I Reincarnated as the Counselor NPC in a Dating Sim, and Now Every Heroine I Treat Becomes Obsessed with Me - Chapter 50: “Afternoon of the Opening Ceremony—The One Proposal I Gave to the Five Girls”

Chapter 50: “Afternoon of the Opening Ceremony—The One Proposal I Gave to the Five Girls”

January 8th. Opening ceremony of the third term.

When I stood in front of the school gate that morning, the campus felt a little different after two weeks.

The buildings themselves hadn’t changed.
At most, the fallen leaves from winter break had been cleared away.

But I had changed before coming back to this place.

That was probably why everything looked slightly different to me.

When I entered the staff room, Tsubaki-sensei handed me a teacup.

“Asagiri-sensei, Happy New Year. Did you have a pleasant holiday?”

“Happy New Year. It was a calm holiday.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.”

Tsubaki-sensei looked at my face for a moment, then gave a gentle smile.

“You look better than you did before the holidays.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. It’s the face of someone who has made a decision.”

I was a little surprised, then found myself smiling.

Tsubaki-sensei’s sharp eye had helped me many times.
She didn’t pry—but she saw everything.

“…Yes. There’s something I’ve decided.”

“I see. In that case, I won’t say anything more. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know anytime.”

With that, Tsubaki-sensei returned to the infirmary.

—

The gymnasium during the opening ceremony.

In the line for Class 2-3 stood Midori, Akane, Rin, and Mio.
In the first-year line stood Shizuku.

The five girls I first saw here in April—and the five standing here now, nine months later—felt like completely different people.

The way they stood.
Where they placed their gaze.
The distance between them and the students beside them.

All of them had slowly regained their own shape over these nine months.

And to help that shape grow further—today, I would speak to them.

While listening to the principal’s long speech, I went over my words for the five of them once more in my head.

During winter break, I had rewritten those notes again and again.
Now, everything was organized.

I had already decided the order.

Start with Midori.
Then Rin.
Mio.
Akane.
And finally, Shizuku.

I didn’t know if I could speak to all of them in one day, but I would talk to as many as I could.

The ceremony ended, and the students began to disperse.

I returned to the counseling room and prepared tea.

Boiling water.
Measuring tea leaves.
Lining up six cups.

The cold air left behind during winter break slowly warmed along with the heater.

—

The first to arrive, just as planned, was Midori.

Right after school.

Three knocks.
Evenly spaced.

“Excuse me, Asagiri-sensei.”

“Welcome, Midori-san. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year. I look forward to your guidance this year as well.”

Midori sat down.

I served tea.

She held the cup with both hands and took a sip.

“Midori-san. There’s something I’d like to talk about today.”

Midori’s brows moved slightly.

“…Yes.”

“It’s not anything heavy. I just wanted to tell you something at the start of the new term.”

I took a breath, then placed the words I had prepared.

“You’ve changed a lot over these nine months, Midori-san. You learned that you don’t have to be perfect. You’ve become able to rely on others. You’ve started to put names to your own feelings. All of that is something you earned yourself.”

“…It is also thanks to you, Asagiri-sensei.”

“Thank you. But what I want to talk about now is what comes next.”

Midori’s finger traced the rim of her cup.

It was the kind of movement that showed she was already beginning to sense something.

“You’ll be a third-year next year. And the spring after that, you’ll graduate. Once you graduate, I’ll still be part of the school, and you’ll be outside of it. The time we can meet will decrease, and eventually, we won’t meet at all. That’s the rule for the relationship between a counselor and a student.”

Midori quietly looked down at her tea.

“Before that happens, I want you to be able to stand on your own, even without me. Right now, the place where you feel safe is too centered here. I’m afraid that once I’m gone, you might return to that armor of perfection again.”

“…Does that mean I’m depending on you too much?”

“I don’t want to use the word dependence. There’s nothing wrong with you coming here. The issue is that there are still too few places outside of here where you can feel safe.”

I took a sip of tea, then continued.

“So from now on, little by little, I want us to think together about how you can find a sense of safety in places and people other than me. I’m not planning to suddenly reduce how often you come here. But instead of ‘When something happens, go to Sensei first,’ I want to shift it to ‘When something happens, think for yourself first—and if it’s still difficult, then come to Sensei.’ I think your interactions with your student council juniors can become one of those places too.”

Midori kept her gaze on her tea for a long time.

Then, slowly, she raised her head.

“Asagiri-sensei.”

“Yeah.”

“What you just said… is something I’ve also been thinking about, somewhere inside me, since before the cultural festival.”

I was a little surprised.

“You’ve been thinking about it?”

“Yes. After I began entrusting work to my juniors, I slowly learned what it means to be someone others rely on. At the same time, I started to feel that I couldn’t continue being someone who only relies on others. I just didn’t have the courage to put it into words.”

Midori placed her cup down and straightened her posture.

Not her usual perfect smile—but something softer, more relaxed.

