I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 48: “Winter Break Record—The Academy Without Sensei, and the Presence of the Five Girls”

Chapter 48: “Winter Break Record—The Academy Without Sensei, and the Presence of the Five Girls”

December 23rd. Second day of winter break.

When I woke up, the room felt strangely quiet.

Normally, the alarm I always set for seven would have gone off, but I had turned it off yesterday. Two whole weeks of break. A morning where I didn’t have to decide what time to wake up—this might have been the first time since I reincarnated.

Even in my previous life, that was rare.

A day had passed since Mio’s Saturday performance.
The afterglow of that stage still lingered somewhere in my chest.

That tiny hesitation when she received her junior’s line in Act Three.
The voice that reached the entire audience.
Akane’s awkward applause, and Shizuku’s quiet clapping.

And then, the tea the four of us shared.

That short moment when the three girls talked to each other without going through me left behind a strange feeling alongside the happiness.

It should have been the view I was aiming for.
And yet, after seeing it, I somehow felt left behind.

(…That too is one of the things I need to think about during winter break.)

I stared at the ceiling from inside the blanket, then slowly sat up.

On the desk was a stack of notebooks I had brought back from the counseling room.
Records for the five girls.

Nine months’ worth, from April to December.

I planned to reread all of them during winter break.

—

10:00 AM. My phone rang.

It was Akane.

“Hello?”

“Sensei… You awake?”

“I’m awake. Morning.”

“Ah… about the lunch box thing. Is today okay?”

This was a continuation of yesterday’s—Call first. Don’t just show up suddenly.

And just like that, she had called on the very first day.

“Sure. What time?”

“Before noon. Around eleven-thirty. —Salmon sounds good.”

“Got it. Salmon bento.”

“…And ask that girl too.”

“That girl?”

“Yukimura. —She said she’s staying in the dorms, right? During winter break, the cafeteria only serves simple meals. She’s probably not eating anything decent either.”

That caught me off guard.

“You’re worried about Shizuku-chan?”

“It’s not like that. I’m just saying, if there are two people stuck alone in the dorms, making two lunches isn’t much different from making one.”

“…Thank you, Akane.”

“Don’t thank me. Hurry up already. I’m starving.”

The call ended.

Akane—had shown concern for Shizuku.

Even while denying it, she still told me to make two lunches.

Those two barely had any connection outside of seeing each other in the counseling room.
Borrowing books.
Occasionally meeting eyes.

That was about it.

And yet, because they were both staying alone in the dorms, Akane had placed Shizuku beside herself.

I started making lunch in the kitchen.

I grilled three pieces of salmon, made enough tamagoyaki for three, and lined up kinpira gobo and spinach ohitashi.

As I packed the three lunch boxes side by side on the counter, a strange feeling brushed across my back.

This was—not the job of a counselor.

(…Well, ever since that summer when Akane asked, “Want me to be your friend?” I’d already stepped into this territory.)

I let out a small, bitter smile without stopping my hands.

—

11:30 AM. First-floor lounge of the dormitory.

Akane took one bento first and went upstairs to the second floor.

It took about five minutes before she came back after delivering it to Shizuku.

“…How did it go?”

“She was surprised. Froze in front of the door. When I said, ‘From Sensei,’ her eyes went wide, then she took it… wrote a memo and handed it to me.”

“What did it say?”

“‘Thank you very much. Hinomiya-san as well, please enjoy your lunch.’”

The way Shizuku addressed Akane in her note probably hadn’t changed.
And yet, somehow, it felt like there was a little more warmth in it now.

The dorm during winter break was quiet.
No one else was in the lounge.

Akane had chosen the shared space wisely.
She wouldn’t let me into her room.

Even instinctively, Akane avoided letting things cross too far over the line.

The two of us ate our lunches together.

Akane put salmon into her mouth and ate silently.
The same as always.

“…Sensei. What are you doing during winter break?”

“Nothing special. Cleaning, reading books, I guess.”

“The counseling room?”

“I’ll open it a few days each week. Some students staying in the dorms might come.”

“…Besides me and Yukimura, no one’s coming.”

“That’s fine. It’s enough if they know it’s open.”

Akane thought for a moment, then spoke quietly.

“Sensei.”

“Yeah?”

“…Isn’t it lonely, making lunch for yourself and eating alone?”

My reply came a beat late.

“During winter break, when you bring my lunch… eat here too. If it’s a shared space, there’s no problem.”

As a counselor, it wasn’t something I should accept.
If I kept having one-on-one meals with her through winter break, our relationship would grow even more personal.

