I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me

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Chapter 49: “New Year’s Day Kitchen—The Day I Chose My Answer”

January 1st. New Year’s Day.

The sky visible from the dorm window was clear and bright.
The winter sunlight looked pure and white, letting me see farther than usual.

There was a kind of silence unique to the New Year.
No bicycles passing by.
No delivery bikes either.

I was in the kitchen, making New Year’s bentos.

Datemaki, black beans, dashimaki tamago, teriyaki chicken, red-and-white namasu, chikuzenni.

It wasn’t a full traditional osechi meal, but I had started preparing since yesterday to bring out a proper New Year’s feel within what could fit into a bento.

The scent of kombu and bonito flakes filled the small kitchen.

It was to keep my promise with Akane.

I was making three portions.
One for Akane.
One for Shizuku.
And one for myself.

I had already told both of them yesterday, I’ll come to the dorm lounge at noon tomorrow.

For Shizuku, I had gone all the way to the shared dorm space to hand her the memo directly.

On a day when Akane and Shizuku would be spending New Year’s alone, I at least wanted to bring them a warm meal.

While cooking, memories of New Year’s in my previous life suddenly came back.

Back then, I always spent New Year’s alone.

My workplace didn’t fully close even during the holidays, and I didn’t have the energy to go back home.

A store-bought kagami mochi.
Instant ozoni.

Even if I turned on the TV, I had no interest in watching it.

In the end, I would always spend the New Year rereading patient files.

As I carefully made sure not to burn the teriyaki chicken, I thought about the difference between then and now.

In my previous life, even when I reread my clients’ files, there was always a thought that came first somewhere in my mind:

—I have to be the one who works harder.
—This person can only be saved by me.
—I’m the only one who can save them.

That belief was what kept me going.

And the more I believed it, the less I could see my own limits.

When I reread the five notebooks spread out on my desk in this life, I found the same presence hidden in my own writing.

Around the time after summer, the tone of the records had started to change.

From objective observation—to a record of the time we spent together.

That itself wasn’t a bad thing.

But underneath it, the same thought as before had begun to grow:

These girls can only…

The same thinking as in my previous life.

As I removed the datemaki from the bamboo mat, I admitted it.

And once I admitted it, I had to decide what to do next.

—

A little before noon, I brought three bentos to the lounge.

Akane was already there.

Instead of her usual jersey, she was wearing a knit sweater and jeans, her hair tied back.
Maybe she was a little conscious of it being New Year’s.

When our eyes met, she awkwardly looked away.

“…Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year. Let’s take care of each other this year too.”

“Shut up. Don’t get all formal.”

Akane dropped into a chair at the edge of the table.

When I handed her the bento box, she opened the lid—and her eyes widened slightly.

“…What is this? This is actually New Year’s food.”

“I made it properly for New Year’s.”

“Sensei, you seriously have househusband talent.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I’m not complimenting you.”

The usual exchange.

Even across the New Year, Akane hadn’t changed.

And somehow, that made me a little happy.

Shizuku came down the stairs about five minutes later.

Instead of her navy coat, today she wore a light cream-colored knit dress.
She was dressed a little more carefully than usual, and even her bangs were slightly neater.

When our eyes met, she gave a deep bow.

“Shizuku-chan, Happy New Year.”

Shizuku nodded and held out her usual memo pad.

『Happy New Year. I look forward to your continued guidance this year.』

A polite sentence.
A proper New Year’s greeting.

Thinking about it, the fact that Shizuku could now write something like this so naturally was also a kind of progress.

I handed her the bento box.

She opened the lid, looked at the contents—then looked up at me.

The eyes behind her bangs had a faint shine to them.

She quickly wrote on her memo pad.

『Amazing. It looks like a real osechi meal.』

“It can’t compete with the real thing, but I wanted to at least capture the feeling.”

The three of us sat around the lounge table.

Me, Akane, and Shizuku.

On New Year’s Day, sharing a New Year’s meal with two students.

It was a scene you wouldn’t find in any counseling textbook.

Akane put a piece of datemaki in her mouth, chewed for a moment, then muttered quietly.

