I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 47: “The Stage in December—What Mio Showed Before Winter Break”

Chapter 47: “The Stage in December—What Mio Showed Before Winter Break”

Friday. The final day before winter break.

Closing ceremony. 

The entire student body stood in rows inside the gymnasium.

The principal’s speech was long. As always, painfully long. 

But today—I was grateful for it. 

Once the ceremony ended, the students would begin preparing to return home. Starting tomorrow, winter break would last two weeks.

Somewhere inside this gym, the five girls were here.

In the row for Class 2-3, there was Midori. Her posture was perfectly straight. In the same row were Akane, Rin, and Mio. Akane stood at the edge of the line with her arms crossed, though her uniform was properly worn. Rin was whispering something to the classmate beside her. Mio faced forward in silence. Perhaps she was already thinking about tomorrow’s performance.

Among the first-year rows was Shizuku.

From behind her bangs, she was looking this way.

Our eyes met. Shizuku gave a small bow.

All five of them were here.

The sight before me was different from the one I first saw in this gym back in April.

At that time, I only knew their names and settings.

Now—I had seen every one of their tears. I had heard every one of their voices. I knew their strengths, and their flaws too.

The closing ceremony ended.

—

After school. Counseling room.

The final normal opening day of the term.

I brewed extra tea. During winter break, I planned to open the room a few days each week like I did during summer vacation, but most students would be going home. Only those staying in the dorms would likely come.

Rin was the first to arrive.

“Sensei, Happy New Year! —Ah, wait, too early. Just stay healthy during winter break, okay!?”

“You too, Rin-san. And don’t overdo it with your leg.”

“Yes, sir! —Ah, I’m doing self-practice with a junior during break, but I’ll make sure to schedule rest days too. So you won’t scold me.”

“I won’t scold you. If it’s something Rin-san decided for herself.”

She grinned widely.

“Sensei. If something comes up during break, can I call you?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll call sometimes. —So you won’t get lonely.”

Rin waved and left the room.

So you won’t get lonely—was that for my sake, or Rin’s own?

Midori came next.

She was carrying her binder. Today was the monthly report—December’s final one.

“Asagiri-sensei. This will be the last report for this term.”

“Thank you.”

After giving a short report, Midori closed the binder—then paused for a moment.

“Sensei. During winter break, may I send you letters?”

“Like during summer vacation?”

“Yes. I would like to report my score.”

Midori’s score.

The number that had been slowly changing ever since the culture festival, when it was seventy-eight points.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“…I shall do my best.”

Midori smiled.

This time, she said, “I shall do my best,” with a smile. 

Then Akane arrived.

By kicking the door open like always.

“Sensei. What time is Kujou’s performance tomorrow?”

“It starts at two in the afternoon. Small hall.”

“…Don’t be late.”

“Me?”

“You too. Me too. And tell that Yukimura girl as well.”

“I already told Shizuku-chan.”

Akane took a sip of tea and looked out the window.

“…Sensei. Winter break.”

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said about the lunch boxes. If you’re coming, then come.”

“I’ll come. I’ll contact you first.”

“…………”

Akane set her cup down.

“Sensei. I—I kind of hate winter break.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone goes home. Even I get a little lonely.”

Akane said only that, then stood up.

“…Tomorrow. After the performance, can we drink tea here?”

“It’s Saturday, but—I’ll open the room specially.”

“…Hmph.”

Akane left.

That little hmph sounded just a bit softer than usual.

Shizuku came last.

Her usual seat. Her usual tea.

Today, she wrote many notes. 

For the first time in a while, they were long ones.

『Ren-sensei. Thank you for everything this term. Coming to the counseling room was the thing I looked forward to every day.』

『During winter break, everyone will go home, so I feel a little lonely. But I will spend the time reading books I borrowed from the library. I also promised Hinomiya-san I would lend her the next one.』

『I am looking forward to Kujou-san’s performance tomorrow. May I watch it sitting beside Sensei?』

“I’ll save the seat next to me.”

Shizuku nodded.

『Ren-sensei. I will keep writing notes during winter break as well. Even if I cannot give them to you. Because writing them makes me feel connected to Sensei.』

I read that note—then kept it in my hands for a while.

“I’ll read them all together in the third term. I’m looking forward to it.”

Shizuku nodded deeply.

As she was leaving, she turned back at the door and moved her lips.

No sound came out. But I could read them clearly.

“Happy New Year.”

Shizuku left the room.

—

Only Mio—did not come.

Her performance was tomorrow. She was probably in the small hall making final adjustments.

I left a note in her shoe locker.

『Tomorrow, front row seat. Give us a great performance. Ren Asagiri』

—

Saturday. December 21st.

