You know that feeling when you just finished dazzling your entire class with perfect English pronunciation—only to immediately regret it?

Yeah. That's me.

The moment English class ended, I was swarmed.

Like bees.

Or fangirls with slightly too much free time.

"Ginjo-san, your accent was so good! Did you study abroad or something?"

"Ginjo-san, if you tutor me after school, I'll definitely raise my test score~"

"Ginjo-saaan, why haven't you replied to my LINE?"

"My LINE too! He's been ghosting us!"

The crowd tightened. Desks vanished. Air vanished. Personal space? Never heard of it.

I was the tragic hero in a school romcom again. Surrounded by blushing girls, hungry eyes, and too many kitten sticker emojis for one man to mentally process.

Honestly, replying to every girl's LINE message would turn into a full-time job.

And what do they send?

"Ginjo-san, are you free?"

"Ginjo-san, are you busy?"

"(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ"

A crying bunny with a broken heart.

A blushing anime girl throwing hearts.

That's it. That's the message.

If you're going to try and seduce me, at least send something useful. Maybe a selfie with a filter on? A "casual but obviously sexy" gym mirror shot?

Come on. Step it up, girls.

The bell rang again, finally saving me from the estrogen ambush. The herd reluctantly dispersed like a pack of disappointed RPG side characters.

Two more classes passed without drama and soon came lunchtime.

And time to send a little message before someone got cranky.

I pulled out my phone, opened Tomoko's LINE, and typed:

"Tomoko, there's an event at school, so don't wait for me for dinner tonight."

It was simple and respectful.

Just as I sent it, Ryuichi Okamoto strolled over with the rest of the gang.

"Lunch time, Ginjo. You coming?"

"Yeah."

I stuffed my phone away, grabbed my bento box—which was pink, yes, I know—and followed them to our usual hideout: the rooftop above the third floor. Also known as The Boys' Sacred Lunch Temple.

As soon as I popped the lid—

"Ginjo's lunchbox is pink, how cute," Ryuichi snickered.

"This was my landlady's daughter's old box. I'm not buying another until it breaks."

I deadpanned.

"It must be nice though," another guy said, biting into his onigiri. "Being Ginjo-san. Always surrounded by girls."

"Right? And your English earlier—holy crap. Teach us how you learned it?"

I smirked and explained, "It's not hard. If you want to improve listening and speaking, just watch more American shows."

"Like dramas?" someone asked.

"Yup."

"Too hard. I'd rather watch JUMP stuff."

"Oh oh—have you seen the new 2.5 Satoru?"

And just like that, the conversation jumped tracks like a harem anime mid-season twist.

"Don't remind me! I'm still traumatized."

"I heard Akutami-sensei got attacked by fans IRL!"

"Good! I want to punt him into traffic for what he did to Gojo!"

Our little lunch crew was full of righteous anime rage. I watched them scream with mouths full of rice, lunchboxes teetering dangerously on their knees.

I chuckled.

Honestly... being surrounded by immature boys throwing tantrums over manga kinda made me nostalgic.

---

Ding.

A LINE reply.

"Okay… Sousuke-kun… please eat dinner on time…"

That ellipsis. That voice in my head.

It felt like I could hear her exhaustion through text alone. My poor landlord probably just woke up. The echoes of last night's R-rated performance probably still bouncing off her skull.

Even my loins winced in phantom pain.

Rest in peace, hips.

---

Afternoon classes passed in a fog. I don't remember anything except drifting in and out of fantasy and planning escape routes from horny fangirls.

After school, it was time to shift forms.

From Student Mode to Convenience Store Mode.

I jogged a few blocks to Sunrise in Kitabashi-cho, my part-time battlefield.

"Welcome!"

The ever-bubbly Yui greeted me from behind the register, waving like she hadn't seen another human in a week.

"It's Ginjo-kun!"

She sparkled. Like literally. I think I saw glitter come off her.

"I'm so bored! No customers. And the manager's gone too."

"Kobayakawa-san's not here?"

That was rare. Manager Kobayakawa was a model of efficiency. Kind of hot in a strict 'don't-touch-the-magazines-without-gloves' kind of way.

"She went to HQ. There's a big meeting."

"I see."

I changed in the back room, tied on the apron, and jumped into work mode.

Yui wandered over to help while the store was still empty.

"Ginjo-kun, need a hand?"

"Sure."

We started restocking shelves, chatting here and there. Time flew by.

By the time the evening rush hit—tired salarymen, sleepy students, grannies who wanted milk but bought beer—it was almost 7:00.

And then—

"Ginjo-san, I'm here."

I turned. A tall silver-haired beauty stood at the door.

Lisa Shiraishi.

Class rep. Swimsuit temptress. Probably a goddess in disguise.

She waved gently, holding a bottle of tea.

"Ah, Shiraishi-senpai. Give me a moment."

"Okay."

She stepped outside and sipped her drink while waiting like a flawless dating sim sprite.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Yui whispered with glinting eyes. "She's gorgeous... and tall..."

"She's just a senior from a club."

"Mm-hmm. Sure. Also, you know the manager likes you, right?"

"...Let me finish stocking this shelf before I get accused of more things."

I turned away quickly.

Just a few more boxes. And then—

"Hey, lil' missy~ You're stacked. Wanna go for a ride?"

...Oh, hell no.

I spun toward the entrance.

A guy in a floral shirt. Dyed hair. Sunglasses at dusk. Peak street trash energy.

He was talking to my senpai.

Lisa flinched.

Time to intervene.

"Hey."

I walked up beside her, stood tall, and glared.

Floral Shirt sneered.

"Mind your business, punk."

"She is my business. She's waiting for me."

"Tsk... You wanna get hurt, pretty boy?"

Lisa flinched again. Her shoulders shrunk instinctively. My fingers twitched.

"If you underestimate me, I'll call my big brother! You bastard!"

Oh god.

He said it.

He really said it.

I was living inside a 2006 chuuni manga.

"Go ahead. Call him," I replied, suppressing a laugh. "Summon the whole clan."

Floral Shirt paused.

He looked up at me, saw my frame, my dead-serious eyes, and—

"...Tch! Screw this!"

He kicked over a trash can and stomped off while cursing about "ungrateful women" and "damn brats."

Lisa exhaled. I noticed her hand was slightly shaking.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She nodded silently.

I reached for the drink in her hand and took a swig.

She blinked. "That was mine..."

"Now it's a shared memory," I smirked.

She flushed slightly. Her ears turned pink.

One point for the harem protagonist. Yeah, boi!

--

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