The rumors started Monday morning.
Before I even set foot on campus, I could feel it.
The stares.
The whispers.
The slight pause when people saw me coming down the hall, like I was a walking spoiler for their favorite romance drama.
At first, I thought maybe I'd forgotten to zip my pants.
I checked.
Pants were fine.
Reputation?
Shattered.
"Did you hear?"
"I heard he made Aihara-san cry behind the gym."
"No, no—he rejected her! Publicly! Like, after the love booth!"
"Wait, wasn't he also caught groping the nurse?"
"Weren't they dating now? I thought she posted a pic of them together."
"Wasn't he also seen with Shiraishi-senpai? Alone? At night?"
"And Nanase from the student council, too! That girl never talks to anyone!"
"Holy crap, is he building a harem?"
"More like a cult."
"I think he cursed my relationship just by walking past me."
Summary: I've become the final boss of everyone's love life.
I sat at my desk, absolutely motionless.
If I didn't move, maybe the rumors wouldn't either.
Like a T-Rex, but for high school drama.
But of course, someone had to sit down across from me and ruin that plan.
Mio.
Big eyes. Soft smile. Very visible lip gloss.
She leaned in.
"I heard a crazy rumor," she whispered. "Apparently we kissed."
Deep inhale. Exhale. Don't panic. Don't flip the desk.
"We didn't," I said calmly.
"Should we?" she asked.
Panic.
I choked on air.
She laughed and leaned back. "Just teasing."
She wasn't.
I could feel it.
This girl radiated accidental homewrecker energy.
And then Yuna arrived.
No smile.
Just eyes.
Sharp, unreadable, and aimed directly at Mio.
"Morning," she said, sitting beside me like she'd always been there.
Mio's smile tightened.
"Morning," she replied.
My soul curled into the fetal position.
I could hear the wind howling outside.
Or maybe that was just the sound of my romantic reputation being cremated.
During lunch, it got worse.
Because someone—I'm looking at you, Disciplinary Committee Girl—taped a flyer to the bulletin board outside the cafeteria.
A full-size printout of the fortune booth photo from the festival.
Me and Yuna.
Arms linked.
Smiling.
The caption?
"Destined Pair? You Decide!"Rumor Ranking: #1 This Week!
WHY IS THERE A RUMOR RANKING SYSTEM!?
I turned to Mei, who appeared behind me like a shadow wearing a skirt.
"You did this," I hissed.
"I regulate it," she said, expression unreadable. "I don't create it."
Then she looked at the photo.
Paused.
Folded it.
And put it in her bag.
…
"What are you doing with that?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
She just walked away.
Humming.
The next hour was a hellish speedrun of unwanted attention.
Three girls asked me if I was "really dating Yuna."
Two upperclassmen told me I "broke their hearts by not staying faithful to Mio."
One random freshman shoved a homemade love letter into my pocket and whispered, "Take responsibility."
I've never wanted to be hit by a truck more in my life.
And just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse—
Itsuki asked to meet after school.
Alone.
Behind the gym.
Where high school feelings go to die.
I arrived ten minutes early, because I'm a coward and wanted to practice my "bro, I swear I'm not stealing your girl" face.
It was not convincing.
Itsuki arrived right on time.
Polite as always.
His hair slightly messy. His glasses fogged.
Eyes unreadable.
"…Hey," I said.
He didn't answer right away.
Then—
"Are you dating Yuna?"
Straight to the point.
I respect it.
"No," I said. "God no. I mean—she's great. But no. I'm trying really hard not to date anyone."
"Then why is she looking at you like that?" he asked quietly.
Like that.
Like she's already picked out matching couple phone cases and pre-ordered a future heartbreak.
I didn't have an answer.
So I said the dumbest thing possible.
"…Maybe she's just into tragic men."
Itsuki stared at me.
I braced for a punch.
Instead, he laughed.
A short, bitter sound.
"Tragic, huh?" he said. "Is that what you are?"
"…I'm working on it."
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
"I want to believe you," he said. "But every time I try, someone else starts looking at you like they're already yours."
He looked down.
"Even Mio."
That hit hard.
Because he and Mio used to be close.
Before I walked in and accidentally gave her emotional support that one time.
Now?
She sat next to me in class and chewed on her pen cap when I talked.
"…I'm sorry," I muttered.
Itsuki nodded.
"Just… don't lie to me," he said.
And walked off.
I sat there for a long time.
Alone.
Behind the gym.
Rumors swirling.
Truths bending.
Relationships cracking.
And somehow, I'm at the center of it all.
Me.
The guy who just wanted to not NTR anyone.
The guy who's trying so hard not to be the villain.
So why is everyone treating me like the main character of a soap opera?
My phone buzzed.
Message from: Unknown Number
"I know what you're doing, Sakurai.You can't hide from this.See you soon."
…
The hell?
Now there's a secret antagonist?
Fantastic.
Let's get one thing straight:
I can handle misunderstandings.
I can handle girls falling for me when I so much as hand them a pencil.
I can even handle being called "the sexy villain ruining youth" on the unofficial school gossip blog.
What I cannot handle?
Anonymous text messages that feel like they came from a murder-themed dating sim.
I know what you're doing, Sakurai.You can't hide from this.See you soon.
Cool.
Fantastic.
Just what I needed.
An enemy with punctuation.
. . .
