Chapter 2 – Compatibility Training (Apparently)

Mornings and I have an agreement: I don’t bother them, they don’t bother me.
Or at least, that’s how it used to be.

Because somewhere in the universe, Akiyama Yui decided my weekends were part of her “relationship training schedule.”

So when my alarm went off at 7:30, I ignored it.
When it went off again at 7:35, I threw my pillow at it.
By 7:45, guilt or maybe fear finally won.

Dragging myself out of bed, I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
Hair: chaos.
Face: existential crisis.
Dignity: pending.

If Yui saw me like this, she’d probably write a new clause about “basic hygiene standards.” So I took a quick shower, mostly to wash away the shame of existing, and threw on the least-wrinkled shirt I could find.

And that’s when the doorbell rang.

I froze, toothbrush still in my mouth.
She wouldn’t.
Yeah she definitely wouldn’t.

“Morning, Haruto!” Yui’s voice came through the door, bright and way too cheerful for this hour.

I opened it slowly, still drying my hair.
There she was: perfect ponytail, perfect smile, and a tote bag that probably contained my doom.

“I brought our activity for today,” she announced.

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“Exactly. Perfect time to bond.”

“Normal people bond over breakfast, not psychological warfare.”

She ignored that and stepped inside like she owned the place, holding a thick folder that looked way too official.

I looked at it. “Please tell me that’s not homework.”

“It’s a compatibility test.”

I blinked. “Like... a BuzzFeed quiz?”

She gave me a look. “No, a real compatibility test. Relationship edition.”

“That’s worse.”

“We have to know how believable our relationship looks,” she said, already setting up papers on the table. “If anyone asks, we’ll have proof of our chemistry.”

“Proof? What are we, a science project?”

“Exactly.” She smiled. “You’re the experiment.”

We sat across from each other like two people about to negotiate peace, except one of us was enjoying it way too much.

“Question one,” she began, “what’s your ideal weekend date?”

“Sleeping,” I said instantly.

Yui frowned. “That’s not romantic.”

“It’s realistic.”

“Wrong. The correct answer is a picnic in the park.”

“Correct answer? Are we grading this?”

“Yes,” she said flatly, jotting something down. “You failed.”

“Didn’t realize love came with a scoring system.”

“Of course it does. You think happy couples happen by accident?”

“Yes?”

She sighed dramatically. “You’re hopeless.”

“Thanks, I work hard at it.”

She moved on. “Question two. How do you show affection?”

“I don’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “At all?”

“Maybe with food. Like giving someone the last bite of instant noodles.”

“That’s not affection, that’s pity.”

“It’s affection for the noodles.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re impossible.”

“Still passing?”

“Barely.”

By question five, I was losing faith in humanity.
By question eight, I was questioning whether this was actually a test or a slow death.

“Question eight,” she read aloud, “what type of kiss best expresses your love?”

I froze. “Excuse me?”

She cleared her throat, trying to sound professional. “It’s part of the test.”

“No, that’s part of your fantasy.”

She looked away, cheeks slightly pink. “It’s research.”

“Sure it is. And I’m a Nobel Prize winner.”

“Just answer.”

“No.”

“Clause four,” she said smugly.

“Unbelievable. You’re using the contract as blackmail now.”

“It’s called proper enforcement.”

I sighed. “Fine. None. I’m anti-kiss.”

She frowned. “Wrong answer.”

“How is there a wrong answer to affection?”

“Because the correct one is forehead kiss.”

I stared. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

She crossed her arms. “Forehead kisses are pure.”

“They’re concussion starters.”

“Then maybe you’re doing it wrong.”

I blinked. “You’ve done it before?”

Her face went red immediately. “That’s not—! I mean—forget it!”

I grinned. “Oh? Sounds like experience.”

She threw a pen at me. “Next question!”

By the time we reached the end, I was emotionally damaged, and she looked two steps away from strangling me.

She tallied our answers with a pen, tapping it like a teacher marking a test.
Then she gasped softly. “Haruto... We got eighty percent.”

I blinked. “Out of?”

“Hundred duh.”

“That’s... actually not bad.”

She frowned like that wasn’t the result she wanted. “It should be higher.”

“Eighty percent is solid. We’re like... the average romcom couple.”

