40) Chapter 8. This Year for Sure! (3)

Making friends is, in a way, almost instinctive.

Not in the sense that becoming a super‑popular social butterfly is instinct—but recognizing someone similar to yourself and naturally growing close is something humans are wired for.

Unfortunately, that instinct weakens with age.

Or rather, opportunities to use it disappear.

Until high school, you’re surrounded by kids your age, all wearing the same uniforms, spending long hours together. Even someone who doesn’t know how to socialize gets plenty of chances to observe and approach others.

But once you graduate university and start working, the people around you aren’t necessarily your age, and unless you join a massive company, the number of coworkers is limited. The odds of meeting someone who feels like “your kind” drop sharply.

Add the pressure to act “mature,” and you end up forming only functional, surface‑level relationships. Eventually, you forget how to approach new people at all, and slowly drift into isolation…

…Anyway, I’m not sure why I’m explaining all this now.

The point is: even someone like me—who forgot how to make friends in my previous life—could tell these two were blatantly hovering around us. So of course Soi or Chae‑yi, who naturally attracted people, would notice even faster.

Especially Soi, who didn’t mind anyone approaching as long as they didn’t dislike me—

“Ah, Ji‑hye! Mi‑rae!”

—though I didn’t expect her to greet them that warmly.

Wait.

“S‑Soi…”

The two girls approached with shy, excited smiles, like they’d been waiting for this.

…What?

When I tried talking to them before, they practically fainted from fear.

Their uniforms were still a bit baggy. Their skirts reached just below the knee, the pleats weren’t stitched tight, and their shirts didn’t cling to their bodies.

Honestly, if the four of us stood together, passersby might think we’d “summoned” them for a lecture.

Why?

The short‑haired girl with round glasses looked especially moved—like someone who pretends not to care about class gatherings but immediately nods when the class rep invites her.

“Why are you standing in the sun? Sit here.”

Soi casually patted the empty space beside her.

“…Huh.”

I let out a small sound without thinking.

Normally, a bench like this would fit four tightly, but since none of us were particularly big, and the two otaku girls were even smaller, they managed to squeeze in after Soi nudged me and Chae‑yi aside.

“…Who are they?”

Chae‑yi asked bluntly.

One of the girls—Ji‑hye or Mi‑rae—flinched.

“Classmates.”

“Oh.”

“Ah, right. Rua doesn’t know yet. We became friends recently. Right, Ji‑hye?”

So the glasses girl was Ji‑hye.

“Uh… I guess?”

Her face was beaming, but her voice lacked confidence.

Well, that made sense.

“Insiders”—the popular kids—had a strange talent for remembering the names of classmates they’d never spoken to. And when they called someone by name for the first time, without honorifics, the other person often panicked.

So maybe Ji‑hye was just startled.

“You play that game too?”

“Yeah. Look, she’s pretty, right? Rua plays it.”

Come to think of it, I’d almost never seen Soi talk about this stuff with other kids. Naturally—Soi wasn’t an otaku.

“Otaku”—or more crudely, “nerd”—isn’t easy to define.

In the past, being into anime past age fifteen might’ve earned you that label. But nowadays, Japanese animated films regularly rank first or second at the box office.

For a hardcore, introverted otaku like me, watching couples go see shounen anime movies and post “otaku couple date review ♡” online stirred a deep, inexplicable rage.

So I refused to acknowledge them as true otaku.

But if they started talking about anime with me, I’d instantly light up and ramble until they regretted approaching me.

…Yeah. I know the type well.

Even if two people like the same character, there’s a huge gap between a “casual fan” and a “true otaku.”

“Look, if you pat her head like this—”

Soi tapped the character on her screen, and the black‑haired girl blushed and let out a soft sound.

Of course—she was a heroine who liked the protagonist.

And in these games, the protagonist is basically the player.

But Soi wasn’t the type to immerse herself that deeply.

To her, the character was just another cute design—no different from a bunny keychain.

But to a real otaku, that character was their heroine.

“……”

I wasn’t sure why I was thinking about all this.

Soi had always made friends easily. I just didn’t remember all of them.

So why…

Why did this feel uncomfortable?

It sounded weird, but the feeling was something like:

“What do you know about Soi?”

Sure, Soi wasn’t an otaku. She wouldn’t dive deep into the game. She probably just saw a character that looked like me and impulsively bought her.

So she definitely wasn’t close to these girls.

“Um, actually, you can touch more than just the head…”

Ji‑hye said.

My mind blanked.

In these games, “touching somewhere other than the head” usually meant… chest or butt.

Was she seriously about to teach Soi that?

I didn’t know what emotion I was feeling.

But before I could intervene—

Tap.

Soi grabbed Ji‑hye’s wrist before her finger reached the screen.

“Ah.”

Both of them blinked in surprise.

“I know.”

Soi smiled.

But the smile was stiff.

…Wait.

Was that the expression of someone who really didn’t want others touching “her character”?

“Ah—sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Soi let go, and Ji‑hye pulled her hand back.

She looked like she was debating whether to run away.

Exactly the situation I described earlier—someone who felt a sudden sense of closeness, then realized they might’ve overstepped.

“……”

Even I felt secondhand embarrassment watching her.

So I quietly said:

“Ji‑hye? Mi‑rae?”

They both jerked their heads up and nodded quickly.

Yeah.

Asking why they were terrified last time would be pointless.

I backed off then, but Soi wouldn’t have.

With Soi still stiff beside me, I thought for a moment, then said:

“Uh… hi?”

“Ah, hi.”

“H‑hi.”

They returned the greeting awkwardly.

Well… what else could I do?

Even if I looked like a pretty girl, I was still me on the inside…

And whatever popularity I had through Soi had evaporated. The only difference between us now was whether our uniforms fit tightly or not.

…Actually, if you compared “zero affection” to “negative affection,” I might’ve had it worse.

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Pub: 25 Mar 2026 09:07 UTC

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