“I accept what you said, Sensei. Little by little, I want to increase the places where I can stand on my own.”

“Thank you. Let’s think it through together.”

“Yes. —However, I have one request.”

“Go ahead.”

“Please don’t disappear suddenly. Take it slowly. If it’s at that pace, I can keep up.”

There was a calmness in Midori’s voice I had never heard before.

Not determination.
Not resignation.

It was the voice of someone who could measure their own pace.

“I promise.”

Midori nodded.

Even without her binder in hand, she gave a proper bow like a student council president, then left the counseling room.

—

Right after she left, energetic footsteps came from the hallway.

“Sensei! Happy New Year!”

Rin burst in.

Her expression was calmer than after training camp.
You could tell from her face that she had been spending time back home with her dog.

“Rin-san. Happy New Year.”

“Sensei, did you actually get to rest during the holidays?”

“I did. How about you?”

“I totally refreshed! And—about that thing I said I wanted to talk to you about, is now okay?”

“Of course. But before that, can I tell you something first?”

“Hm?”

I started the same way as I had with Midori.

About graduation.

About independence.
About gradually changing how often they came here.

Rin listened with her arms crossed, completely serious.

At some point, her usual smile faded, and she was just Rin Kagurazaka, listening.

When I finished, Rin looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then let out a small breath.

“Sensei. I was actually thinking of bringing that up to you myself.”

“You were?”

“Yeah. I was thinking about handing things over to my juniors during winter break, and then it hit me. Just like I’m passing things on to them, this is probably the time when you have to start passing things on to us too.”

Rin gave a wide grin.

“But I felt like if I said it myself, it’d be too lonely… so I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I’m glad you were the one who said it, Sensei.”

“…Lonely?”

“Yeah. If I said something like, ‘Sensei, it’s about time you let go of me,’ it feels like it would really happen. And… I still want to rely on you a little.”

That was very like Rin.

The calmness of someone thinking about passing things on—and the childlike part that still didn’t want to be let go—both existed in her at the same time.

“Rin-san. It’s not about letting go. It’s more like changing where the hand is.”

“Changing where the hand is?”

“If I’ve been supporting your back until now, then from here on, I’ll step back a little—and only reach out when it looks like you might fall. That’s the kind of distance I want to shift to.”

Rin thought for a moment, then nodded.

“I get it. That’s fine then. I do the same thing when I teach my juniors.”

“So you’re already putting it into practice.”

“Hehe. I’m copying you, Sensei.”

Rin shrugged and smiled.

Not her usual energetic grin—but a softer, more relaxed one.

“Sensei. Can I talk about the handover another day? My head’s kind of full from this today.”

“Anytime.”

“Alright, I’m off!”

Rin waved and left.

As her footsteps faded down the hallway, I quietly let out a breath while putting away the cups.

The first two had accepted it relatively calmly.

But the next three—would require more care.

—

Mio came about thirty minutes later.

The door opened without a knock, and she walked in straight from rehearsal.

Still wearing her coat, she sat down in her usual chair.

“Happy New Year, Mio-san.”

“…Yeah.”

Mio replied briefly and took the tea.

One sip.

A hint of fatigue from winter-break rehearsals showed around her eyes.

I decided not to drag out the introduction.

Roundabout approaches didn’t work with Mio.

“Mio-san. There’s something I want to tell you today.”

Mio lifted her gaze.
Her hands were still wrapped around the cup.

“From here on, I want to gradually change the distance in our relationship. I’m not limiting how often you come here. But I want to slowly shape things so that the state you talked about yourself takes a different form.”

Mio’s fingers stopped on the cup.

“…You mean, I become able to receive things on my own.”

“Yeah. Even without me there, you’ll be able to receive your juniors’ lines—and beyond that, other people’s words. For that, I want to gradually reduce how often I come to watch your rehearsals. I’m not stopping completely. Just little by little, so you can perform without placing me in the audience.”

Mio stared at her tea in silence for a while.

“…You’re thinking about after graduation too.”

It was a direct question.

“Yeah. I am.”

“After graduation, you disappear from our lives. I understand that’s the rule.”

Mio said it calmly.

“I knew it—and just pretended not to see it.”

“I was the same.”

Mio lifted her eyes for a brief moment, then lowered them again.

“…I’ll be honest. The state where I reject things when you’re not there—it was easier for me. As long as I knew there was a foundation, I only had to think about standing on top of it. Thinking about that foundation being removed… is still frightening.”

“It’s okay to be scared. I’m still scared too.”

“You’re scared as well?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid of letting go. But if I leave it like that out of fear, in the end, it’ll only cause you trouble, Mio-san.”

Mio stayed silent for a long time.

Then, just slightly, the corner of her mouth moved.

Not quite a smile—but closer to the expression of someone who had accepted something.

“…Alright. I’ll practice receiving.”

“Thank you.”

