t touch something she truly hated.

“Hanasaki-kun, you really pay close attention to Akane.”

“You think so? But Sensei, you notice way more, don’t you? Hinomiya acts kinda different when she’s with you. I know that much. —Ah, yeah… that’s probably private. Sorry.”

Haruto stopped himself.
He had learned not to push too far.
That too—was growth.

“Well then, Sensei, you’re going to the afternoon stage, right? Kujou-san’s play?”

“Yeah. I promised I’d watch from the front row.”

“I’ll go too! I’ve heard Kujou-san’s acting is amazing.”

Haruto waved and left.

—

1 PM. Small hall.

The main event of the cultural festival.
The drama club performance.

The audience was full.

Simple rows of folding chairs, but more than a hundred people had gathered.
Students, teachers, parents, and outside visitors.

I sat at the edge of the front row.
Just like I promised.

Next to me—
Shizuku was sitting there.

At some point, she had taken the seat beside me.
She held out her notepad.

『Ren-sensei. May I watch together with you?』

“Of course.”

Shizuku gave a small nod and placed her notepad on her lap.
I was a little worried about her being in such a crowd, but sitting next to me seemed to make it manageable for her.

Toward the back of the audience, I spotted Rin.
She was sitting with her classmates.

Midori—was wearing her executive committee armband, standing at the edge of the seats, watching over everything.

I couldn’t see Akane. She was probably at her haunted house station.

Haruto was sitting around the middle with some of the guys from his class.

The lights dimmed.
The audience fell silent.

A single spotlight lit up the center of the stage.

—

Mio appeared.

A black outfit.
A simple stage.
One spotlight.

Just like the rehearsal—but the atmosphere was completely different.

Over a hundred pairs of eyes were focused on her.
The pressure was nothing like when it was just the two of us during practice.

Mio looked over the audience.
For just a moment—she looked at me.

Our eyes met.

Then she closed her eyes.

The monologue, “The Girl with the Mask.” began.

—

Mio’s acting—was even sharper than during rehearsal.

The way she used her voice had changed.
The wavering voice from practice now moved freely between instability and control.
It wasn’t something calculated.

She had accepted that instability—and turned it into expression.

The entire audience had gone silent.
Not a single sound.

Over a hundred people held their breath, completely drawn into her words.

The monologue of a girl wearing a mask.
The days she was protected by it.
The fear of the mask sticking to her face, unable to come off.

Beside me—Shizuku gripped her notepad tightly.
She was feeling something too.

A girl who couldn’t speak, listening to the story of a girl who couldn’t remove her mask.

The story moved forward.
The girl’s loneliness.
Her anger.
Her sadness.

The climax.

The moment she removes the mask.

Mio stopped at the center of the stage.
Both hands slowly rose toward her face.

The air in the audience tightened.

Mio’s fingertips touched her face.

One. Two. Three seconds.

—Her hands moved.

The motion of removing the mask.
Slowly. Carefully.

Her hands left her face.

The spotlight lit up Mio’s face.

A face without a mask.

It was different from rehearsal.
Back then, she had cried, saying “I don’t know.”

But now—there was a quiet resolve on Mio’s face.

She wasn’t crying.
She wasn’t smiling.

She was simply—there.

Mio Kujou, without a mask.

Mio opened her mouth.
The scripted line.

“This face—this is me.”

These words.

She said it to the audience. To a hundred people.

But—
Her gaze was fixed on me, sitting at the edge of the front row.

Just for a moment.
So brief no one else would notice.

But I knew.

Mio had said it to me.

“This face—this is me.”

The face that cried during rehearsal.
The empty face from before.
The face that trembled in fear.
The way she sat hugging her knees.

—She said it to the one who knew all of that.

It was a line from the script.
But what it meant beneath it—was something no script could ever write.

Blackout.

Silence.

One. Two seconds.

—Applause broke out.

At first, just one person.
Then it spread, until the entire audience was filled with clapping.

Beside me, Shizuku—quietly clapped with her small hands.

From the back, I heard Rin shout, “Bravo!”

At the edge of the audience, Midori—was clapping, her eyes slightly moist.
Something had clearly touched her.

A story about masks wasn’t someone else’s story for her either.

Haruto stood up, clapping. 

“Kujou-san… that was amazing…”

I could hear him mutter.

I—kept clapping, watching Mio on the stage.

Mio stood at the center for the curtain call.

Like a prince.
Confident, dignified—the face of a perfect performer.

She had put the mask back on.

The mask she removed on stage—was worn again during the curtain call.

That was her limit, for now.

But—she had removed it.

In front of a hundred people.

In rehearsal, she could only remove it in front of me.
But now, she had done it in front of a full audience.

She said it to me—but a hundred people heard it.

That—was a huge step forward.

—

After the performance.

Midori came to see me after I returned to the counseling room booth.

“Asagiri-sensei. Did you watch the drama club’s performance?”

“Yeah. It was amazing.”

“Yes. —Kujou-san’s acting really moved me.”

Midori chose her words carefully.

“At the scene where she removed the mask— I found myself thinking a little. Maybe my perfect smile… is also a mask.”