“…My grandma used to make stuff like this.”

I stopped my chopsticks.

It had been a while since Akane brought up her family on her own.

And this time, her tone was calm.

“My grandma—she liked her datemaki sweet. Every year, she’d dump in a ton of sugar. Yours is just the right level of sweetness.”

“I see.”

“…This New Year, she’s alone in a care facility. Even if I go visit, she only remembers me halfway.”

Akane didn’t continue.
Maybe she couldn’t.

Shizuku held out her memo pad.
Toward Akane.

『Hinomiya-san’s grandmother must have made very delicious New Year’s food as well.』

Akane glanced at Shizuku for just a moment, then lowered her gaze back to her hands.

“…Yeah. At least when it came to cooking, she was good.”

A short reply.

But it was an answer to Shizuku.

Another thin thread quietly formed between the two of them.

During the meal, the conversation came and went.

But the silence didn’t feel uncomfortable.

Each of us moved our chopsticks, drank tea, and sometimes looked out at the sky through the window.

The ticking of the lounge clock felt louder than usual.

—

After the meal, Shizuku stood up first.

『Ren-sensei. Hinomiya-san. Thank you for the meal. The bento was truly wonderful.』

“Thank you for coming.”

Shizuku added one more line to her note.

—『I will remember today for a long time.』

Leaving that behind, she went up the stairs.

The hem of her knit dress swayed gently as she disappeared.

The lounge was left with just me and Akane.

Akane closed her bento box, placed it on her lap, and stayed silent for a while.

I held my teacup with both hands and looked out the window.

“…Sensei.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been thinking about something during winter break, haven’t you?”

I was a little surprised.

“You can tell?”

“Of course I can. You said before you brought those notebooks back to the dorm. Been wondering what you’re thinking about during New Year’s.”

Akane stared at the bento box on her lap.

“Is it something you can even tell me?”

After hesitating a little, I answered.

“…It’s still hard to put into words. It’s there in my head, but I can’t shape it properly yet.”

“Hm.”

Akane didn’t press further.

She just left one last thing before standing up.

“Sensei. When you’re gonna say something to us, say it properly. Don’t go the long way around. That’s all.”

“…I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And your timing’s slow sometimes. Move sooner.”

That hit exactly where it hurt.

While I couldn’t respond, Akane picked up her bento box and stood.

“Thanks for the food. —It was good.”

With that, Akane left the lounge as well.

—

I returned to my dorm room.

I sat by the window and opened the notebook on my desk—the one meant for myself.

The one where I had written just a single line on the first day of winter break.

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

Below that, I had written the second line: I will have my answer by the opening ceremony.

Back then, I had stopped at the stage of simply forming the question.
Even though I was ready to search for an answer, I still hadn’t touched the answer itself.

Now, Akane’s words overlapped with the notebook in front of me.

—Say it properly. Don’t go the long way around. Move sooner.

Akane didn’t know exactly what I was thinking.
But she had already seen through the fact that I was holding onto something—and trying to postpone it, like I always did.

I picked up the pen.

Before writing the third line, I looked out the window.

The New Year’s afternoon sky was still clear, and I could see the outline of distant mountains sharply.

Shizuku.
Akane.
Midori.
Rin.
Mio.

Each of them was spending their New Year in their own way.

Two of them had received my bento.
Two were spending time with their families.
One was continuing rehearsals at the hall.

If any one of the five started to falter, I would rush to them.
That was something I had always taken for granted.

But—was it really something that should be taken for granted?

I was a finite being.

If I got sick, I had to rest.
That one day of fever in December made that painfully clear.

I still didn’t know the full picture of how the five of them spent that day without me.
Even without knowing, they had still made it through.

Each in their own way, they got through a day without me.

I had been afraid of that day as something I couldn’t see.
But if I looked at it differently—

It was also the first day the five of them lived without me.

I moved my pen.

『These girls will eventually graduate. If they cannot stand on their own after I’m gone, they will break once they enter society.』

After writing it, I stared at my own handwriting.

It was a truth I had been avoiding this whole time.