“But if I end up rejecting things on the days you’re not in the audience, don’t blame me. I’m still at that stage.”

“I won’t blame you. We’ll practice together.”

Mio stood up.

She properly put her coat back on, then turned once before reaching the door.

“Counselor. —You could have contacted me at least once during New Year’s.”

“I got your note. The one in the mailbox.”

“That doesn’t count as contact.”

“It does. You came all the way to my mailbox, Mio-san.”

Mio didn’t reply.

Instead, she gave a small nod and disappeared beyond the door.

—

I looked at the clock.

It was already past five-thirty.

It was about time for Akane to come.

I had to tell her today.

After that, how I would talk to Shizuku—
I still hadn’t fully decided.

The door opened.

No knock.

Akane.

“…Hey.”

“Happy New Year again, Akane.”

“That New Year’s bento… wasn’t bad.”

That was the first thing she said.

Her thoughts on the osechi-style bento box—finally spoken on the eighth day.

Akane sat in her usual chair.

When I handed her tea, she took it silently and drank.

“Sensei.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got something to say to me today, don’t you?”

For a moment, I froze.

“…How can you tell?”

“Of course I can. You’ve been off since this morning. When we passed each other in front of the staff room, your eyes were all over the place.”

Akane’s observation skills.

She had seen through me from the start today.

“Didn’t I tell you on New Year’s? Say it properly. Don’t go around in circles. Move sooner. —You’re planning to actually do that now, aren’t you?”

“…Yeah.”

“Then say it.”

I took a breath and faced her.

“Akane. From now on, little by little, I want to create some distance between us. That doesn’t mean suddenly stopping the lunches or refusing to see you. It means I want to gradually reduce how much you rely on me, so you can find a sense of safety in other places and with other people too.”

Akane listened in silence.

Her expression didn’t change.

“Once you graduate, you’ll leave the school. And when that happens, I won’t be able to stay by your side. That’s the rule here. So before that, I want to prepare things so you can stand on your own, even outside of school.”

Akane set her teacup down.

“…Since when have you been thinking about this?”

“All through winter break.”

“I see.”

A short reply.

No anger.
No sadness.

Just quiet acknowledgment.

Then Akane looked out the window.

The early evening of January had already begun to color the schoolyard.

“Sensei.”

“Yeah.”

“I remember the morning my mother disappeared.”

I stopped breathing for a moment.

“There wasn’t even a note. One day, she was just gone. Ever since then, I react really strongly to the idea of someone disappearing.”

“…I know.”

“You do. You know that. And even knowing that, you still chose to have this conversation, huh?”

Akane turned back toward me.

“The first thing I thought was, ‘Here we go again.’ For just a second, it felt the same as when my mother disappeared.”

I couldn’t say anything.

“But I realized it right after. What you’re talking about isn’t ‘disappearing.’ It’s preparing for when we graduate. You’re not vanishing without warning like my mother—you’re actually preparing, and you’re telling me properly.”

Akane narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Honestly, I didn’t want to hear it. I really didn’t. But—because you said it properly, I can listen without running away.”

“Akane…”

“Let me complain at least. I’m lonely, you know.”

“Yeah. Say whatever you want.”

Akane smiled a little.

It looked like she might cry—but she didn’t.

“Keep making the lunch boxes. Until we graduate.”

“I will.”

“The rooftop lunches. The ones in empty classrooms on rainy days. Keep all of them.”

“I will.”

“And after graduation—…I’ll think about that when it comes. Right now, I can’t.”

“Alright.”

Akane stood up.

She put on her coat, then turned back at the door.

“Sensei. You said it properly today. And it wasn’t late.”

That one line saved something inside me.

Akane said it wasn’t too late.

For someone who had always told me I was too late—this was the first time she had said otherwise.

“Thank you, Akane.”

“Don’t thank me. Just make the lunch properly tomorrow too.”

Akane left.

—

I was alone in the counseling room again.

The clock had passed six.

I had wanted to talk to Shizuku today as well, but she had said she had library committee duties right after the opening ceremony.

She might not come today.

As I put away the four cups, I went over my conversations with them in my head.

Midori had accepted it calmly.
Rin had accepted it with a smile, even while carrying a sense of loneliness.
Mio had admitted she was afraid, and still said she would practice.
Akane had told me it wasn’t too late.

All four of them—had accepted it in their own words, far better than I had imagined.

Every worst-case scenario I had pictured during winter break—none of them had happened.

Only Shizuku remained.

When I thought about her, that tight feeling in my chest still didn’t go away.

A girl who had only just begun to find her voice—what words, in what order, would reach her?

I had rewritten it again and again during winter break, but I still didn’t have a final answer.

After washing the cups, I gave water to the snowdrops by the window.

The flowers had survived through winter break without withering.

If Shizuku saw them, maybe it would ease her mind a little.

There was a knock on the door.

Two soft, careful knocks.

I slowly turned and walked toward it.

Shizuku was standing there.