Chapter 1 – The Contract

24th December,
that’s when my sentence ends, and by sentence I don’t mean school or work, I mean a literal contract, signed, stamped, with clauses.

A contract where I, Takeda Haruto, agree to be Akiyama Yui’s boyfriend, a fake of course, like cosplay but without the costume and with more emotional damage.

Why me? Don’t ask me, I’ve been asking myself that since day one.

It all started one random afternoon when Yui knocked on my door.

Now, to give you some context, Akiyama Yui isn’t just anyone. She’s the kind of girl who makes heads turn the moment she walks down the hallway. Dark brown hair always tied into a neat ponytail, sharp eyes that make you feel like she’s already judged your entire existence, and a way of carrying herself that screams untouchable.

At school she’s the idol, always the center of attention, whether she’s answering a teacher’s question or just standing by the vending machine, somehow a crowd appears. Usually I only see her from five rows away in class, surrounded by her fanclub.

And she was now standing in front of my crappy apartment door holding papers like she was about to sue me.

“Sign this,” she said.

I blinked. “Excuse me? What is this, tax season?”

“Contract,” she replied, calm as a lawyer.

“…You’re starting a pyramid scheme, aren’t you?”

She sighed, pushed the papers into my chest, and said, “Just read.”

The first page almost made me choke.

“Hold on, this actually looks legal, dates, articles, even—wait—did you add footnotes?”

“Yes,” she straightened her back, “professionalism matters.”

“Professionalism for what?!”

“For my fake boyfriend.”

I stared, she didn’t flinch.

“You can’t just casually say that like you’re asking me to water your plants!”

“It’s simple,” she said, sliding a finger down the page, “my family wants me to marry some boring rich guy, I don’t want that, solution, a contract boyfriend, expiration date, December 24th, and that’s you.”

“…I feel like I should call the police.”

Then I reached the "fun" part.

Punishments for Failure to Act as a Proper Boyfriend
1) Offense : Failure to hold hands when required 
Penalty : 5 minutes of head pats
2) Offense : Failure to compliment
Penalty : Carry bag for the day
3) Offense : Failure to smile on a date
Penalty : Cook dinner (minimum curry maximum steak
4) Offense : Failure to look convincing in front of others
Penalty : One (1) Forehead kiss. no exceptions

Note: These punishments are legally binding and not up for negotiation.

I lowered the paper slowly. “…Headpats? Forehead kiss? Are you insane?”

Her ponytail swished as she turned away, cheeks just barely pink. “It’s so you can practice.”

“Practice what?!”

“Being a boyfriend,” she mumbled, still not meeting my eyes.

I blinked. “Headpats are boyfriend training now?”

“Yes.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” she said quickly, still pink.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“It sounded like one.”

I tried to push the paper back to her. “Nope, not happening, find another victim.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Victim? You live next door, Haruto, you’re the safest choice.”

“Safe? That makes me sound like… like a fire extinguisher.”

“Exactly.” She gave a tiny nod, like she’d just complimented me.

“…That wasn’t praise.”

“Also,” she added, voice dropping just slightly, “if you say no, my family will push the marriage harder.”

And that’s when I saw it, her poker face slipping, just a crack, but enough. She looked cornered.

I sighed loud, dramatic and defeated. “Fine, give me the pen before I regret this.”

Her whole expression lit up. “Great, sign here, here, and initial here.”

“You prepared three copies?!”

“Obviously, one for me, one for you, one for emergencies.”

“…Emergencies like what, divorce court?”

So yeah, I signed.

And then, before I could even sighed, she grabbed my hand.

“Wha—hey! Hands off!”

“Practice,” she said calmly.

“Practice what?!”

“Couples walk hand in hand, we need to look natural.”

“Normal people don’t practice handholding!”

“Normal people also don’t make contracts, we’re not normal.”

Still holding my hand, she slipped off her shoes, stepped inside, and said without hesitation, “Pardon the intrusion.”

“…You just invited yourself in?”

“Yes.”

Yui decided to sat primly on my couch like it was her throne, while I stood there awkwardly looking around my own room. For the record, my place isn’t anything impressive. Plain walls, small desk shoved in the corner, futon not quite folded, a couple of instant noodle cups stacked like modern art near the trash. Not filthy, but definitely not “guest ready.”

I muttered, “Could’ve warned me, I’d have cleaned.”

She gave the room a single glance, nodded once, and said, “Acceptable.”

“…Acceptable? This looks like the before shot of a cleaning commercial.”

“Good, then we can clean it later. As a bonding activity.”

I slumped into the chair across from her. “I already regret this.”

She clasped her hands. “Let’s begin, how did we meet?”

“Easy,” I muttered, “the vending machine ate your 100 yen.”

Yui nodded seriously. “Yes, and you saved me.”

“…By kicking it until it spat out your juice?”

“That’s called bravery.”