“Average isn’t good enough.”

“It’s better than zero. Which is what you’d get with anyone else after one day.”

She pouted, mumbling something I couldn’t hear. Then louder: “Next activity.”

I groaned. “There’s a sequel?”

“Family Drill,” she said, straight-faced.

“The what now?”

“The parental inspection simulation.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “We’ll practice meeting my parents.”

“That’s a thing now?”

“It’s essential training.”

“For fake dating?!”

“Yes. If my father ever tests us, you must be prepared.”

I muttered, “I really should’ve read the fine print.”

“Too late now. Stand up.”

“Do I get a break?”

“No.”

Yui straightened her posture, voice turning low and serious. “I’ll play as my father. You’ll greet me properly.”

“Okay, I got this.” I bowed slightly. “Yo.”

She stared like I’d committed a crime. “That’s your idea of polite?”

“It’s modern.”

“It’s suicidal.”

I sighed and tried again. “Good evening, sir, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Too stiff,” she said instantly. “You sound like a robot.”

“You just said—!”

“Balance, Haruto. Balance!”

“I can’t balance when you’re making up new rules every five seconds!”

She crossed her arms, clearly enjoying this. “You’re the one failing basic boyfriend training.”

“Maybe because the instructor keeps changing the curriculum.”

She smirked. “Excuses.”

“You know, for someone pretending to be my girlfriend, you really enjoy torturing me.”

She tilted her head innocently. “That’s part of love, isn’t it?”

I blinked. “...No?”

She smiled. “Exactly.”

We kept going. She made me practice greetings, small talk, even eye contact.
Every time I messed up, she sighed like a disappointed drama teacher.

At one point she puffed her chest and deepened her voice. “So, young man, how do you plan to provide for my daughter?”

I deadpanned, “Emotional support and unlimited cup ramen.”

She cracked. Burst into laughter so hard she had to hold the table for support.

“Stop, you’re ruining it,” she said between giggles.

“You’re the one who laughed first.”

“You sounded so serious!”

“I was serious!”

Yui wiped her eyes, still smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thanks, I get that a lot.”

For a moment, the laughter died down, but the warmth stayed. Her expression softened, and she said quietly, “You know... my dad really is like that.”

I looked up. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Always asking who’s suitable, who’s worthy, who has the right status. It’s exhausting.”

The room went quiet. She wasn’t the confident, teasing girl anymore. Just Yui. Honest and tired.

“That sounds rough,” I said. “Guess that’s why you needed this fake thing in the first place.”

She smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

A moment passed.

Then I said, “Well, if I ever meet him for real, I’ll bring premium ramen. That’ll win him over.”

Yui blinked, then burst out laughing again. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But practical.”

“Barely.”

“Eighty percent compatibility, remember.”

“More like eighty percent of pain.”

By the time she packed up, the sun was already low.
My table was buried in quiz sheets, crumbs, and broken dignity.

“Training complete,” Yui said proudly.

“You call that training. I call it trauma.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You did well.”

“Really?”

“No... But at least you tried.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement.”

She put on her shoes and smiled at me from the doorway. “Next time, we’ll test public chemistry.”

“Define ‘public.’”

“A date,” she said simply.

I froze. “A what now?”

“Clause seven,” she said, pointing at the contract on my table.

“I hate that clause.”

“You love it.”

“I really don’t.”

She grinned. “See you tomorrow, Haruto.”

And just like that, she left.
Leaving me surrounded by papers, silence, and the faint smell of her perfume.

Eighty percent compatible, huh?
If that’s true, I’m doomed.

I leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Somehow, the room felt... quieter after she left. Like she’d taken half the noise with her.
I hated to admit it, but a small part of me was already wondering what that “public chemistry” would look like.

Probably embarrassing. Definitely chaotic.
But... maybe kind of fun too.

My phone buzzed.
A message from Yui.

[Yui: Don’t forget to text goodnight. Clause five.]

I sighed, typing back without thinking.

[Haruto: Goodnight, contract tyrant.]

A few seconds later:

[Yui: Sweet dreams, Mr. 80 percent.]

I stared at the screen, fighting a smile that definitely shouldn’t have been there.

Yeah.
I was absolutely doomed.