I spent all of homeroom staring at the back of the classroom, convinced someone was going to stab me with a mechanical pencil.
Was it Itsuki?
No—he's too emotionally constipated to send ominous threats.
Mio?
Nah, she'd just kiss me and call it revenge.
Yuna?
God, I hope not. I'm pretty sure she still gets nervous ordering McDonald's.
That left one possibility:
Someone else knows.
Knows what?
That I'm not the "real" Kazuki.
That I'm some poor schmuck reincarnated into the body of the world's hottest relationship grenade.
I pulled out my phone, typed out a message:
who is this
Three little dots appeared.
Typing.
Stopped.
Typing again.
Then—
Don't worry. I'm not your enemy.But they are.Check the north stairwell. 3rd floor. Lunch break. Come alone.
Oh yeah. Totally trustworthy.
Definitely not how you lure someone into a murder hallway.
Naturally, I went.
Because I have zero self-preservation instincts and also a main character complex the size of Mount Fuji.
I skipped lunch and crept up to the third floor like I was trying to assassinate a vending machine.
The north stairwell was dim and silent.
Dusty windows. Squeaky floorboards. Smelled like old chalk and repressed feelings.
And there—standing at the top of the stairs—was a girl.
Alone.
Short black hair.
Sharp red glasses.
Collar popped like she came from an entirely different anime.
She turned.
Smirked.
"Kazuki Sakurai," she said.
Oh no.
She knows my full name.
That's never a good sign.
"You're late," she added.
"Sorry," I said. "Had to delete my browser history in case I died."
She raised a brow. "Still got jokes, huh? Even after what you've done?"
"…Okay, I'm gonna need you to be way more specific."
She stepped closer.
Eyes scanning me like she was trying to find the "reset to factory settings" button.
"You don't remember me, do you?" she asked.
Panic.
Panic.
Who is she?
Did Kazuki date her?
Cheat on her?
Steal her mom?
"…Not exactly," I admitted.
She sighed.
"I'm Himari Kurose. We went to middle school together. You dumped me in front of the entire class."
Oh.
Oh god.
Oh no.
"I didn't mean to—" I started.
"No," she said. "You didn't. But he did."
She poked my chest.
Hard.
And then stared into my eyes like she was waiting for something.
"…You're not him, are you?"
I froze.
"I—uh—what?"
She leaned in.
Closer.
Almost whispering now.
"You're not Sakurai. The real one. I knew the moment you started acting like you had morals."
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
"Look, that's a crazy thing to say," I blurted. "What do you mean, morals? I'm totally trash. I objectify thighs like it's my religion—"
"Don't lie," she said softly. "The old Kazuki would've hit on me the second he saw me. You barely even made eye contact."
"That's called character growth," I squeaked.
She didn't laugh.
Didn't blink.
Then pulled out her phone.
Opened a photo.
It was… me.
Same face.
Same spiky hair.
Except—smirking.
Eyes narrowed.
One arm around some girl I didn't recognize.
Other hand flipping off the camera.
"He was scum," she said. "But he wasn't scared. You? You flinch every time someone calls you hot."
"…I have body image trauma."
She rolled her eyes.
"You're not him," she said again. "And that means two things."
I waited.
Heart pounding.
"One," she continued, "I'm not going to destroy you."
"…That's good."
"Two—someone else is."
Not good.
Very not good.
"Wait, wait, wait," I said.
"Back up. Destroy me? Why would anyone bother? I'm a walking rom-com disaster! I can't even high-five someone without triggering a love triangle!"
She leaned against the wall.
"The rumors. The sudden rise in popularity. The photo leaks. The fake love confession flyers."
"…Wait. Those were fake?"
She nodded.
"Someone's setting you up."
I blinked.
"You mean like… trying to ruin my rep?"
"No," she said.
"Trying to kill me?"
She shook her head.
"Worse."
Then she said it.
"They're trying to make you the new protagonist."
Dead silence.
I blinked.
"What."
"There's someone manipulating things from the shadows," she said.
"Twisting the story. Pushing you into the spotlight. Rewriting your role."
"Wait, like narratively?"
"Yes."
"Like… meta-level plot meddling?"
She nodded.
I sat down on the stairs.
Hard.
"I'm in a manga," I muttered.
"A cursed NTR manga. And someone out there is trying to give me the spotlight… which means…"
I looked up.
Eyes wide.
"They're trying to make me win."
And if I win?
Everyone else loses.
Yuna. Mio. Itsuki. Mei. The whole damn school.
If this shadow director succeeds, I become the "hero" of a twisted love story built on betrayal and angst.
And worst of all?
It's working.
Because every day, more girls look at me with stars in their eyes.
Every day, another relationship crumbles.
Every day, the original protagonist falls a little further behind.
Himari stared at me.
"You wanna stop it?"
I nodded, slowly.
"Then we need to find the one pulling the strings."
She handed me a second phone.
One I'd never seen before.
A burner device.
"Text came from this," she said. "Not me."
I looked at the message history.
Blank.
Except one message.
You can't rewrite what's already been written.
Under it?
A photo.
Of me.
Standing with Yuna at the love fortune booth.
Except…
Except I had my arm around her waist.
And we were smiling like a couple.
That never happened.
That photo was edited.
Or staged.
Or—
"Holy shit," I whispered.
"They're controlling the narrative."