First day of winter break.

But the drama club had its performance today.

2:00 PM. Small hall.

The venue was smaller than the culture festival performance last time, but the seats were almost full.

Drama club members’ families, staff, students from other schools’ drama clubs. Some volunteers from our academy had come as well.

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

Shizuku was on my left.

Akane was on my right.

Shizuku had her memo pad resting on her lap.

Akane had her arms crossed, awkwardly glancing around the audience.

“…There’s a lot of people.”

Akane muttered quietly.

“It’s a drama club performance, after all.”

“This is my first time at something like this. What am I supposed to do?”

“Just sit and watch.”

“…Yeah, obviously, but still.”

Akane couldn’t settle down.

Shizuku was gripping her memo pad tightly.

Shizuku and I had seen Mio perform since the culture festival.

For Akane, though, this was her first time. Back then, she’d been stuck working at the haunted house and couldn’t watch. 

The lights dimmed.

The audience fell silent.

—

The ensemble drama began.

It was built completely differently from the culture festival’s monologue play, The Girl with the Mask.

This time, multiple actors moved across the stage, exchanged lines, and clashed with one another.

Mio’s role was—one person among many.

She was still the lead, but instead of dominating the stage like in the monologue, she was sharing the space with the other actors.

First scene.

A dialogue between Mio and a junior actor.

Mio received the junior’s lines.

She took in the other actor’s voice, let it pass through herself, then answered back.

It wasn’t perfect.

The flawless, razor-sharp control she had during the monologue performance was gone.

Instead there was movement.

A faint tremor whenever she received the other person’s words. That tiny disturbance was woven into her acting.

And that—felt alive.

Beside me, Akane was leaning forward. Her crossed arms had already come undone.

Shizuku still clutched her memo pad, staring at the stage without even blinking.

The story moved on.

In one scene, the co-stars cornered Mio’s character.

“You always carry everything alone. Why do you never rely on anyone?”

Mio answered. It was a line from the script.

“—I can hear your voices. Because I hear them, I’m still able to stand.”

That voice rang through the audience.

Not aimed at me in the front row, but at the entire crowd. At her fellow actors.

Just as she had once declared: “I won’t say it only to you. I’ll say it to the whole audience.”

Mio’s eyes brushed across the front row for only a moment.

Me. Akane. Shizuku.

But her gaze immediately returned to the stage. To the actor opposite her.

She did not monopolize it. She did not direct it only at me.

She shared that space—with a hundred spectators, with her fellow performers, with everyone there.

Act Three.

The junior actor said to Mio:

“You are not alone.”

Mio—wavered.

She received the line, and there was a brief pause. A beat that probably wasn’t written in the script.

The moment the junior’s voice entered her.

Then she answered.

The words were exactly as written in the script—yet the voice was different.

Not the prince’s voice.

Not the actress’s voice.

It was Mio Kujou’s voice.

Blackout.

Applause.

This time—I applauded too.

During the culture festival rehearsals, I hadn’t. Back then, her acting had still been something directed only at me.

Today was different.

This was not mine alone. It belonged to the whole audience.

Akane was clapping too. Clumsy, slightly off rhythm. She clearly wasn’t used to theater applause. But she was clapping.

Shizuku—was applauding quietly with her small hands, carefully and sincerely.

—

After the performance.

As promised, I opened the counseling room. A special Saturday opening.

I made tea and waited.

Akane and Shizuku arrived first.

Akane opened the door and dropped heavily into a chair.

“…She’s amazing. Kujou.”

“What did you think?”

“How should I know? I don’t know anything about theater. But—something hit hard. That pause in Act Three. She did something that wasn’t in the script, didn’t she?”

Akane’s instincts were sharp. Completely right.

Shizuku held out a note.

『Kujou-san’s acting was different from before. During the culture festival, she completed everything alone. Today—she was on stage together with everyone.』

Shizuku’s observation was just as accurate.

“You two really watched closely.”

“I just watched, that’s all,” Akane said.

Shizuku wrote another note.

『When Kujou-san said, “I can hear your voices. That is why I can answer back”—I felt the same way. Because I can hear Ren-sensei’s voice, I am able to write notes. It makes me want to try speaking too.』

About twenty minutes later, the door opened. No knock.

It was Mio.

She had already changed clothes. White shirt, vest. Her usual style.

But her hair was slightly messy. The afterglow of the stage still lingered in her body—same as before. Yet today, instead of ragged breathing, it felt more like quiet excitement.

Mio looked around the room. Akane and Shizuku were there.

For a moment—she seemed unsure.

Normally, if others were present, she would either not come in at all, or enter only to lean against the wall with folded arms.

Today—she sat in an empty chair.

