Chapter 8: The Whisper Game Begins

The bookstore café smelled like coffee, dust, and the exact kind of emotional safety I needed after surviving Day One.

I kicked off my shoes and stepped inside, already loosening the collar of my uniform. My bag thumped quietly to the floor by the counter. The place looked the same as always—warm, quiet, lit by that perfect golden late-afternoon light that made everything feel like the last page of a cozy novel.

“Welcome back, Scholar of Romance,” my mom called from behind the counter. “How was school?”

I paused, then shrugged.

“...Wasn’t bad.”

Her hands stopped mid-wipe on a teacup. She looked up, surprised. “Wait, seriously? You’re not emotionally drained, socially panicked, or plotting your reclusive retirement in the mountains?”

“Not today.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What happened?”

“I got assigned a group.”

“And?”

“We talked about books. I didn’t die.”

She blinked, clearly waiting for more. I gave her nothing.

“...I’ll take it,” she said finally, and returned to her teacup.

Later that evening, after I restocked a few shelves and helped close up, I sat in my usual seat near the back window. The world outside had that soft, sleepy look like it was exhaling for the night.

I pulled out my book but didn’t open it right away.

It had been a weird day.

A good weird.

Which, for me, was suspicious.

Iida Minako was... persistent. But not in a bad way. More like a controlled wildfire—blazing through walls, but somehow warming the place up in the process.

Okabe Kaito had the energy of a golden retriever that had read one psychology article and thought he understood people. Loud. Charismatic. Not mean, just kind of dumb in a friendly way.

And Kashiwagi Ren... well, he barely spoke. But when he did, it felt like a chess move I hadn’t seen coming.

It wasn’t the group I would’ve chosen.

But it hadn’t been awful.

And that was... something.

The next morning, the train ride was uneventful. I read a few chapters, tuned out the world, and made it to class ten minutes early.

By minute three, I realized something was... off.

People were looking at me.

Not in the “you have something on your face” way. More like the “is that the guy?” way.

Minako strolled in right on cue, saw me, and immediately waved like we’d known each other since kindergarten.

“Morning, Book Guy.”

I nodded, already sliding into my seat and using my book as a shield.

Okabe appeared next, dropping into the chair behind me with the grace of a folding chair being thrown.

“I heard you dropped some literary wisdom yesterday,” he said, leaning forward like we were co-conspirators. “People are saying you’re, like, deep.”

“I’m really not.”

“Exactly what a deep person would say.”

I sighed.

Minako leaned over her desk and stage-whispered, “I might have mentioned that you read a ton of romance novels.”

I closed my book slowly.

“You what?”

“Relax! I said it was cool. And kinda rare. And that you made some great points about emotional sincerity and character motivation.”

Okabe nodded seriously. “She did. And now people think you’re a literary savant with a sensitive side.”

“That is... wildly inaccurate.”

Minako grinned. “Well, it’s too late now.”

Wonderful. I am now the mysterious love expert who once said something thoughtful during an icebreaker.
This is how reputations are born. And ruined.

Between first and second period, things got worse.

Someone I didn’t recognize—tiny, glasses, probably in the art club—approached my desk while I was putting away my notes.

“Um... sorry, are you Natsume-kun?”

“...Yes?”

“I heard you really like romance books. Do you have any recommendations?”

Panic. Full-body. Immediate.

“Just for reading!” she added quickly. “Not like, um, advice or anything!”

Still. Not helping.

I gave her a title. The safest one I could think of. No spicy drama, just gentle, slow-burn affection and good writing.

She smiled and thanked me and ran off.

Minako watched the whole thing like she was studying an experiment.

“She’s cute,” she said.

“I am not acknowledging that statement.”

“She is.”

“She has nothing to do with me.”

“You looked like you were trying to calculate the gravitational pull of a coffee cup.”

Okabe snorted.

Even Kashiwagi, who had just arrived and was quietly putting his bag down, let out a tiny exhale that could have been a laugh.

“Et tu, Kashiwagi?”

He gave a half-shrug, sat down, and pulled out a tiny notebook. On the corner of one page was a title I’d recommended yesterday.

Great. Now even the quiet one is keeping tabs.

At lunch, I didn’t even get the chance to initiate Plan: Eat Alone.

Minako dragged my desk into their cluster without even asking. Okabe brought snacks. Kashiwagi somehow appeared with two melon buns and handed one to me without a word.

We talked about nothing and everything. Favorite books. Which clubs were worth joining. Which teacher would be the easiest to sleep through.

I didn’t say much.

But I listened.

And for once, I didn’t feel like I had to perform invisibility.

After school, Minako walked alongside me part of the way—talking about an older cousin who once tried to write a romance manga and failed because “his characters had the emotional depth of a potato.”

I nodded along, quietly wondering how this had become my life.

When we reached the turn for the station, she stopped and waved. “Later, Book Guy!”

My name is Souji.

But somehow, Book Guy doesn’t sound so bad.