The God of Rom-Coms

You know how these types of stories usually go.

On a certain day, a young boy is crossing the street. Then, a particular truck decides this is a great opportunity to send him on a one-way trip to another world.

Such a cliché setup is how we got where we currently are.

On the other side of an empty room sits an outrageous figure. His hair is the first thing that demands attention, screaming “I’m here~” in a pink so bright it feels personally committed to being seen, streaked here and there with playful hints of blue. His clothing doesn’t fall behind, either. A white coat, trimmed in elaborate gold, hangs dramatically from his shoulders, framing a black shirt tailored suspiciously well to his figure, leaving his chest just a bit too exposed.

Looking like that, it feels less like he appeared and more like he announced himself into existence.

“Um, excuse me. How long are we going to stay silent for?”

I say, growing increasingly anxious about the whole situation.

“Hm? Hmmm? Oh! You’re here~! It’s about time, too!”

He says, as if he’s only just noticed me. His expression is unbearable—literally unreadable—as a two-toned mask covers his face, fixed in a never-faltering smile.

“I bid you welcome. Mr. ○○○○○, is that correct?”

As he speaks, standing up from his throne, my eyes go wide, the uttered name redacted from my hearing. Still, a strange familiarity tells me that was, indeed, my name.

“I… guess? And you are?”

He straightens immediately, one hand flying to his chest as if I’ve just stabbed him with the blunt knife of social impropriety.

“You wound me!”

“Excuse me?”

Somehow, the air itself seems to sparkle as the man makes a dramatic gesture.

“To forget the face… well, the mask of the one responsible for saving your vehicular ascension!”

I open my mouth in protest, but he lifts a finger in response.

“I am the Director of Heart Flutters. The Curator of Coincidences. The Patron Saint of Dense Protagonists.”

A pause. As if he is waiting for something.

“Should I be clapping?”

He points at me.

“See? You can read the cues. I like that.”

With a flourish of his sleeve, a pink chair slides out of nowhere and bumps gently into the back of my knees, forcing me to sit down.

“You may want to sit for this. For if you seek a name to call me by, you may call me… the god of Rom-coms~!”

A beat.

Silence.

Then he tilts his head.

“You did notice the halo, correct? I paid extra for the star tips.”

“You killed me!”

I start to freak out, justifiedly so. He waves his hand dismissively.

“‘Killed’ is such an ugly word. I prefer ‘narratively relocated.’ Much softer."

He begins pacing in front of his throne, coat swaying dramatically.

“Now then! Standard procedure dictates you panic, deny reality, ask if this is a dream, and then reluctantly accept your fate after I promise you either overwhelming power or some other sort of unfair advantage.”

He leans in slightly.

“We can skip such pleasantries, can we not? Jump straight into the main course. Or, should I say, main act? In your case~...”

A snap of his fingers.

Cherry blossoms drift through a room that definitely does not have windows. Somewhere, a school bell rings.

“You get to play the role of the ‘Oblivious Main Character’ in a bona fide romantic comedy setting!”

A piece of flapper floats out of one of his sleeves, and I catch the thing mid air like a receipt you suddenly need for a refund.

“Yeah, like that is happening! I refuse! Send me back!”

“I could do that. But you’d be returning to a vessel that is currently failing a very important breathing exam.”

“On second thought, I’ll consider it!”

Under his mask, I can tell the so-called ‘God of Rom-coms’ lets out a satisfied smile. Begrudgingly, I take a look at the piece of paper. It’s a profile from a student whose name is redacted, the picture unmistakably my own.

He looks at me cheerfully.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re making it sound way worse than it really is. Multiple heroines. Accidental physical contact. Conveniently timed wind gusts. Tehe~! You’ll be very busy.”

The emotions come rushing in as I look at the “character profile” he prepared for me. The unfairness, absurdity, powerlessness and a hint of… excitement? As I cautiously read the paragraphs that describe this character’s ‘personality’, I eye the god cautiously.

“... does this mean I’m your pet from now on?”

“Hm?”

He looks as though he’s already forgotten I was there. But with something as simple as a tilt of his head, he’s instantly back to his former self.

“Oh, no, no. I’m nothing if not a benevolent god. If, after all is said and done, you still want to go back to your previous life… before all the catastrophic blunt trauma, that is, I’ll be more than happy to strike a deal~.”

His index finger slips under his mask, and for a moment, my breath catches in my throat. As he removes it, the gleam of his purplish eyes shines at me, starry irises and a face straight out of a shoujo manga, cementing his claim as a bona fide representative of romance.

“If a successful confession event happens in the time span of 81 days between today and the end of spring, then I’ll consider humoring your request.”

I feel my whole body tense as I size him up, the difference in our standing becoming more and more apparent.

“Three months? That’s impossible. I could hardly get one girl to fall for me in the entirety of the last seventeen years, and you want me to get one to fall for me in such short notice!?”

I try to stand up as I speak, but it is as if the weight of the whole world was on top of me. I can’t help but fear the god who watches me with a smirk.

“Oh? But that’s actually a quite generous time frame, if you think about it! Besides, you’ll have the script working in your favor from now on.”

He puts his mask back on, the eerie smile once again hiding his features. It does, however, put me at more ease. Such was the effect of covering those eyes of his.

“Ah. But we haven’t thought of a name for your character yet, have we? Let’s see. You’re to be the protagonist. So maybe Shujin would work?”

As he speaks, the characters that were once redacted in the ‘profile’ suddenly get turned into the name he uttered.

“Perfect~!”

He claps once, delighted, as if he has just solved a particularly satisfying crossword puzzle.

The room reacts.

“Wait-”

I stand up and begin to speak, but it's too late.

A gust of wind sweeps me along, as if telling me I’m no longer welcome there. I hear the soft rustle of pages turning and watch as the god murmurs quite happily to himself.

“Ah, let’s see… a good romantic comedy in a school setting always starts like this…”