I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 33: “After the Cultural Festival—Mio’s Tea, and Everyone’s Monday”

Chapter 33: “After the Cultural Festival—Mio’s Tea, and Everyone’s Monday”

Cultural festival day. 5:30 PM.

The noise of cleanup continued on the other side of the school building.
Tents being taken down, cardboard being collected, classrooms being restored.
Laughter and the clatter of metal echoed faintly in the distance.

The counseling room was quiet.

The cleanup for the exhibit was done.
I collected the stress check sheets, folded the partitions from the consultation booth, thanked the student council staff, and sent them off.

Now, I was alone.

I made tea.
Two cups.
Just like I promised.

The steam from the pot glowed gold in the evening light.

The seven drawings with Shizuku hung on the wall.
An empty vase sat by the window.
The stuffed toy Rin gave me rested at the corner of the desk.

I checked the time. 5:35.

Mio had said, “After the performance, I’ll come to the counseling room.”
She hadn’t given a specific time.

Mio always came on her own timing.

I waited.
That was my job.

—

5:50.

The door opened.
No knock.

It was Mio.

She had changed out of her stage costume.
A white shirt and vest.
Her usual “prince” style.

But her slicked-back hair was slightly messy.
She must’ve changed in a hurry backstage.

“…………”

Mio walked in without a word and sat in her usual seat.
The one near the exit.

I placed the tea in front of her.

Mio stared at the cup.
Five. Ten seconds.

Then she held it with both hands.

She took a sip.

“…This isn’t lemon tea.”

“I told you I wouldn’t make it.”

“…………”

Silence.

Even though hours had passed since the performance, the afterglow of the stage still lingered in Mio’s body.
Her fingertips trembled slightly.

It wasn’t just lingering adrenaline—
It felt more like something else had filled the space left behind after it faded.

I didn’t ask anything.
Not “How was it,”
Not “You did great.”

Mio had come.
She was drinking tea.

That alone was enough for now.

Three. Five minutes.

The trembling in her fingers faded.
The tension left her shoulders.

Her hands slowly adjusted to the warmth of the cup.

After seven minutes—

“…I removed it. In front of a hundred people.”

Mio spoke quietly.

“Yeah.”

“During rehearsal— I couldn’t even do it in front of just you. All that came out was emptiness. I cried. I trembled. …And yet today, in front of a hundred people—”

“…”

“I said it as written. ‘This face—this is me.’ As a line from the script. But—”

She looked down at her cup.

“I said it to you.”

“I knew.”

“…You could tell? Out of a hundred people?”

“I could. I’ve been watching you the whole time.”

After a long silence, Mio let out a deep breath.

“…I could see your eyes. Front row, at the edge. Even in the dark, I could pick them out.”

“…”

“In that moment, the hundred people disappeared. —There was only you. If I said it to you, I could remove the mask. I still can’t do it for everyone. But for you alone— I could take it off.”

That—was an honest confession.
Mio’s truth.

To everyone watching, it looked like she had removed her mask in front of a hundred people.
The audience was moved and applauded.
Midori’s eyes grew moist, and Rin shouted, “Bravo!”

But from Mio’s point of view—
At that moment, she had taken it off for just one person.

“…Is that okay?”

Mio looked at me.

“I didn’t remove it for a hundred people. In the end, I still can’t do it without you there. —Is that really okay?”

I couldn’t answer right away.

As a counselor, I should say, “Someday, you’ll be able to do it on your own.”
So I don’t encourage dependence.

But thinking about what Mio had done today—that was something for later.

“For today—that’s enough. You removed it in front of a hundred people. Even though during rehearsal, you couldn’t do it in front of just one. That alone is more than enough.”

“…………”

“If you can do it for one person, someday it’ll become two. Then ten. Then a hundred. —Today is the first step.”

Mio looked at me for a long time.

Then—she finished the rest of her tea.

“…Another cup.”

“Hm?”

“Tea. Give me a second cup.”

