Student Council Room — Late Afternoon
Shirogane Miyuki set down his pen. He had been turning something over in his mind for the past several minutes, and the weight of it had become too great to carry alone.
"Sakurai."
Saki looked up from his documents.
"What I said before—about being a clear scumbag if you're going to be one—" Shirogane chose his words with the care of a man defusing a bomb. "That wasn't an endorsement. It was... a clarification. A warning, even. I meant don't toy with people's feelings, not that you should actually become one."
In Shirogane's estimation, Sakurai Saki was fundamentally decent. His personality occasionally revealed a jagged edge, yes, but beneath the clinical exterior beat a heart that, if not exactly warm, was at least not actively malicious.
"I understood your meaning." Saki's response was calm, certain. "At the time, it was like clouds parting to reveal the sun. Clarifying."
Good, Shirogane thought. He understood.
"But."
...But?
"Are you certain I'm being excessive?" Saki turned, offering a cup of coffee with the same motion. "I currently have sincere feelings for only two people. Is that truly so deserving of condemnation?"
Shirogane accepted the coffee automatically, his brain still processing.
Two. He said *two. *
Not one. Not zero. Two.
The door opened.
"Superior Miao. Sakurai-senpai. Good afternoon."
Ishigami Yu shuffled in, his voice a study in exhausted disinterest. He collapsed onto the sofa with the boneless grace of a creature evolved specifically for horizontal surfaces and immediately retrieved his game console.
A third coffee appeared at his elbow.
"Have you been studying lately?"
"Kind of." Ishigami wasn't lying, precisely. He had, in fact, opened a textbook within the past seventy-two hours. For approximately twenty minutes. While also playing games. The definition of "studying" was, he felt, somewhat flexible.
Intermittent ambition, Saki observed. Continuous procrastination. Without external pressure, he reverts to baseline. Habits are difficult to establish.
Shirogane greeted Ishigami mechanically, then returned to the previous conversation with the focus of a man who had not slept and therefore could not be distracted by trivialities like changing the subject.
"Sakurai. Since we're all men here, and all trustworthy—" He gestured vaguely to indicate the sacred brotherhood of the Student Council. "—I'll be direct. I think two-timing is quite scummy."
Ishigami's thumbs paused over his console.
Two-timing? What are they discussing?
"Do you?" Saki's tone was thoughtful, not defensive. "I find it perfectly reasonable, provided all parties are willing. In many contexts, it's simply the optimal solution."
He offered an example:
"Visual novels, Shirogane. You're familiar?"
Shirogane nodded cautiously. He had, for research purposes, investigated the medium. Ishigami was, after all, a known enthusiast.
"A typical game offers multiple routes," Saki continued. "But in most cases, you may only choose one heroine per playthrough."
Ah, Ishigami thought, comprehension dawning. They're discussing games. Finally, a topic where I hold undisputed superiority.
(2D-only. He was, he would freely admit, 2D-only.)
"Is Sakurai-senpai attempting the harem route?" Ishigami asked, reasonably certain they were still discussing gameplay strategies.
"Attempting?" Saki's brow furrowed. "My feelings are genuine. This isn't mere play."
Ishigami stared at him.
This man is deep in character.
"The harem route," Ishigami offered cautiously, "tends to make the protagonist appear quite scummy. A single route feels more like pure love."
Pure love warrior, his internal monologue supplied. That's me.
"Consider this, Ishigami." Saki's voice took on a pedagogical edge. "If I choose one, the other is necessarily abandoned. What becomes of her? Does she marry another? Live alone forever? Pine away in unfulfilled longing?"
"Why not just reset and choose her route next time?" Ishigami asked, genuinely puzzled. Games could be replayed. This was basic functionality.
"Reset?" Saki's expression shifted to something approaching disappointment. "You mean break up? Terminate the relationship midway?" He let the question hang. "Isn't that more scummy?"
Ishigami opened his mouth. Closed it.
Choosing only one, no matter what, leads to no good ending. If you can accept the girl you love marrying and dating a stranger...
A terrible thought began to form.
In every route I've ever played... what happened to the heroines I didn't choose?
The games never showed it. The credits rolled. The story ended.
But in the world of the game, time continued. Heroines grew up. Met people. Fell in love.
With strangers.
With people who weren't me.
Famous actresses marry ordinary salarymen all the time. Why would 2D heroines be exempt from the same fate?
Ishigami looked up, his expression now one of profound existential seriousness.
"Sakurai-senpai."
"Yes?"
"I think... being a scumbag might be better."
Shirogane pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You two are ignoring a fundamental variable." His voice carried the weight of a man who had, in the past twenty-four hours, battled both insomnia and a leaking roof and was therefore not to be trifled with. "The subjective will of the women involved. No girl willingly accepts a harem arrangement. Polygamy is illegal in Japan. Treating human beings as collectible objects is—and I cannot believe I have to say this—not good."
