I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 43: “The Ninth Drawing—The Curtains Shizuku Opened”

Chapter 43: “The Ninth Drawing—The Curtains Shizuku Opened”

Wednesday. Shizuku’s day.

Morning. When I arrived at the staff room, Tsubaki-sensei called out to me.

“Asagiri-sensei. About what I mentioned to Hojouin-san yesterday—”

“I heard. Thank you, Tsubaki-sensei.”

Tsubaki-sensei held her teacup with both hands and lowered her voice a little.

“I believe that girl was Yukimura-san—the one I saw.”

As expected. Tsubaki-sensei had already realized it.

“I can see from the infirmary window. After school, she stops in front of the counseling room door, stands there for a while, then leaves. I saw it about twice just last week.”

Twice. Tuesday and Thursday—days that were not Shizuku’s.

“She never used to do that before. Yukimura-san always entered the counseling room right after school. Only recently—there have been days when she cannot go in.”

“…Yes. I made the schedule myself. More students started coming, so I divided the time slots.”

“I’m sure that was a necessary decision. But…”

Within Tsubaki-sensei’s soft smile, there was a firm core.

“For Yukimura-san, that room—the room where Asagiri-sensei is—was the most important place where she belonged. So the remaining days, divided into ‘only certain times a week,’ must feel very unsettling for her.”

I had nothing to say back.

“Forgive me for meddling, but asking that girl to share her ‘important place to belong’—it may still be too soon.”

Tsubaki-sensei said only that, then carried her teacup back to the infirmary.

—

Lunch break.

Bento with Akane. Rooftop.

Today was teriyaki chicken bento.

Akane didn’t mention yesterday.

Neither did I.

But after finishing lunch, she quietly said:

“…Decide yet?”

There was no need to ask what she meant.

“I’ll talk to her today.”

“I see.”

That was all.

Akane stood up and headed for the stairs.

Without turning back, she left behind one final comment.

“The teriyaki’s too salty.”

Then she walked off.

—

After school. 4:00 PM.

Shizuku came.

Two knocks.

The door opened.

Her usual seat.

I brewed tea and placed it in front of her.

Shizuku wrapped both hands around the cup.

Frozen hands. Her fingertips were cold.

Instead of sitting in my usual place—I pulled out the chair beside Shizuku and sat next to her.

Shizuku looked up.

Usually, we were separated by the desk.

Today, I was beside her.

“Shizuku-chan. I need to talk to you.”

Her hands stopped over the cup.

“It’s about the schedule.”

Shizuku lowered her head.

Her bangs covered her face.

“The schedule I made—it caused you pain. I’m sorry.”

Shizuku quickly shook her head side to side. Small, fast movements.

She took out her notebook and wrote.

『Ren-sensei is not wrong. The schedule is necessary. I said I would follow it. I am following it.』

“You are following it. I know that. …But following something and being okay are two different things.”

Shizuku’s hand stopped.

“You weren’t okay, Shizuku-chan. On days that weren’t yours, you came to the door and went home without entering.”

Her shoulders trembled slightly.

“The number of words in your notes decreased. Your goodbye notes became nothing but factual confirmations. The people disappeared from your drawings. —I saw all of it.”

『If you saw it—then why…』

Shizuku’s writing was fast.

Her hand moved before she could even think.

『If you saw it, then why didn’t you do anything for me?』

I accepted that question.

“I’ll answer honestly. I was thinking about the balance for everyone. Midori-san and Mio-san had started finding it hard to come here, so I made time slots so everyone could use the room. —I decided I couldn’t prioritize only Shizuku-chan.”

Shizuku looked at me.

Her eyes behind her bangs. Deep in color.

“That was—the wrong decision.”

Shizuku’s eyes widened.

“Thinking about what was best for everyone wasn’t wrong by itself. But I saw your changes. I kept seeing them. I understood them. And even then, I delayed acting. That was my mistake in judgment.”

No note came back.