Midori was connecting it to her own issue.
Before I could say anything, she continued.

“But—Kujou-san was able to show her face after removing it. I still can’t do that anywhere except in front of you, Sensei. …I felt a little envious.”

“It’s fine to go at your own pace, Midori-san. No need to rush.”

“…Yes. I understand. But—someday. Not just in front of you, Sensei.”

Midori smiled.
She had smiled several times today.
But this one—wasn’t a mask.

It was a quiet smile, accepting her own imperfections.

“Well then, I’ll return to my rounds. —Sensei, please do your best with the booth this afternoon as well.”

Midori left.

—

3 PM.

The cultural festival was at its peak.
A band was playing on the outdoor stage, and the food stalls were crowded.

Leaving the counseling room booth to the student council staff, I walked around the school.

When I checked Class 2-3’s haunted house, there was a long line.
Screams could be heard from inside.
It was clearly a big hit.

Near the exit, Akane was leaning against the wall.

“Akane. It’s really popular.”

“…Shut up. The kids keep crying, so the turnover’s bad.”

“Did you give out candy again earlier?”

“…Who told you that?”

“Hanasaki-kun.”

“That idiot talks too much—”

Akane brushed her hair back in annoyance.
But it wasn’t anger. It was embarrassment.

“I saw the artwork in the haunted house. The quality is amazing.”

“…It’s normal.”

“It’s not normal. It’s at a professional level.”

“…You’re exaggerating, Sensei.”

Akane turned her face away.
Her ears were red.

“Sensei, you saw Kujou’s play, right?”

“Yeah.”

“…I wanted to go too, but I had my shift. —How was it?”

“It was incredible. Some people were even crying.”

“…I see.”

Akane fell silent for a moment.

“…I kinda want to see her perform someday. Yeah… I’d like that too.”

“Want to go watch Mio’s next performance together?”

“…Not really. If you’re going, I’ll just tag along, that’s all.”

An agreement—just not an honest one.
Very like Akane.

“Sensei.”

“Yeah.”

“…………it’s fun. today.”

A small voice.
Almost like she was talking to herself.

Akane had said the cultural festival was “fun.”

“…Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“I heard it.”

“Shut up.”

But at the corner of Akane’s lips—there was a faint smile.

—

Evening.

The closing ceremony of the cultural festival had ended, and cleanup had begun.

When I returned to the counseling room, Shizuku was standing in front of the door.

She noticed me and held out her notepad.

『Ren-sensei. Kujou-san’s performance was amazing』

“Yeah. Did you feel something too, Shizuku-chan?”

Shizuku took her time writing her response.

『Kujou-san removed her mask. She used her voice. In front of so many people. —I still can’t do that. But I want to be able to someday』

Mio’s performance had sparked something in Shizuku too.

Removing a mask. Using your voice.
The methods were different, but the meaning—“showing yourself”—was the same.

“It’s fine to go at your own pace, Shizuku-chan.”

Shizuku nodded, then after a short pause, wrote again.

『Ren-sensei. I saw your POP today. A lot of people stopped to look at it』

The POP for No Longer Human.
I had given it to Shizuku during festival prep.
She had said, 『It’s unexpected. But it feels like you, Ren-sensei.』

“If people stopped to read it, then it was worth writing.”

『The words you wrote in the POP—“The protagonist of this book kept playing the fool. But beneath that act wasn’t weakness, but a wish for someone to understand him.” —After seeing Kujou-san’s performance, those words feel very heavy』

I read her note—and felt a little surprised.

Shizuku had connected the words from the POP with Mio’s performance.
Dazai’s protagonist, who kept wearing a mask, and Mio, who removed hers.

Inside Shizuku, those two stories had overlapped.

“…Shizuku-chan, you really notice things.”

『I just like books, so I pay attention to words. —But Ren-sensei’s words stand out to me more』

Shizuku nodded—then her gaze drifted to the wall of the counseling room.

The seven drawings.

And then, to the spot by the window—where the baby’s breath used to be.

Now, only an empty vase remained.

Shizuku wrote again.

『Sensei. The baby’s breath has withered』

“Yeah. It lasted over three months. That’s pretty amazing.”

『May I bring new flowers』

“Of course. I’d be happy.”

Shizuku gave a small nod.

『Next time—I’ll bring flowers that last even longer』

After Shizuku left, I stared at the empty vase.

New flowers would come.
Flowers chosen by Shizuku.

The counseling room had changed so much from the dusty space it was back in April.

There were drawings, a bookmark, a stuffed toy—and flowers.
The five girls had each left something behind here, little by little.

The cultural festival was over.

From tomorrow, things would return to normal.

But—
It would be a different kind of normal.

Midori had started thinking about her mask.
Akane had said, “This is fun.”
Rin had clapped together with her teammates.
Shizuku had thought, “Someday, I want to use my voice.”
Mio had removed her mask in front of a hundred people.

It was a good day.

Outside the window, I could hear the sounds of cleanup after the festival.
The sun would be setting soon.

Just like I promised, I should get the tea ready.

Mio would be coming.