"Honey… wake up~"
"Hubby, it's time to wake up!"
"Darling, wake-"
"Aiko-"
...
I shoot upright, breath caught in my throat. The echo of their voices fades like static.
Another dream. That makes… what, eight now?
Eight days. Eight mornings. Eight women calling me like I matter. Like I'm theirs. I don't know what bothers me more: the way it feels familiar, or the way I want it to be real.
…No. Not going there.
I'm Aizawa Aiko. 16. Reborn. 190 centimeters of unresolved trauma. I don't smile. I don't joke. I don't care.
People never tell me I'm handsome. I'd rather be invisible. At least then, no one expects anything from you. At least then, they don't look at you like you're some shiny toy they want to break.
I've been here before. Literally. Fifteen years ago, a truck flattened me and I got reincarnated. And now? Same old song. Different verse.
No magic. No swords. Just another life in this factory reset Japan.
No cheats. No system. Just the same miserable species pretending they care.
I was born again. But I didn't start over. I brought the whole suitcase of bitterness with me.
And people wonder why I don't make friends.
They smile at you, then carve you up with that same smile when you turn your back. I've seen it. I've lived it. Over and over.
The only kindness I remember came from the oba-sans. No agenda. No sugar-coated lies. Just warm tea and idle gossip.
Everyone else?
Users. Liars. Parasites.
It's lunch. My favorite time of day, because it means I get to disappear.
I escape to the stairwell. My sanctuary. Dead space, echoing silence, peace.
I sit down, pull out my bento. Basic. Lifeless. But it fills the void just enough. Eggs, fish, rice. Not that I can taste much anymore. Everything's just fuel.
Then-
Footsteps.
No. No no no. This spot is mine.
I glance up, ready to glare whoever it is into dust.
Silver hair. Perfect posture. A walking painting with a grin that knows too much.
Of course. Alya Mikhailovna Kujou.
The White Oni.
"I found you~"
"White Oni," I mutter. Reflex.
"How rude!"
"What are you doing here, Mikhailovna-san?"
"To see you. And call me Alya."
Of course. Alya. Just rolls off the tongue like you're already part of my life.
"Aiko-kun, я люблю тебя~"
My brain short-circuits. Russian? Again?
"Don't speak it. Don't plan to."
"You don't need to. Just feel it~"
God help me.
She sits next to me. Close. Way too close. My skin prickles like I'm being scanned.
"Do you want to eat together?"
"…No. You're just… annoying. Persistent. I have no interest in you."
"Ты такой милый~"
You know what? Fine. I accept my defeat. She wins. 0–1.
But her bento…
It smells like a dream I'll never deserve. Probably made by private chefs using ingredients I can't pronounce. Mine looks like an afterthought by comparison.
"Want a bite?"
"...No thanks. I'm not hungry."
"Liar~"
And she smiles. Like she didn't hear every barb I threw at her. Like she wants more.
What is this? What kind of person hears "I hate you" and responds with affection?
"Ne, Aiko, can I call you that?"
"…Do what you want."
She beams like I handed her a ring.
Then she hits me with it-
"Would you be willing to be friends with me?"
And there it is.
The landmine.
People don't ask to be friends. Not with me. They pretend to be, until they get what they want. Then they leave. Or worse, they stay long enough to betray you slowly.
"…No thanks."
"Why not?"
"Because I've seen what friendship is. It's a transaction dressed up in smiles. And when the transaction ends, so does the illusion."
I start talking. Rambling. Words spilling out before I can stop them.
"They joke, then insult. Laugh, then vanish. They pull you close just to push you down harder. I've been through it. I know what people are."
And I hate it. I hate that I'm saying this out loud. I hate that the words come so easily-because I've rehearsed them in my head a hundred times. Because they hurt too much to keep in.
"I'm tired, okay? Tired of being a tool, a target, a freak. If that's what friendship is, then I want nothing to do with it."
My voice goes quiet.
I didn't mean to say all that.
She just sits there, watching me. Her eyes don't mock. They don't pity either. They're just... still.
"You have the right to feel like that," she says. Gently. Carefully. Like I might break.
"But please, don't put everyone in the same box. Some people will surprise you. Some people… just want to be near you, because they care."
"Nobody cares unless there's a payoff."
She shakes her head.
"Not everyone's like that. I'm not."
How does she sound so sure?
"Aiko, let me prove it. Just one chance. One month."
She reaches out. Her hand finds mine.
It's warm. Solid.
I should pull away. I want to.
But I don't.
"...Fine. One month."
Her face lights up like I just saved her from a fire.
"Deal!"
We walk back to class together. She's skipping. Skipping.
It's... surreal. Like watching a storm in a sundress.
Then I open my stupid mouth.
"Alya?"
"Yes?"
"What's your cup size?"
And there it is.
My last shred of dignity. Thrown out the window.
She blinks.
"F," she says casually. "But it'll be G in the future~"
"...Nice."
"Anything else you want to know~?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
She laughs. Not mockingly. Just... amused. Bright.
And something inside me cracks, just a little.
Is this what warmth feels like?
Even if it's fake, God, I almost forgot how it feels to be near it.
"Let's go! Class is starting~"
She grabs my sleeve and pulls me forward.
I follow.
Part of me still doesn't trust her. Still thinks this is all going to implode.
But another part, the quieter part, hopes it doesn't.
Just one month.
We'll see.
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Thanks for reading.