"I established a premise," Saki countered calmly. "Informed consent. Willing participation."
Shirogane opened his mouth to respond—
"None of us have girlfriends."
Silence.
Absolute, crystalline silence.
"Why are we discussing this?" Ishigami finished, blissfully unaware that he had just detonated a tactical nuclear device in a confined space.
The room held its breath.
Shirogane stared at Ishigami.
Saki stared at Ishigami.
Ishigami, feeling the weight of their combined attention like a physical pressure, began to sweat.
"…What?" His voice was small. "Did I say something wrong?"
Student Council Room — Moments Later
"Sorry, Ishigami." Shirogane's voice carried the solemn weight of a man delivering bad news. "Sakurai has a girlfriend."
Ishigami's brain performed a complex series of calculations.
"A… huh?" The word emerged slowly, as if his vocal cords needed time to verify the input. "Girl… friend?"
Then his expression transformed.
It was the look of a man who had just seen a ghost—or, more accurately, a man who had just calculated the future implications of a specific romantic configuration and found them terrifying.
Sakurai-senpai. Fujiwara-senpai. Together. As a couple.
The Earth's Cancer and the man I deeply respect.
Bound by love.
How am I supposed to retort to her now?!
In Ishigami's defense, the conclusion was logical. Fujiwara Chika was present. Daily. In the Student Council Room. Their interactions were frequent, familiar, charged with the easy intimacy of people who spent excessive time together.
Hayasaka Ai, by contrast, was merely a name attached to gaming sessions. A ruthless killing machine who, alongside Sakurai-senpai, had been falsely banned multiple times for the crime of being too good at video games.
Were a gaming partner and a daily presence in the same room even comparable?
Sakurai-senpai would obviously choose—
The door opened.
Soft pink hair. Distinctive black bow. Fujiwara Chika executed a small spin in the doorway—for flair, for drama, for no reason except that she could—and then, with the unerring trajectory of a heat-seeking missile, launched herself directly into Sakurai Saki's arms.
Ishigami watched.
His suspicions crystallized into certainty.
"Oh! Ishigami-kun!" Chica's voice was muffled slightly by Saki's shoulder. "You're here too!"
"…Fujiwara-senpai." Ishigami's voice was flat. Resigned. "If you're going to display affection with Sakurai-senpai, could you do it elsewhere? The odor is overwhelming. I can barely breathe."
He demonstrated this by covering his nose with dramatic precision.
"This is just a friendly hug!" Chika extracted herself, indignant. "Not display of affection! There's a difference!"
Saki released her without comment, his expression giving nothing away.
With a female presence now in the room, the previous discussion of harems and relationship philosophy was, if not impossible, at least inadvisable.
Saki pivoted smoothly.
"The Ball Game Tournament. Any events you're considering?"
"No interest." Ishigami's response was immediate. Terminal. "If Sakurai-senpai needs cheering, I can attend for that purpose."
The Ball Game Tournament lacked mandatory participation—a technical freedom that masked a social trap. Those who didn't participate were often quietly ostracized for failing to integrate.
Ishigami, already ostracized, had long since stopped caring about such calculations.
"What event is Saki-kun doing?" Chika tilted her head, genuinely curious.
"Volleyball, likely. I have some proficiency." Saki had played as main attacker before. The position suited him—offensive, decisive, requiring both precision and power.
"President?"
"I'm not especially familiar with ball games." Shirogane finished organizing his documents and stretched, joints popping audibly. "But I'll participate in volleyball this time."
He rose and settled onto the sofa beside them.
"Then I'll choose volleyball too!" Chika declared.
"Shirogane." Saki's tone was mild, merely informative. "We're in different classes. We may face each other as opponents."
"That's fine." Shirogane took a sip of his coffee—excellent, as always. "I'm only slightly unfamiliar with volleyball. The odds of us meeting in direct competition are low."
Fujiwara Chika's internal sensors activated.
Slightly unfamiliar.
The last time President said "slightly bad," it was about singing.
The last time President sang, small animals fled the area.
The last time President sang, I briefly questioned the benevolence of the universe.
…
…This is a problem.
But Saki, oblivious to the warning signs flashing around Chika's mental landscape, continued smoothly.
"We should find time to practice. Chika, you should join us."
"…!"
Chika's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
She wanted to accept. Any invitation from Saki was, by definition, acceptable. Desirable, even.
But practice with President meant witnessing whatever disaster his "slight unfamiliarity" would produce.
Music was a fluke, she told herself firmly. Sports are different. The President is competent at many things. His athletic ability can't possibly—
…Probably.
I hope.
"Okay," she heard herself say. "I'll come."
I am making a terrible mistake, her survival instincts whispered.
She ignored them.
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