My Girlfriend Wanted an Open Relationship, So I Broke Up with Her and Found a Sweet Yandere - Chapter 29

The Student Affairs building always felt too quiet.

Not peaceful quiet — the kind where every footstep echoes louder than it should.

I sat outside the Scholarship Section office, staring at the frosted glass. My name was printed neatly on the appointment sheet clipped beside the door:

Takahashi Yuuta – 10:30 AM – Scholarship Review

My hands were folded, but they didn’t feel steady. I kept pressing my thumb against the edge of my phone like I was checking if it was still there.

“Takahashi-kun?”

I stood immediately.

A woman in her early forties stood at the doorway. Short hair, rimless glasses, composed expression. The kind of calm that comes from delivering bad news often enough that it becomes routine.

“I’m Sato,” she said with a slight bow. “Sato Mariko. Please, come in.”

“Sato-san,” I replied automatically, bowing back.

Her office was precise. Files stacked evenly. Certificates framed. A small ceramic teapot placed deliberately between two chairs.

She gestured for me to sit.

I did.

She opened a folder with my name printed on the tab.

“Takahashi-kun,” she began gently, “I assume you have read the email.”

“Yes.” My voice sounded distant.

She nodded.

“I will explain clearly. Your scholarship was not a university-funded grant. It was a privately sponsored full-tuition program provided by the Kisaragi Educational Foundation.”

Kisaragi.

The name rang faintly. Academic excellence. Leadership development. A foundation that “invests in future contributors to society.”

“You were selected based on your entrance examination ranking and a formal recommendation from your high school advisor,” she continued. “The foundation covered full annual tuition — ¥1,280,000 per academic year.”

The number landed harder when spoken aloud.

1.28 million yen.

“They also provided a small academic stipend of ¥100,000 per semester for materials.”

I hadn’t thought about that part in months.

“Your academic performance remains above required standards,” she added. “Your GPA is currently 3.6. There is no issue regarding merit.”

Then why?

She adjusted her glasses.

“The Kisaragi Foundation has undergone financial restructuring this quarter. Due to internal policy changes and portfolio consolidation, they have reduced the number of continuing recipients.”

Reduced.

“Your sponsorship has been discontinued effective next academic year.”

I stared at her.

“So this year is covered?” I asked carefully.

“Yes. Your tuition for the current academic year has already been paid in full. There will be no additional charge for this year.”

A thin thread of relief surfaced.

“But beginning next academic year,” she continued evenly, “you will be responsible for the full tuition amount of ¥1,280,000 unless alternative funding is secured.”

There it was.

Clean. Exact. Unavoidable.

“I was told it would continue as long as I maintained my grades,” I said.

“That was the original condition,” she acknowledged. “However, private sponsors retain discretion. The university does not have authority over their funding decisions.”

“So it’s just… gone.”

She didn’t correct me.

My mind started calculating automatically.

¥1,280,000 per year.

That’s roughly ¥106,000 per month.

Rent: ¥62,000.

Utilities: ¥8,000–10,000.

Food: ¥25,000 if I’m careful.

Transport: ¥8,000.

Even working part-time at ¥1,100 per hour, 20 hours a week — around ¥88,000 a month before taxes.

It wouldn’t cover tuition and living expenses without destroying everything else.

“I chose this university because of that scholarship,” I said quietly. “Without it, I wouldn’t have enrolled.”

Sato-san didn’t interrupt.

“This institution’s tuition is significantly higher than national universities,” she said carefully. “That is why we partner with private sponsors.”

I exhaled slowly.

“Are there alternatives?”

“There are merit-based tuition reductions and need-based assistance programs,” she replied. “At most, you may qualify for up to 30% reduction upon review.”

Thirty percent of ¥1,280,000 is ¥384,000.

That still leaves ¥896,000.

Almost nine hundred thousand yen a year.

“We cannot replace a full private sponsorship,” she said gently. “I apologize.”

Ability didn’t pay invoices.

“What happens if I can’t pay?” I asked.

“If tuition remains unpaid past the deadline, enrollment suspension procedures begin,” she said. “Ultimately, withdrawal.”

Withdrawal.

Another small word that carried a massive weight.

“So I have less than a year.”

“Yes,” she said. “I strongly recommend applying for external scholarships immediately. I can provide documentation and recommendation letters.”

I looked down at the printed breakdown she slid toward me.

The numbers didn’t blink. Didn’t negotiate.

They just existed.

“You were selected because of ability,” she added. “That has not changed.”

Maybe.

But ability didn’t matter if I couldn’t afford to stay.

“I understand,” I said automatically.

That’s what you’re supposed to say.

Sato-san watched me carefully.

“If you require further consultation, please schedule another appointment. Do not try to resolve this alone.”

I stood and bowed.

“Thank you for your time, Sato-san.”

She returned the bow.

The hallway outside the Scholarship Section felt louder than before.

Or maybe I was just hearing it differently.

Students passed me. Laughter. Footsteps. Snippets of conversation about assignments, club meetings, weekend plans.

None of it stuck.

I walked to my next class on autopilot.

Sat down.

Opened my notebook.

The professor started talking.

Words filled the room — theory, examples, diagrams projected neatly on the screen.

They hit me and bounced off.

I copied sentences without processing them. My pen moved, but my mind didn’t follow. It felt like watching someone else attend class using my body.

At some point, I realized I hadn’t heard a single full explanation in ten minutes.

I didn’t bother correcting it.

I glanced toward the seat near me.

Empty.

Iroha-san had bunked again today.

The next class passed the same way.

Then the next.

No one spoke to me. I didn’t speak to anyone. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… default.

By the time the last lecture ended, the campus had already started thinning out. The late afternoon light stretched long shadows across the courtyard.

I packed slowly.

There was nothing urgent waiting for me.

I stepped outside, letting the cool air hit my face. It helped a little. Grounded me enough to move.

The walk toward the station was familiar. Mechanical. My body knew the route even if my mind was somewhere else entirely.

I was halfway down the main road when a car slowed beside me.

I didn’t look at first.

Then it kept pace.

I turned.

It was her car.

The window rolled down.

Hayami-sensei leaned slightly toward the open space, one hand resting on the steering wheel.

“Yuuta,” she called gently.

I blinked, surprised. “Sensei?”

“Hop in,” she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I hesitated.

The train station was only five minutes away.

She noticed.

“I was nearby,” she added calmly. “And you look like you’ve had a long day.”

I got inside.

[A/N: This one’s longer so no complains in that regard’s I hope! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)!!

Btw next a trick question as this was a bit slow paced chapter but necessary – how many days has it been since the initial chapter/valentine’s??

(⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧]