Koharu didn't call it a date. Of course she didn't. That would mean acknowledging it out loud, and that was still way above our emotional pay grade. Instead, she called it: "a totally normal, average, run-of-the-mill outing between two highly compatible academic acquaintances." Her exact words.
I responded the way anyone in my position would: by blinking slowly and sighing into my jacket collar. "So a date."
"Shut up, it's not a date," she snapped, tugging my sleeve as we walked past the station. "Besides, I wouldn't date someone who solves cryptograms for fun. That's like dating a calculator."
"You seem pretty emotionally attached to this calculator," I muttered.
She turned her head, pretending not to hear, but the pink creeping into her cheeks betrayed her.
The truth was, we both knew what this was. It wasn't a club activity, or some half-baked riddle hunt, or even another incident to clean up. It was just us. No masks. No subplots. Just a strangely warm spring day, a few unnecessary snacks, and a sense of suspended disbelief that this could be anything but temporary.
We walked through the park, and Koharu insisted on buying both takoyaki and crepes. Her logic: "You never know when the world will end, so you might as well double-carb."
I watched her try to juggle both without dropping powdered sugar all over her skirt. She failed. Impressively.
"You got some on your nose," I pointed out.
"You're supposed to tell me before I make eye contact with the vendor," she hissed, swiping at her face.
Moments like this weren't rare with her. They were chaotic, embarrassing, often loud—but somehow, they made everything else quieter. All the drama, the pressure, the confusion about who was a route and who was a detour. It faded when Koharu was just... Koharu.
We ended up on the hill behind the school where the sakura trees were just beginning to bloom again. It felt like returning to the scene of a crime—or the opening scene of a romance VN. Same thing, really.
She sat down beside me, legs stretched out, hair catching the breeze. There was a strange stillness to her. Like the script had stopped.
"You know," she said, not looking at me. "When people started talking about you, I got scared."
I didn't respond. Not yet.
She continued. "Not because I thought you'd change. But because I thought... I wasn't enough to keep up. I thought I had to be someone amazing to matter. But..."
She turned to face me, expression softer than I'd ever seen it.
"You liked me anyway."
And in that moment, the world did something weird. Like it leaned in closer to hear what I'd say.
I met her eyes. "You were never a side character to me."
She blinked. Once. Twice. Then did that thing where she looked away and bit her lip like she was trying not to smile and cry at the same time.
Our hands brushed. I didn't move away. Neither did she.
And just as I leaned in—hesitant, careful, hoping the universe would give us this one moment—my phone buzzed.
I froze. Koharu groaned.
"If that's Ami or Minami, I swear I will throw your phone into the pond."
I checked the caller ID.
"It's the headmaster."
She blinked. "The actual headmaster?"
I nodded slowly, answering. "Hello?"
His voice was sharp, precise, and just the right amount of unsettling.
"I'll keep this brief. We've reviewed your conduct and puzzle-solving contributions. The school board has decided to offer you an official position. Starting next week, you'll act as our student consultant for abnormal cases. Confidential, of course."
I blinked. Slowly. Again.
"Wait, what?"
He continued. "Details will be sent to your student email. Congratulations."
Click.
I stared at the phone. Koharu stared at me.
"Wait," she said slowly, voice rising, "he really is the protagonist now?!"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
She threw up her hands. "This is some bullsh—"
I kissed her.
Not a long kiss. Not a dramatic one. Just enough to shut her up. Just enough to say what words couldn't.
When I pulled back, she was wide-eyed, cheeks redder than her crepe.
"That doesn't mean you win," she muttered.
"I never needed to win," I replied.
She smiled. Small. Beautiful. Real.
And maybe, just maybe, this was what her route beginning looked like.
Not fireworks. Not perfect CG backgrounds.
Just two idiots sitting under a sakura tree, wondering what came next.
And for once, I didn't want to skip to the next chapter.