“That’s called vandalism!”

She leaned forward. “It was fate.”

“It was aluminum theft.”

“Haruto.” She gave me the sharp eyes again. “Say it, fate.”

“…Fine, fate.”

She smiled, small, but real, and I hated that it kind of made me shut up for a second.

Yui leaned back like she was proud of herself. “So, we met at the vending machine, you rescued me, and that’s when I fell for you.”

“Hold up,” I raised a hand, “nobody said anything about falling.”

“Details,” she said, flicking her wrist like a queen dismissing her servant, “we need a romantic origin story, people love that.”

“Yeah, people also love UFO sightings, doesn’t make them real.”

She ignored me, scribbling in her notebook. Yes, she had a notebook. “So we met at the vending machine, you were kind, reliable, and handsome—”

“Stop lying.”

“—and from then on, we naturally grew close.”

I groaned. “Naturally? You threatened me with a legally binding forehead kiss, there’s nothing natural about this.”

“Couples fight,” she said calmly, “we’re just practicing.”

She flipped to a fresh page. “Now, first date.”

“First what?”

“Date, when was it, where was it, what happened.”

I stared at her. “You’re planning to tell your family we’ve been dating for months, right? Which means we’d have like… ten fake dates minimum.”

“Yes.”

“That’s insane.”

“Yes.”

“…Fine, first date was at the ramen shop by the station, happy?”

She tilted her head. “No, too greasy, my parents will never believe it.”

“What do you mean too greasy, ramen is the most authentic Japanese bonding experience.”

“They’ll think you’re uncultured.”

“They probably already think that!”

She ignored me again, tapping her chin. “A café then, with cake, I like cake.”

“Of course you do.”

I rubbed my face. “So let me get this straight, our love story is vending machine fate, then cake.”

“Romance 101.”

“And then what, a dramatic sunset?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”

“That was sarcasm.”

“Too late, I already wrote it down.”

I peeked over. She actually wrote in neat bullet points:

Vending machine fate.

First date - cake café.

Sunset moment.

I wanted to rip the page out, but she guarded it like a dragon hoarding its egg.

“Okay fine,” I sighed, “so we’ve been dating for… how long?”

She smiled sweetly, too sweet. “Six months.”

“Six—?!” I nearly choked. “You want me to memorize half a year of fake anniversaries, holidays, birthdays—”

“Exactly,” she nodded, “that’s why we’re practicing now.”

“This isn’t practice, this is torture, I need a lawyer.”

“You signed already, Haruto, too late for a lawyer.”

She picked the contract up again, flipping to the punishment page. “Speaking of which, we should add more clauses.”

I groaned. “What is this, DLC?”

“Clause 5,” she said, writing neatly, “failure to text good morning and good night equals buying me dessert.”

“Why am I financially responsible for your sweet tooth?”

“Because that’s what boyfriends do.”

“No!! Boyfriends complain and forget, that’s tradition.”

She pretended not to hear me. “Clause 6, failure to protect me from bugs equals one week of carrying my groceries.”

“What am I, pest control?”

“Yes.”

“And groceries too?!”

“Yes.”

She underlined it three times.

I leaned back, glaring at the ceiling. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“It sounded like one.”

“Everything sounds like one in your head.”

“Correct.”

There was a pause, then she tapped her pen on the contract. “So, Haruto, why did you agree?”

I blinked. “What do you mean why, you bullied me into it.”

She shook her head. “You could’ve said no.”

“…You looked desperate.”

Her eyes widened just a fraction, like I’d peeled back her cool mask. “I… wasn’t desperate.”

“Yeah, sure, totally normal to print contracts and shove them at neighbors, everyone does that on weekends.”

Her cheeks puffed slightly. “Shut up.”

I grinned. “See, desperate.”

“Shut. Up.”

That’s when my phone buzzed, group chat.

Okabe Itsuki: yo haruto who’s the girl holding ur hand in the hallway just now 👀

Now, Itsuki is my so-called friend. Emphasis on so-called. Chaos magnet, resident clown of our group chat, the type who will start conspiracy theories for fun, and apparently also a paparazzi since he just spotted us.

My soul left my body.

“Yui,” I muttered, “we have witnesses.”

She smiled like it was part of the plan. “Perfect, spread the news.”

I stared at her, horrified. “You… you wanted us to get caught?”

“Efficiency,” she said.

“This isn’t efficiency, this is social suicide.”

“Same thing.”

I looked back at my phone, heart pounding, and thought, thank god Itsuki didn’t realize it was her. If he knew the school idol was in my apartment holding my hand, my entire school life would already be over.

And that’s how, within ten minutes of signing, I had apparently been upgraded from single loser to contract boyfriend, vending machine hero, cake date partner, sunset enthusiast, bug exterminator, grocery carrier, and most importantly headpat dispenser.

I really should’ve read the fine print.