Chapter 39: Sharing a Bed

I’m scared to look at my phone. Not because I have a digital allergy or anything like that. It’s a yandere allergy—something far more common.

I’m terrified to check the call logs and messages. I mean, I promised those girls I’d let them stay over tonight. We even agreed to hang out until tomorrow night.

And now, I’ve ditched them to stay over at another girl’s house. Worse still, I might have said—no, I definitely said—something unnecessary during a phone call with my mom.

“It’s hurtful, you know.”

Fresh from the bath, Kaede muttered, warmth radiating from her as she tried to exude a mature charm. Too bad her cutesy pajamas ruined it completely. Teddy bears? Seriously?

“What is?”

I’m the one who’s going to be hurt here. When I go back, I’ll definitely be in for it. This time, baby play or a few hickeys won’t cut it. The fact that I can call those “minor” at this point is already terrifying.

“You’re more fixated on that piece of wood than on me.”

With a glare sharp enough to seemingly destroy my phone, Kaede stared it down. I wanted to forget about it too. But at some point, I’d have to check it. I needed to apologize—fast. But if I made the call now, Kaede might start making fake moaning sounds. Even if they were blatantly fake, that would be more than enough to ignite those girls’ rage.

“It’s not my fault the thing won’t stop vibrating.”

The number of notifications in my app is probably maxed out. There’s definitely some kind of text wall waiting for me. What if it ends with something like, “That’s it. I’m coming over.”? Probably with a knife emoji at the end.

“Huh? Are you using a vibrator or something?”

“That’s not it, you idiot!”

Isn’t the context obvious?! Even if I were, why the hell would I tell you?!

Alright, I’ve decided. I’ll go home now. If I leave right away, I can avoid anyone getting killed. Sure, there’s a chance I’ll be wrung dry until morning, but at least I’ll survive. I feel bad for borrowing her clothes, but I have to leave.

“You yelled… You called me an idiot…”

Uh-oh.

“H-Hey?”

“What? Do you need the bathroom?”

“No, I think I’ll just sleep on the flo—”

“…Sniff.”

“O-Okay! This is fine! This spot is perfect!”

“Quiet down. It’s nighttime.”

Whoever said women’s tears are a weapon wasn’t exaggerating.

They’re not just weapons—they’re nuclear warheads. As long as a woman has functioning tear ducts, she’s effectively a nuclear state. I know I shouldn’t joke about this, given the non-nuclear principles, but honestly, nukes are the ultimate diplomatic tool.

“Look, the bed’s small. Scoot closer.”

If it’s that small, just let me sleep on the floor. Sure, I’d wake up with aches, but I wouldn’t mind. Either way, sleeping like this means I’ll wake up stiff and sore.

“Hey, girls don’t like having their hair touched, right?”

“Of course not. It messes up our hairstyles. Even with the same gender, only really close friends would allow it.”

So basically, you don’t want anyone touching your hair, right? You don’t have many same-gender friends anyway. Then what’s this situation?

“Why are you letting me pet your hair? Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me. Do I look cheap to you?”

That doesn’t make sense. Let’s apply some logic here…

I know exactly what would happen if I said, “Then I’ll stop petting you.” Her finger would be on the launch button for those nuclear tears.

So what should I say?

“I see. Thanks for letting me pet your hair.”

It’s second nature by now, dealing with people like her.

“…Cry and thank me.”

Shouldn’t you be the one crying? You’re way too soft.

And when are you going to lift the curse? I reflected on the entire day in my head, and it’s been nothing but indecent. If I told someone about what I experienced today, they’d dismiss it as the delusions of a virgin.

“Hey, Sakamoto.”

“Yeah?”

She doesn’t seem remotely close to falling asleep. My hand is starting to ache, but if I stop stroking her head, I know she’ll spiral. I have no choice but to keep going. Getting muscle pain from petting a girl’s head might be a badge of honor for a guy, but it’s still exhausting.

“Sakamoto, what do you like about me?”

When did I ever express anything like that? Sure, I might’ve said something to placate her, but that doesn’t mean I actually like her. No, this isn’t tsundere denial.

“Well… as a person, I’d say it’s your approachability.”

I knew outright denying any affection would send her spiraling, so I casually emphasized it was “like,” not “love.”

“You mean because I’m a socially inept misfit who can’t even fake being polite?”

I doubt a student can be labeled a “social misfit,” but I guess that’s one way to see it. Having no pretense can be interpreted as being unpolished. It’s a warped societal standard that showing your true self makes you incompatible. How can anyone enjoy constant scheming and second-guessing?

“If you frame things negatively, it’s endless. Strengths and weaknesses are two sides of the same coin. It’s all about perspective.”

The words spilled out without much thought, but they sounded pretty profound. Debate skills, for example—true experts can argue either side convincingly.

“People always tell me I’m selfish.”

They definitely do. You’re quick to use tears as a weapon. No, it’s more like emotional blackmail.

“Maybe, but when things are truly dire, you hold back, don’t you? That shows you have self-control, which is what matters.”

“But girls don’t like me. They act all superior, like I’m the problem…”

That feels like there’s more to it, but I can’t say anything for sure since I don’t know how she usually behaves.

“Look on the bright side. They say girls are naturally jealous, right? Let’s just chalk it up to them being envious because you’re cute.”

Not that cuteness explains everything, but it’s probably a factor.

“There are plenty of cute girls who have tons of friends, you know?”

I don’t doubt that.

“Yeah, but compared to most girls, you’re a step above, Shiro.”

I don’t have survey data to back that up, and my personal bias might be showing, but you’re likely above average. If strangers saw your yearbook and ranked the photos, you’d probably make the top spots. If people who knew you ranked them, though, you’d likely drop to the bottom.

“No one’s ever said that to me.”

Maybe that’s just because you haven’t had anyone willing to say it? Girls often call each other cute, but if you don’t have friends, that exchange doesn’t happen.

“If you’re okay with me saying it, I’ll tell you as much as you want, so…”

So… let’s just go to sleep, yeah? My body’s wrecked from all the physical exhaustion—cleaning floors, cold-water training, saunas. Not to mention, my mind is at its limit. Just thinking about how to face Kaede and the others makes my stomach churn.

“You’re rushing things!”

What’s with the sudden outburst? Keep your voice down—it’s the middle of the night.

“You’re already thinking that way before the curse is lifted? I know you like me, but still… I’m a little happy. Just a little, though. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

Why does it feel like she thinks I’m hitting on her? Did she twist my words into some kind of, “I’ll keep complimenting you forever, so marry me” scenario?

Isn’t she still under the curse’s influence? Her affection level is clearly off the charts.

Maybe the constant exposure to yandere behavior is warping my perspective, but letting a guy you just met stay over at your house isn’t normal. Neither is clinging to him in a steamy bathroom.

Somehow, “yandere equals sutra recital” has become an established idea in my head, but there’s no guarantee that’s the universal standard.

“Hey, when’s the curse going to be lifted? What do I even need to do? How does it—”

“Why are you ruining the mood? Don’t you get it? If you’re a man, you should make your move here and now. You should be sweet-talking me until morning.”

Is she seriously turning into a yandere? I almost missed the signs because of her clingy, needy behavior, but the atmosphere reeks of someone on the verge of chanting the yandere sutra.