I poured another cup and set it in front of her.

Mio held it with both hands and took a sip.

“…Not bad.”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

“If I give the same impression, it means the taste is consistent. I’m praising you.”

“Thank you.”

The corner of Mio’s lips lifted slightly.
Not the prince’s smile from the stage—just a relaxed, natural expression.

While drinking her second cup of tea, she looked out the window.

The sunset was fading.
The sky shifted from purple to deep blue.
The sounds of cleanup grew distant, and the school slowly returned to silence.

“…Counselor.”

“Yeah.”

“Today—was it fun?”

“It was.”

“Me too.”

After saying those two words, Mio looked a little surprised.
As if she hadn’t expected them to come out of her own mouth.

“……Fun, huh.”

She repeated the word to herself.
Not a line from a script—but a word describing her own feelings.

Fun.

Those three letters—might have been just as big for Mio as the moment she removed her mask.

She had given a name to her own feelings.

Just like when Midori said, “I was scared.”

Recognizing emotions, putting them into words—something she couldn’t do before—now she could.

“Being able to say it was fun—that’s a good thing.”

“…I see.”

Mio stood up.
She gently placed the cup back on the desk.

“I’m going home.”

“Yeah. Good work today.”

Mio walked to the door.

Her hand rested on the doorknob—and today, she turned back.

“…………My next performance is in December.”

“I’ll come watch.”

“Front row.”

“Of course.”

For just a moment, her eyes softened.

“…I heard Hinomiya wants to come see it too.”

“Yeah. Akane mentioned it.”

“…………I don’t mind. I’ll prepare two seats.”

One for Akane as well.

Saying that, Mio opened the door.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Mio-san.”

The door closed.

In the quiet counseling room, I washed the two empty cups.

Today—Mio didn’t need a third cup.
She was satisfied with two and left.

After rehearsal, she needed long stretches of silence.
But today—she left after about fifteen minutes.

She should’ve been exhausted.
Performing in front of a hundred people, removing her mask, then coming here to drink tea.

And even so—she was able to say, “It was fun.”

Mio—was definitely changing.

—

The following Monday.

The afterglow of the cultural festival still lingered around the school.

In the hallways, I could hear voices—

“The haunted house was amazing.”
“Kujou-senpai’s play seriously made me cry.”
“The counseling room was actually pretty interesting.”

That last one made me glad.
The counseling room was becoming more known.

Thanks to Rin’s word-of-mouth—and the festival booth.

—

Morning. Staff room.

As I sat in my usual seat next to the copier, Tsubaki-sensei brought me tea.

“Asagiri-sensei, good work during the cultural festival. I heard the counseling room booth was well received.”

“Thank you. I was hoping you’d come by, Tsubaki-sensei.”

“The infirmary was quite busy… But I heard from the students. They said the stress check was interesting.”

Tsubaki-sensei smiled gently.

“And also—Yukimura-san apparently put up a POP in the library. I saw it. It was beautifully written.”

“Shizuku-chan’s writing is really nice, isn’t it?”

“Yes. The fact that she can express herself like that now… is thanks to you, Asagiri-sensei.”

“It’s not me. It’s her own strength.”

My usual reply.
But hearing it from Tsubaki-sensei still made me happy.

“Oh, and—”

Tsubaki-sensei lowered her voice a little.

“It seems the vice principal has finally learned your name, Asagiri-sensei. Earlier, he said, ‘I heard Asagiri-sensei’s exhibit was well received.’”

“…It took him half a year.”

“Fufu. But he remembers you now.”

Half a year.
It took half a year since I was assigned here for the vice principal to remember my name.

A promotion from background NPC.
From a single line of text—to someone with a name.

(…Kind of moving. Haruto Hanasaki had all the teachers remember his name on his first day after transferring, and here I am—six months. Well, for a background character, this is still pretty good.)

—

Lunch break.

The rooftop felt nice in the October breeze.

I was eating lunch with Akane.
Today, it was homemade.

Tamagoyaki, grilled salmon, kinpira gobo.
A standard lunchbox filled with Akane’s favorite dishes.

“The festival’s over, huh.”

Akane said that while stuffing her mouth with tamagoyaki.

“It’s over.”

“…It was fun.”

The same words I heard two days ago.
But today, they came out more naturally.

No embarrassment, no “pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“The ghosts I drew—Hanasaki kept going around saying ‘the quality is insane,’ so it ended up drawing a huge line.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It’s not. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

Akane stopped her chopsticks.

“…Not embarrassing, exactly. It’s just… having people enjoy something I made—it feels weird. I’m not used to it.”

“You don’t have to get used to it. But it didn’t feel bad, right?”

“…………”

While picking apart her salmon, Akane muttered quietly.

“…it wasn’t bad.”

That was Akane’s highest form of praise.
“It wasn’t bad”—about herself.

“Will you draw again next year?”

“How would I know about next year? —And anyway, I don’t want to do a haunted house again. My drawings aren’t just for ghosts.”

“Then what would you want to do?”

“…………A café, maybe. Like menu boards. Flyers and stuff.”

Akane was imagining places where she could use her art—on her own.
Not just haunted house decorations, but other ways too.

Half a year ago, that kind of thought wouldn’t have crossed her mind.

Being able to imagine “next year.”
Being able to picture where her skills could be used.

“That sounds great. If you did the menu boards for a café, they’d definitely stand out.”

“…You praise too much, idiot.”

Her ears were red.

—

After school.

Shizuku came to the counseling room.

The usual seat.
The usual tea.

But today, before taking out her notepad, she was holding something in both hands.

A small potted plant.
White flowers were blooming on it.

“…Is that a new flower?”

Shizuku nodded and held out her memo.

『Ren-sensei. I brought this instead of the baby’s breath. It’s a snowdrop. It blooms for a long time.』

Snowdrop.
Its meaning was—“hope” and “comfort.”

I didn’t know if Shizuku chose it knowing that.
But her choices always seemed to say more than words.

“Thank you. I’ll put it by the window.”

Instead of the empty vase, I placed the pot by the window.
The small white flowers swayed gently in the afternoon light.

Shizuku watched it.
Her eyes looked satisfied.

“It’s beautiful.”

Shizuku nodded.

Then she wrote another note.

『Ren-sensei. I heard that after the cultural festival, some people saw the library POP and came to the counseling room. They said your POP made them want to visit.』

“Really? That’s great to hear. —I also heard your POP got good feedback, Shizuku-chan.”

『Yes. A member of the library committee said, “Shizuku-chan’s POP was the best.”』

“That’s wonderful.”

After a short pause, she wrote again.

『Hanasaki-san’s POP said—“After reading this book, I wanted to truly see someone properly.” It was short, but very like Hanasaki-san.』

“Hanasaki-kun has grown.”

『Yes. —It’s different from Ren-sensei’s words, but Hanasaki-san’s words were real too』

Shizuku described Haruto’s words as “real.”

Before, she would compare—“It only took five minutes,” “The depth is different.”

But now, she used the word “real” for his thoughts.

That meant—
Inside Shizuku, Haruto was no longer just someone to compare with me, but someone with his own kind of value.

“I think it’s really good that you can call Hanasaki-kun’s words ‘real,’ Shizuku-chan.”

Shizuku looked at me, tilting her head slightly.

『Why is that?』

“Because to recognize the value in someone’s words, you have to really see that person. The fact that you felt Hanasaki-kun’s words were ‘real’ means—you’re truly seeing him.”

Shizuku stayed quiet for a while, as if slowly taking in what I said.

Then she began writing again.

『It’s the way Ren-sensei taught me to see things. To look at what’s behind people’s words. I’ve started to be able to do, just a little, what Ren-sensei always does.』

I read that note—and felt both happy and, at the same time, a little uneasy.