I knew that.
I understood it clearly.

And yet, memories of lunches from my previous life surfaced.

Plastic convenience-store containers.
The harsh white glare of fluorescent lights.
Returning to work in the afternoon without speaking to anyone after finishing my meal.

That pile of days had worn me down.

Going back to eating lunch alone in this life scared me more than I expected.

“…Once in a while, then.”

“Once in a while is fine.”

Akane picked up even the salmon skin and ate it.
She was the kind of girl who never left behind what she liked.

After finishing lunch, I stood up.

“Then I’ll contact you again.”

“…Yeah. Come during New Year’s too. The dorm cafeteria is completely closed on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.”

“I’ll make something. A New Year menu.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Akane said, “Looking forward to it.”

The Akane who first accepted bentos on the rooftop would never have used words like that.

As I left the lounge, I glanced once at the staircase leading to the second floor.

Shizuku was up there.

I couldn’t meet her today.
It felt like I shouldn’t.

It was the same line as not entering Akane’s room.

A boundary drawn there.

—

December 26th. Counseling room opening day.

The first one since winter break began.

I opened the door at 10:00 AM.
Turned on the heater, prepared tea, and watered the snowdrops by the window.

I spread five notebooks across the desk and started rereading from Shizuku’s.

Looking back at the very first record from April, she had sat where she could see the exit, unable to hide how tense she was.

The first line she wrote in her memo had been: 『May I come again?』

Not a single sound from her voice.
Only a few written words.

With every page I turned, the number of words in her notes increased.

The day the alternating drawings began.
The day colors started appearing in the pictures.
The day the first fragment of her voice slipped out.
The day the way she addressed me changed.

The entries where her writing suddenly became shorter after making the schedule.
The drawing where the shadowy figures disappeared.
The drawing where they returned.

And last week—the record of the day she stood at the door and managed to say Sensei all the way through.

Reading through all nine months, one clear flow began to emerge.

Shizuku’s world had definitely grown wider.

The library committee girl.
Haruto.
Akane.

The number of people she could connect with through notes had increased, and little by little, her voice had begun to come out as well.

But no matter which branch of that expanded world I followed, I was always there at the trunk.

Her book exchanges with Haruto had begun from the reading experiences in this room.
Her lending books to Akane had come from observing Akane here in this room.

Every connection she had made to the outside world had stretched outward from this room as its starting point.

Having a strong foundation should normally be a good thing.
But having only one foundation was dangerous.

I opened the next notebook.

Akane’s.

It was the thickest of the five.
Almost like a diary, with even records of lunch menus written inside.

As I followed the pages, I noticed the change in my own writing style.

Back in April and May, the tone had been objective, like proper counselor notes.
Careful wording.
Kept distance.

But sometime after summer, that distance had grown smaller.

Her favorite foods.
The redness of her ears.
A blunt little comment she made.

Those things were written with warmth.

It was no longer notes about someone I observed.
It had become a record of the time we spent together.

—

11:00 AM.

A knock came at the door.
Two soft, careful knocks.

I stood and opened it.

Shizuku was there.

She wasn’t in her school uniform, but casual clothes.
A navy coat, a light blue scarf around her neck, and a small paper bag in her hand.

“Shizuku-chan. You came.”

Shizuku nodded and stepped inside.

She sat in her usual seat and wrapped both hands around the tea I served her.

Her cold fingertips moved slightly, as if checking the warmth of the cup.

She held out her memo pad.

『Ren-sensei. Thank you for the bento. It was very delicious. I was very surprised when Hinomiya-san delivered it.』

“Akane carried it there herself.”

『Yes. Hinomiya-san said, ‘From Asagiri-sensei,’ and handed me the box. Then she told me, ‘Eat the spinach ohitashi later. Start with the things that lose flavor when they get cold.’』

I couldn’t help laughing.

“Akane even gave advice on how to eat it?”

『Yes. Hinomiya-san eats Ren-sensei’s lunch every day, so I think she is very knowledgeable about it.』

Shizuku took a small wrapped package out of the paper bag.

『This is a return gift. It is not something I made myself, but cookies I bought from a nearby shop.』

“Thank you. Let’s have them with tea.”

I placed them on a plate, and the two of us drank tea while nibbling on cookies.

Shizuku was looking at the snowdrops by the window.
I was looking at the notebooks on the desk.

In the winter-break counseling room, the only sound was the ticking of the clock.

Strangely enough, it felt comfortable.

“Shizuku-chan. You said you’d keep writing memos during winter break, right?”

『Yes. I am writing them. Not every day, though.』

“Did you bring them today?”

