Chapter 9 - I Don't Hate Her

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I've always hated school events.

Festivals, talent shows, sports days—anything that required group participation or fake enthusiasm. They were just elaborate lies to distract people from the fact that high school is mostly awkward silences, suppressed emotions, and vending machines that eat your change.

So when Class 3-B decided on a cosplay café for the Cultural Festival, I thought, "Ah, of course. Let's humiliate ourselves for sugar and yen."

And as expected, I ended up wearing a butler outfit that made me look like a rejected dating sim side character.

Complete with frilly cuffs and a necktie that tried to strangle me at least twice.

Meanwhile, other guys got to wear casual yukata or ninja outfits. But no—because I was "tall and scary," I was nominated to serve guests with the charm of a misunderstood shoujo manga delinquent.

Whatever that means.

Even the Class Rep, Sakura Inoue, chuckled when she saw me.

"Wow," she said, lips twitching. "You actually clean up well. You almost look safe."

"Thanks," I muttered. "Next time, I'll wear my usual blood-stained hoodie. More honest that way."

She smirked, but her eyes didn't quite meet mine.

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Inside the classroom-turned-café, chaos reigned.

Fairy lights dangled from ceiling fans. Desks were covered in lacy cloths and plastic roses. The air smelled like cheap chocolate, fabric glue, and impending lawsuits.

But amid the madness, Minazuki-sensei moved calmly, clipboard in hand, offering her usual gentle encouragement:

> "Let's rotate servers every 20 minutes so no one collapses!"

> "Reiji-kun, can you help move these tea sets—carefully?"

> "No, Yume, that's not real tea, please don't drink that—"

Yes. Yume was here. In a magical girl costume. With a tiara.

She'd somehow become the café's unofficial mascot and was now taking people's orders with an invisible notepad and the professional air of a five-year-old CEO.

I hated how natural this felt.

I hated that she grinned when she saw me.

I hated that she clung to my arm like I was some kind of knight and not a ticking time bomb with daddy issues and too many bruises.

But most of all…

I hated that I didn't hate it.

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Late Afternoon — After Cleanup

The class was mostly empty. People were packing up decorations, chasing lost bobby pins, or sneaking leftover snacks. Yume had finally fallen asleep in a beanbag pile.

I stayed back to help. Not because I wanted to—but because Asuka asked.

And maybe because I wanted to hear her say my name again in that soft way, like it mattered.

We were alone now, stacking chairs at the back of the room.

Outside, the sunset bled across the sky like a pastel bruise.

She wiped her hands on a towel and looked at me.

"You okay?" she asked.

My default response was ready. "Fine."

But I didn't say it.

Because she didn't ask like a teacher. She asked like someone who saw me.

I swallowed.

"I'm… tired," I muttered.

She nodded, sitting on the window ledge. Her hair was tied up today, wisps falling around her face. She looked older than usual. Or maybe I just never noticed how tired she was too.

"You've been doing a lot," she said. "For us. For Yume."

"I'm not doing it for anyone," I said, but it sounded hollow.

She looked at me for a long moment.

Then, gently, "Can I ask something?"

I braced myself. "Sure."

"Why do you look so sad when you smile?"

I froze.

Because that's what she does. She says these things. Things that hurt. Things that peel you open without a scalpel.

I looked away.

"Because," I said slowly, "I got good at faking smiles before I learned how to mean them."

She didn't respond right away.

Then, quietly: "I used to be the same."

I met her eyes.

"I hated everything back then," she continued. "School, my parents, even myself sometimes."

"…What changed?"

She smiled—not the classroom smile. The real one. Small. Faintly cracked.

"I had Yume."

A beat passed.

Then I said something I probably shouldn't have.

"I hate everything too."

Her expression softened.

"But not you."

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For a moment, time slowed.

No giggles. No paper roses. No awkward uniforms.

Just her and me and the heavy silence of something almost said.

She opened her mouth.

But then someone knocked on the door.

Sakura peeked in. "Hey, we're locking up. You two coming?"

Just like that, the moment cracked.

Asuka stood quickly, brushing dust from her skirt. "Yes—thank you, Inoue-san."

I nodded once, avoiding Sakura's gaze.

She lingered a second too long, then left.

Asuka turned to me. Her voice was quiet again.

"Reiji…"

"Yeah?"

She hesitated.

Then smiled. But it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Never mind. Go home. Get some rest."

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That Night – Reiji's Apartment

I lay on my futon in the dark, listening to the rain tap against the window.

My sketchbook was on my chest. I hadn't opened it.

My fingers were clenched around a broken pencil.

I hated everything.

I hated how close I got.

I hated how warm she made the world feel.

I hated that she wasn't mine to feel anything about.

But still—

I didn't hate her.

And that scared me more than anything else.

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