Midori, Rin, Mio, and Akane were second-years.
Next year, they would become third-years.

And the spring after that, they would graduate.

Shizuku would follow the same path one year later.

Beyond that point, I would physically leave their lives.

Before the day that connection ended, they had to gain support systems beyond me.

If they entered society still dependent on me, they would break.

I knew exactly what happened to people who broke.

In my previous life, I had worked myself to death.

I knew how things fell apart—
Work,
Relationships,
Even your own body.

Everything slowly collapsed, until there was nowhere left to return to.

I wouldn’t let that happen.

And for that—
I had to change what I was doing now.

I turned the page.

On a fresh sheet, I began writing the approach I would follow starting today.

First.

I wouldn’t let the counseling room remain their only place of refuge.

Little by little, I would help them build connections with other places and other people.

For Shizuku, time with the library committee girl.
For Akane, her classmate Sasaki-san, and if she wanted, some connection with Haruto.
For Midori, the habit of entrusting things to her student council juniors.
For Rin, deeper conversations with her teammates.
For Mio, passing things on to the younger members of the drama club.

Next.

I would gradually step back from my own position.

Not cutting things off completely, but pulling back where I could.

I wouldn’t suddenly reduce how often they came to the room.
I wouldn’t repeat the same mistake as with the schedule.

Instead, I would shift to a way of being involved that let them build the feeling: We’ll be okay, even without him.

And most importantly—

I would clearly tell all five of them this plan.

No going around in circles.

Just like Akane said, I would put it into proper words and place it in front of them.

Not to scare them.
But to think about it together.

These girls were no longer just people who needed to be protected.

They were already able to speak about their own recovery in their own words.

If that was the case—then they should be able to think about their own independence too.

I set the pen down.

As I looked at the finished page, I could feel both fear and relief sitting together in my chest.

The fear was easy to understand.

I had no idea how the five of them would react.

Some might accept it.
Some might waver.

I remembered Shizuku’s handwriting from when she was angry—those overly neat, almost too-perfect characters.

I might see that expression again.

The sense of relief was a little more complicated.

Relief that I had finally found my own answer to a question I had kept putting off.

Relief that I was beginning to reach an answer I had never been able to find in my previous life.

It wasn’t a perfect answer.

If anything, it would probably lead to constant trial and error from here on.

But just facing the question itself—that was my first step.

—

Night.

I turned off the lights and lay down on the bed.

Staring at the ceiling, I began to piece together the first day of the third term in my head.

Should I tell all five of them at once?
Or speak to them one by one?

If all at once, where—and at what timing?
If one by one, who should I start with?

Telling them all at once would be too abrupt.

Each of them was in a different place.
Each would take it differently.

It made more sense to talk to them individually.

First—

Midori, I thought.

She was the one who could put her recovery into words the best.
She would be able to understand the logic of moving from dependence to independence.

After seeing her reaction, I could adjust how to speak to the others.

Next would be Rin.

She had already started thinking about passing things on to her juniors.
The topic of independence should connect naturally for her.

Mio—

Mio understood her own dependence more clearly than anyone else.
If I spoke to her directly, she would accept it in her own way.

Akane—

I would need to be careful with her.

Without triggering her fear of being left alone again.
But also without going around in circles.

I would speak to her by returning her own words back to her—Say it properly.

And last—

Shizuku.

When I thought about her, something in my chest tightened just a little.

Right now, I still didn’t have an answer for how to tell her.

A girl who had only just begun to find her voice—
How was I supposed to put into words that I would one day be gone, in a way that would truly reach her?

Even so—

I had to tell her.

Before the opening ceremony of the third term, I would properly think through how to tell Shizuku too.

That was the task left for me during winter break.

I closed my eyes.

In my previous life, I collapsed from carrying my work alone.
In this life, I nearly collapsed from trying to carry all five of them by myself.

I had almost repeated the same pattern again.

And only now had I finally realized it.

I was able to notice it because, over these nine months, both the five girls—and I myself—had kept changing.

I wasn’t letting go of these girls.

What I was letting go of—was the belief that I had to carry everything alone.

Sleepiness crept in.