Shizuku still held the pen, frozen above the paper.

“I’m changing the schedule. Shizuku-chan—you can come on the days you want to come. Even every day, if you’d like.”

Shizuku’s eyes shook.

“I’ll handle the overlap with the others. I’ll secure separate time for Midori-san and Mio-san, while also making it okay for them to come even on days you’re here. We can shift time slots, or temporarily use another room. There are ways.”

『But… wouldn’t that mean only I am being treated specially?』

“It might. But trying to force everyone into the same system was the real mistake. All five of you are different. Your conditions, what you need, your pace—they’re all different. Trying to push everyone into one schedule was too rough.”

Shizuku placed the notebook on her lap.

She set down the pen.

Both hands returned to the cup.

A long silence.

She took one sip of tea.

Then another.

When she drank the third sip, the tension left her shoulders.

It felt like a lid had opened.

A lid that had been shut for weeks.

Shizuku picked up her notebook again.

『Ren-sensei. I think—I was angry.』

“Yeah.”

『I didn’t understand that I was angry. I didn’t know if I was sad, lonely, or angry. I couldn’t tell—so I couldn’t write anything.』

“…………”

『But when you said you had been watching me. And when you honestly said you saw it and still did nothing. Now I understand that I was angry.』

Shizuku had given a name to her feelings.

It was the same as when Midori said she was “scared.”

Recognizing the emotion inside yourself, then putting it into words.

For Shizuku—it was anger.

A feeling that a girl without a voice had never expressed, not even through writing.

That feeling was anger.

“You’re allowed to be angry. I did something worth being angry at.”

『I didn’t want to trouble you, Sensei. But—the days of turning back at the door kept continuing, and little by little it became painful. I hated myself for coming here on days that weren’t mine. But if I didn’t come here—』

The note stopped there.

Her pen trembled on the page.

Shizuku raised her face.

Her lips moved.

A voice—

“…………Sen… se…”

It came out.

Hoarse, almost like breath.

From the single “Aa” sound months ago, it had slowly begun to take shape.

It didn’t become a full Sensei.

It cut off halfway.

But the syllables sen-se shook the air of the counseling room.

Tears spilled from Shizuku’s eyes.

They were not tears of surprise at hearing her own voice.

This was different from the time she first said “Aa.”

These tears carried anger, relief, and something even bigger mixed together.

I placed the tissue box beside her.

I said nothing.

Shizuku cried.

No voice came out.

Instead of sound, tears flowed.

Her shoulders trembled, her notebook pressed against her lap, and she cried quietly.

Five. Ten minutes.

Gradually, her tears calmed.

She wiped her eyes with tissues.

Sniffled once.

Then took a sip of tea.

Tea that had already started to cool.

She picked up her notebook again.

『Ren-sensei. May I come tomorrow too?』

When I read that note—I remembered the very first note from half a year ago.

—『May I come again?』

The same question as back then.

But the meaning was different.

Back then, it meant: Can this become a place where I belong?

This time—it meant: Can I have back the place I was starting to lose?

“Come anytime.”

The same answer as before.

Shizuku nodded.

Deeply. Again and again.

Then—she took the tin of colored pencils from her bag.

“Want to draw?”

Shizuku nodded.

We spread out the paper.

I made the first stroke. One circle.

Shizuku picked up the green pencil—and drew leaves.

An apple.

The same composition, for the third time.

I drew the tree.

Shizuku extended the branches.

She colored the sky.

I added the sun.

I drew the house.

I drew the window.

In the eighth picture—the curtains had been closed.

Now, the ninth picture.

Shizuku drew curtains on the window.

They were open.

Through the gap in the curtains, you could see beyond the window.

Outside it—there was the tree, the sky, and the sun.

And in front of the house—

Two figures.

One tall. One small.

Just like the first drawing.

The figures had returned.

After finishing it, Shizuku looked at me.

Her eyes behind her bangs were still slightly red from crying—but there was light in them now.