Shizuku hesitated a little, then took out a small notebook from her bag.

It was a new notebook, different from the memo pad she used at school.

『I was not planning to show it yet.』

“You don’t have to show me. I just wanted to say—thank you for continuing to write.”

Shizuku held the notebook close to her chest.

『I will show them all to you together when winter break ends. Right now, I am still in the middle of writing them.』

About thirty minutes later, Shizuku began getting ready to leave.

『Ren-sensei. When will the room be open next?』

“I’m planning to open it on Tuesday and Friday.”

Then I will come on Friday.

She stood, then turned back once at the door.

Shizuku’s lips moved.

“…sensei.”

It was small, but all syllables came out clearly to the end.

Shizuku gave a tiny nod at the sound of her own voice, then disappeared beyond the door.

—

Afternoon.

I returned to the remaining notebooks.
Midori, Rin, then Mio.
I reread them in that order.

Midori’s notebook was also a record of numbers.
It showed the process of a girl who, at first, could only give herself perfect scores, slowly learning to give herself different ones.

There were days in the sixties.
Days that stabilized in the seventies.
And little by little, the way she judged herself had changed.

More than the rise and fall of the numbers, the bigger change for Midori was that she had become able to move forward even with those scores.

Rin’s notebook was a little different.

Rin’s recovery hadn’t stayed only within herself.
Because Rin learned to admit weakness, her teammates became able to admit weakness too.

The captain’s change had shifted the mood of the entire team.

Out of the five girls, Rin was the only one whose personal growth clearly spread to those around her.

Mio’s notebook was filled with very few words.
Mio had always been quiet, and even her notes were brief.

But each word carried weight.

What remained with me most from the recent entries was the self-analysis Mio gave after the performance.

If I was there, she could accept it.
If I wasn’t, she rejected it.

She said she was still at that stage.

More accurately than anyone else, Mio had put her own dependence into words.

After finishing the three notebooks, I lined all five across the desk.

All of them were recovering.
There was no doubt about that.

But I was at the center of that recovery.

—

Evening.

I closed the notebooks.

Outside the window, it was already dark.

I washed the cups and gave the snowdrops by the window a little extra water.

The flowers Shizuku had worried about were still holding their white petals.

The five girls’ recovery was real.
There was no doubt about that.

Shizuku had become able to use her voice.
Akane had become able to talk with her classmates.
Midori had learned how to rely on others.
Rin had become able to put her weakness into words.
Mio had become able, even if only for a moment, to receive her junior’s lines.

All of them were real changes.

But the roots of that recovery were wrapped around me.

A plant whose roots cling to only one tree will fall together when that tree falls.

These girls would become third-years next school year.
Shizuku would become a second-year.

And the spring after that, Midori and the others would graduate.

Once they graduated, I would no longer be there.

The relationship between a school counselor and students existed only within the school.
That was the rule.

If someone asked whether they could stand without me after graduation—

As things were now, they could not.

Akane carried the trauma of her mother’s disappearance.
If I vanished the moment she graduated, it would mean the same as a second disappearance.

Midori, if she no longer had someone to report to, might return to the armor of chasing perfection again.

When Rin faced her next problem, who would tell her she didn’t have to carry it alone?

Mio herself had said it.
If the foundation disappeared, she would begin rejecting things again.

As for Shizuku—
I didn’t want to think about it.

As a principle of counseling, moving from dependence to independence is an essential stage of recovery.

The theory was completely correct.

But I didn’t want to repeat the same mistake as when I made the schedule.

I no longer wanted to choose what was best overall, only to end up hurting someone in the process.

—

Before returning to the dorm, I opened the letter that had been sitting at the corner of my desk.

It was from Midori.

It had been placed in the dorm mailbox yesterday evening.

A high-quality envelope, my name written on it in neat, careful handwriting.

It seemed to be a winter greeting, sent in the same elegant style as the summer letter she had sent before.

The main text was beautifully composed.

Seasonal greetings.
Thanks for academy life.

A flawless letter, worthy of a young lady of the Hojouin family.

However, just like last time, there was one short postscript at the end.

—『P.S. It was an 82-point year-end.』

I reread that single line several times.

Midori reporting that her year-end was eighty-two points did not mean she had gotten closer to one hundred.

If anything, it meant the opposite.

It was the number that came from learning to accept herself even when she wasn’t perfect.

Nine months ago, Midori would never have written something like this.

Silently, I placed the letter into the drawer.

—

My phone rang.

This time, it was Rin.

“Hello?”

“Sensei! You doing good!?”