“…You came. Both of you.”

“Kujou. You were seriously amazing.”

Akane said it honestly.

It was the first time Akane had praised Mio directly to her face.

Mio’s eyes widened for just a second.

“…I see.”

Shizuku held out a note. For Mio.

『Kujou-san. The line, “I can hear your voices. That is why I can answer back,” was wonderful.』

Mio read the note. She stared at it for a while.

“…Thank you.”

A small voice. Not the voice she used for the audience, but one meant for the single person in front of her.

I made four cups of tea.

One for each of us.

The four of us drank tea together.

“Kujou, what was that pause in Act Three?”

“…It wasn’t in the script. I did it on my own.”

Shizuku wrote on her memo pad, 『That part was the best part.』

Akane nodded. “Yeah.”

I quietly drank my tea.

The three of them were talking. Without going through me.

Akane gave her thoughts on Mio’s acting. Shizuku wrote notes. Mio answered.

A conversation that did not pass through Ren.

Inside the counseling room, the three of them were connecting directly.

That night of the culture festival, when all five girls gathered under the fireworks—every gaze had been turned toward me.

Now it was different.

Their eyes were turned toward each other.

That was—the view I had wanted to reach.

And at the same time—there was a faint feeling of being left behind.

—

Evening.

Akane and Shizuku left.

Mio remained.

The counseling room with just the two of us. It had been a while.

Mio finished her tea.

“…Second cup.”

“Yes, yes.”

I poured another. Mio took a sip.

“…During Wednesday’s rehearsal, it didn’t reach me.”

“Hm?”

“The day you were absent. That line in Act Three. The week before, I could receive it. But on Wednesday—it was different.”

The day I was absent. Mio had rejected the junior’s line during rehearsal.

“But today, you didn’t reject it.”

“…Today, you were in the audience.”

“…………”

“That’s all there is to it. —When you’re there, I can receive it. When you’re not, I push it away. I’m still at that stage.”

Mio was analyzing herself calmly.

“But today, I said it to the whole audience. Not only to you.”

“Yeah. I heard it.”

“That pause in Act Three—only in that moment, the junior’s voice entered me. Because you were there, I felt safe. And through the gap created by that safety, the junior’s voice slipped in. —You are still my foundation. But I can feel something else beginning to build on top of that foundation.”

Mio finished the second cup.

“…I don’t need a third.”

“Alright.”

She stood up.

“…Happy New Year.”

“You too, Mio-san.”

“I’m rehearsing through New Year’s. No breaks.”

“Please rest at least a little.”

“…I shall do my best.”

Mio borrowed Midori’s favorite phrase. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.

The door closed.

—

The counseling room was quiet again. Alone.

I washed the four cups.

The nine drawings on the wall.

The snowdrops by the window.

The stack of notes in the drawer.

The shooting-gallery stuffed toy sitting at the corner of the desk.

Starting tomorrow, winter break. Two weeks.

I would keep this room open. Just like summer vacation.

But many students would be returning home. Midori would go back to the Hojouin family estate. Rin to her parents’ house. Mio—might stay because of rehearsals. Shizuku had said she would remain in the dorms. Akane too.

Two weeks.

The rhythm of daily life would change.

And during these two weeks, there were things I had to think about.

Shizuku’s letter.

—『I like the Sensei inside this room.』

Akane’s words.

—“If Sensei collapses, what are we supposed to do?”

Midori’s scoring.

Rin’s line.

—“Sensei’s ‘I’m fine’ doesn’t work.”

Mio’s confession.

—“When you’re there, I can receive it. When you’re not, I push it away.”

What the five girls were directing toward me.

Trust.

Dependence.

And—something beyond even that.

What I felt toward them.

Responsibility as a counselor.

A guardian-like warmth.

And—

Beyond that, there was something I still had not named.

I was afraid to name it.

Because once I did—I might never be able to return to being only a counselor.

But if I left it unnamed and untouched—then it would be the same as the schedule incident.

Knowing, and doing nothing.

Repeating the same mistake Shizuku once confronted me with.

(…Winter break is two weeks. There’s time to think.)

I closed the window.

Turned off the lights.

Then I locked the counseling room door.

When I stepped into the hallway, the infirmary lights were already off.

Looks like Tsubaki-sensei had gone home too.

The school building was quiet.

A winter-break school building.

It made me remember the first day in April when I walked these halls for the first time.

The counseling room covered in dust.

A room no one visited.

An NPC who was nothing more than a single line of text. 

Nine months had passed.

That room—had changed this much.

And I too—had changed.

I was still afraid to admit just how much I had changed.

The December night wind was cold.

Next year—what would I say to these girls?

I still had no answer.