『It turned out nicely.』

The same words for the third time.

But this time—the warmth had returned.

“Yeah. It’s a good drawing.”

Shizuku nodded.

The note she gave before leaving:

『Ren-sensei. Tomorrow is Thursday, but may I come too? It is Kujou-san’s day, but—just for a little while. Only to return a book. I will leave right away.』

“That’s fine. As long as it’s before Mio-san comes.”

Shizuku smiled.

Behind her bangs, her eyes narrowed softly, and the corners of her mouth lifted just a little.

A voiceless smile.

How long had it been since I last saw Shizuku smile?

The door closed.

—

Alone in the counseling room, I pinned the ninth drawing to the wall.

I placed the eighth and ninth side by side.

Closed curtains.

Open curtains.

The missing figures.

The returned figures.

Shizuku’s feelings were drawn across those three pictures.

The first picture held safety.

The eighth held loss.

The ninth held recovery.

Recovery—could I really call it that?

I made the schedule.

I hurt Shizuku with it.

I admitted it, apologized, and loosened the schedule.

Shizuku cried, nearly found her voice, drew a picture, and smiled.

Was this truly recovery?

Or had I only returned something that I was the one who took away?

Tsubaki-sensei’s words still remained in my mind.

—“It may still be too soon to ask that girl to share her ‘important place to belong.’”

It had been too soon.

Tsubaki-sensei had been right.

Shizuku’s safe base was still only one place—me.

She had connections to the library.

She exchanged books with Haruto.

She borrowed and lent books with Akane.

But all of those things had grown outward from this room.

This room was the foundation.

If the foundation shook, everything built on top of it would shake too.

The schedule had shaken that foundation.

I tried to protect Midori’s and Mio’s visits, and in doing so, I shook Shizuku’s foundation.

In the end, I corrected it.

Shizuku was back to “You may come on the days you want.”

Then what about Midori and Mio?

Midori’s Tuesday slot would remain.

Mio’s Thursday slot would remain.

And on top of that, Shizuku could still come whenever she wanted.

The overlaps—I would manage them.

Shift the time slots.

Midori later after school, Shizuku right after classes, things like that.

Could I handle it?

Physically, I mean.

Managing five different schedules.

Avoiding overlaps.

Making sure everyone could come feeling safe.

Handling general visitors too.

Paperwork as well.

Hallway rounds too.

(…My past self died by piling work on like this, didn’t he?)

A bitter laugh rose in me.

But this time was different.

This time, I knew I was carrying too much.

Rin had told me, “Sensei, your ‘I’m fine’ doesn’t work on me.”

Haruto had asked, “Is there anyone supporting you, Sensei?”

Akane had stabbed right through me with, “Sensei, your ‘properly’ is slow.”

I knew now—that I wasn’t alone.

I only knew it.

I still hadn’t learned how to rely on anyone yet.

I opened my notebook.

And began writing a revised version of the schedule.

Shizuku- No restrictions (back to how it was before)
Akane- Lunch every day, after school on Tuesday and Friday
Rin- Tuesday after school (same day as Akane)
Midori- Tuesday later after school (after Rin)
Mio- Thursday after school (irregular)
General visitors- Reservation basis, anytime available

How would I explain Shizuku’s “no restrictions” to the other four?

There was also the option of not explaining it at all.

Shizuku had originally been coming every day.

This was simply returning things to how they were before the schedule.

The other four girls’ time slots were not changing.

Still, Akane would probably notice.

Midori might notice too.

When that happened—I would answer honestly.

“Shizuku-chan still needs every day.”

They might think it was unfair.

But fairness and equality were not the same thing.

Since all five of them were in different situations, treating everyone exactly the same would not always be the right answer.

“To the person who needs it, only as much as they need.”

Right now, that was what was necessary.

I watered the snowdrops by the window.

Just like Shizuku told me—more than usual.

The white petals—were still blooming.