Rin’s voice was full of energy.

She was at her family home, and in the background I could hear a television and a dog barking.

“I’m doing fine. How about you, Rin-san?”

“I’m great too! Been playing nonstop with the dog back home. This guy’s super clingy—when I came back, he was wagging his tail so hard it looked like it might fall off.”

“You had a dog?”

“Golden Retriever. We’ve had him since before I started high school. Saw him again after a while, and he’s gained weight.”

It was the first time I had heard Rin talk about her family home.

“Sounds like you’re having fun.”

“I am. —Ah, Sensei. Are you actually resting during winter break? You’re not bottling everything up again, are you?”

“…That one hurts to hear.”

“Good. I called to make it hurt.”

Rin laughed on the other end of the phone.

That laughter filled the room, and I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.

“Ah, also—I’ve been thinking about something during winter break. I want to talk to you about it in the third term.”

“What kind of thing?”

“About the club. Next year, my turn as captain ends, and I’ll be handing things over to the juniors. I wanted to ask your advice about how to pass it on.”

Rin—was thinking about next year.

She was already preparing for what the team would look like after she graduated.

For a moment, I couldn’t answer.

Rin had already started moving with the future in mind—the future where she would no longer be there.

She was looking farther ahead than I was.

“That’s fine. Let’s talk in the third term.”

“Thank you! Then have a Happy New Year!”

The call ended.

—

Night.

After closing the counseling room, I checked the mailbox on the way back to the dorm.

Inside was one small folded note.

I took it out and opened it.

From the handwriting alone, I knew immediately it was Mio’s.

『New Year’s is rehearsal. I’ll be at the hall every day until the 20th. —That is all.』

It looked like a report.
It looked like a schedule.

But really, it was simply a note meant to leave behind the fact that she had contacted me.

Mio had said before that she had no way to reach me.
So she must have come to create one herself.

All the way to the dorm mailbox, in the cold.

During just these few days of winter break, all five girls had reconnected with me in one way or another.

Akane by phone.
Shizuku in person.
Midori by letter.
Rin by phone.
Mio by note.

The methods were all different.

But the connections were real.

—

Back in my dorm room, I placed a new notebook on the desk.

Separate from the records of the five girls.

This one was for myself.

Nothing was written on the cover yet.

I picked up a pen and wrote only one line.

『So that these girls can stand on their own feet even after graduation—what can I do now for that?』

After writing it, I stayed still for a long time, pen still in my hand.

Rin was already thinking about handing things over next year.
Midori had learned to give herself scores other than perfect.
Akane had delivered lunch to Shizuku.
Shizuku had turned her voice into sound all the way to the end.
Mio had informed me of her schedule through a note.

The five girls were moving forward.

The one standing still—was probably me.

Even while acknowledging that their recovery was real, somewhere in my heart I kept adding one condition: But only if I’m here.

That was nothing more than proof that I was the one unable to let go of this relationship.

At the same moment Rin was thinking about next year’s handover, I was thinking: What will happen to these girls when I’m gone?

No matter how I looked at it, the order of those thoughts was backwards.

What I should be thinking about was this: Before I’m gone, what do they need in order to stand on their own?

And for that to happen, I would have to share one obvious truth with them someday—that I would eventually no longer be at this school.

How would they react if I told them?

Shizuku’s hands might tremble.
In Akane’s eyes, the morning her mother disappeared might return again.
Midori might start chasing perfection once more.
Rin’s smiling mask might come back.
Mio might begin rejecting everything again.

It was frightening.
Plainly, honestly frightening.

And it wasn’t only their reactions that scared me.

I was afraid of letting go myself.

Afraid of releasing everything built over these nine months—
The nine drawings on the wall,
The stack of memos in the drawer,
The list of bento preferences.

The counselor in me wrote: From dependence to independence.

The human in me didn’t want to be separated from these girls.

Those two selves pushed against each other inside my chest.

I couldn’t let Akane say it to me again: “Sensei, your ‘properly’ is too slow.”

I gripped the pen again and added a second line to the notebook.

『By the opening ceremony of the third term, I will have my answer.』

It wasn’t strong enough to be called determination.

Even so, I made myself one promise—

I would stop postponing it, only to postpone it again.

During these two weeks of winter break, while receiving the traces the five girls left behind, I would search for my own answer.

Outside the window, the December night wind was blowing.

Most of the lights in the academy buildings visible from the dorm had already gone dark.

That room was only half-asleep during winter break.

It would wake only on the days I opened it.

This coming Friday, Shizuku had said she would come.

Before then, I should begin writing the third line in the notebook.