I was happy that Shizuku had started to develop the ability to “see people.”
Not just inside the counseling room, but out in the world, she was beginning to understand the depth behind others’ words.
That was clearly growth.

What made me uneasy—was the line, “Ren-sensei taught me.”

That her standard for growth was tied to me.

It wasn’t something I taught her.
It was something Shizuku herself saw and felt.

I was only a starting point.

But in her mind, “Ren-sensei taught me” had already settled as the truth.

For now, it was still fine.

Shizuku’s world was expanding.
She interacted with Haruto in the library, worked together with another library committee member, and wrote a POP that many people read.

She was no longer someone who only existed inside the counseling room.

Still—
I remained at the center of her world.

(…I’ll keep watching. Carefully. As always.)

“Shizuku-chan, do you want to draw today?”

She shook her head.

『Today, I’ll read. Ren-sensei, would you like to read something together too?』

Time spent reading side by side with Shizuku.
A quiet, peaceful after-school moment.

“Sounds good.”

I picked a book from the shelf.
Shizuku also took a short story collection by Kenji Miyazawa. 

As expected, she still liked that one.

We sat by the window and opened our books.

The white snowdrop flowers swayed gently in the breeze coming through the window.

—

As she was leaving, Shizuku left one last note.

『Ren-sensei. The cultural festival was fun. I’m glad I could watch Kujou-san’s performance next to you. —Next time, I want to walk around the class exhibits together.』

“Next year’s festival, then. I promise.”

Shizuku nodded.
Deeply.

Several times.

After the door closed, I put the note into my drawer.

Inside were already dozens of Shizuku’s notes.
Starting from the very first one—『May I come again?』—
all the way to today’s 『next year’s festival.』

Six months’ worth of trust was stored in that drawer.

—

Evening.

While I was cleaning up the counseling room, I noticed a note on the desk.

It was in Midori’s handwriting.

Not a formal letter—
Just neat writing on a memo sheet.

『Asagiri-sensei. This year’s cultural festival has concluded successfully. I will provide a formal report later as the executive committee chair.

P.S. On the day—I scored seventy-eight points. Because I was able to enjoy the festival. Because my juniors worked hard. Because I was moved to tears watching Kujou-san’s performance.
Seventy-eight points. My best score ever.』

I read the note—and couldn’t help but smile.

Seventy-two had become seventy-eight.
Her best score yet.

Inside Midori, the numbers were changing.
Not a score dropping down from a perfect hundred, but a score rising up from sixty-five.

She was starting to evaluate herself by her own standard.

And—
She counted “I ended up crying a little” not as a minus, but as a plus.

Crying had become one of the reasons for her seventy-eight.

For Midori, tears were no longer a deduction—they were something that added points.

That kind of change would’ve been unthinkable half a year ago.

I placed the note into the drawer.
Next to Midori’s previous letters.

The snowdrops by the window were catching the last light of the evening.

The cultural festival was over.

The five girls had each changed, in their own way, in their own places.

Mio was able to say, “It was fun.”
Akane began imagining next year.
Shizuku could call someone else’s words “real.”
Midori counted her tears as something positive.
And Rin—on the day of the festival, she clapped together with her teammates.

Not alone, but among everyone.

It was a good change.
Without a doubt.

But—I couldn’t forget that all of those changes had started from me.

Midori’s seventy-eight points were only put into words when she reported them to me.
Mio removed her mask while facing me.
Shizuku’s growth was tied to “Ren-sensei taught me.”

Akane’s idea of “next year” assumed that I’d be there.

For a counselor to become a safe base for their clients—that itself is a normal process.

But the fact that all five of their safe bases were centered in one place—that unease was something I had already felt during the summer festival.

After the cultural festival, that feeling had only grown stronger.

(…The second half of the term. I need to help expand their worlds even more. I need to help them find safe places beyond just me.)

That was the next task as a counselor.

I closed the window and turned off the lights.

The October night breeze drifted through the hallway.