The formula is an inherent part of every long-running series. You know what I’m talking about: if it’s a magical girl show, the monster of the week is it; if you’re watching a romcom, the tsundere’s violent outburst will be it, and if you’re watching a shounen battle series that is still, somehow, also a romcom, the tsundere’s violent outburst doing absolutely nothing against the monster of the week other than set her as the aggro target will be it.

Apparently, regretfully, predictably, Protag-kun has a particular set of elemental weaknesses that no other character in the verse shares.

But yes, sometimes the formula is just… there. It does nothing other than keep the aesthetics of the show consistent. It doesn’t contribute to the narration, the character arcs, the exposition, or anything at all other than a vague sense of comforting familiarity.

And, honestly? At this point?

Watching Inoue’s sanity crumble is about as comfortingly familiar as I think it’ll ever get.

“Do you really expect me to…?” he says, tired, gray eyes drifting down to his desk and my proposal.

“Just… let me,” I say with a bit of my own tired smile, because having had sex with two gorgeous women in a single morning is, apparently, not enough to get my mind off the third one that should’ve completed the set.

‘Kyaaaaaaaahhhh!’

… Fuck you.

‘Not with that attitude.’

“Okay,” Inoue says with a drained sigh that lasts just long enough for me to mask my horror at the mental image he just unwittingly conjured.

“Really?” I ask.

“Do you want me to give the matter more thought?”

“Not at all, sir. I actually want you to pretend to have looked it over and stamped your seal of approval without even processing what you just signed on like a successful corporate leader would.”

“… I feel like I should be inviting former students to share with you all the actual realities of the corporate world.”

“Please, do. It’s far easier to sleep through those speeches than through regular classes.”

For some mysterious reason, Inoue groans.

‘And, this time, “Mysterious Reason” is not your—’

I swear I’ll have to exorcise Ebina from your filthy, filthy—

‘You’ve seen Ebina visiting a temple and having fun. What makes you think that an exorcism would inconvenience her?’

Oh. So, a fujoshi’s power level can’t be dealt with by a mere priest? I guess this is the point in the story where Saika reveals his perfectly foreshadowed cosplay as a crossdressing nun.

‘Of course.’

Of course.

‘… You still can’t believe this crazy plan just worked, can you?’

Not in the slightest.

“Hikigaya…” somebody who very much regrets ever becoming an educator mutters as he keeps massaging the bridge of his nose.

“I think I’ll be taking my leave now, sir.”

His hand drops from his face, and his gray eyes stare right through me in what looks like something slightly less empathy-filled than minutes ago. For some mysterious reason.

‘“Mysterious Reason” is your—’

Lack of social graces.

“Please, do so,” Inoue mutters.

So I respectfully nod and carefully move my chair back without making any noise that may irritate the older man any further before I get my bag off the floor and walk to the door promising me freedom or, at least, the rest of the morning classes and however many naps I may be able to steal through them, because being awake through most of the night only to have two emotionally draining conversations, two bewilderingly fulfilling sex scenes, and a plot (hopefully two) coming together is far more justification than I usually need to fall asleep through Math class.

So, freedom, or, at the very least, the doorknob, are in the reach of my hand, and…

And I stop.

Because I’m a moron.

But also because… Because, when I turn around, Inoue is already shuffling through another sheaf of papers, his head bowed over his desk, the sun glinting off the bald spot on a crown that may as well be waxed to be this reflective.

“Was there anything else?” he asks in the tone of somebody who very much hopes there isn’t.

“Just… You’re a good man. Sir,” I say, my throat clenching for just a moment at the clumsy declaration.

He arches a grey eyebrow as he straightens his back to look directly at me.

And he smiles.

“I sometimes like to think so, Hachiman,” he says.

Then he nods and goes back to his work.

And I reach for the doorknob.

***

“Call her,” Iroha says while fidgeting on top of my lap.

Something that is doing very little for my frayed nerves.

“She’s the one who should be calling us,” I say for… maybe the tenth time.

“You want to,” she accuses.

“I want a lot of things, Iroha, but, for now, I would just settle for you not to bounce on top of me while my entire class is watching,” I say with a very calm, reasonable tone that doesn’t end with me gritting my teeth.

She, of course, tilts her head to the side and blinks innocently up at me.

“I’m just acting as your official girlfriend, though?” she ponders as she taps her squishable cheek with her pointer finger.

This, of course, makes me tilt my head forward before I manage to suppress my first instinctual response to her display.

And the second.

And the third. Most definitely the third.

It takes a surprising amount of discarded instinctual responses until I manage to reach the level of non-sexual sarcasm.

“And I imagine that stating ‘official girlfriend’ out loud is not at all counterproductive?” I whisper, trying to ignore yet again both Tobe’s wide-eyed, awed stare and Hayama’s brittle, ambiguously encouraging smile.

Thankfully, both Yui and Miura are absent. I’d rather not have to describe any other reactions—Saika is beaming.

… Of course he’s beaming.

“Senpai, are you asking me not to declare our relationship status loudly and proudly? To hide that we’re in love and together? To pretend as if we’re mere acquaintances? I’m sorry, Senpai, but that’s impossible! After all, I wouldn’t want any other girl to get ideas about your availability.”

And now Saika’s beaming smile is the least concerning smile within my sphere of absolute awareness.

‘How chuuni of you.’

I have a very limited number of stress-managing mechanisms, and one of them is not viable at this very moment, Brain-chan.

“I think enough declaration has been made for a single day,” I mumble.

“I disagree,” she says.

And, before I can even tell her how factually wrong she is whenever she states a disagreement with my august self, she grabs my nape and pulls me down into a kiss that has me become far more vocal than I usually would feel comfortable being while in the presence of the riajuu caste.

By which I mean that she slips me some tongue.

Like, a lot.

“There…” she whispers as our lips part, her head bowed, luminous honey peering up at me through light bangs that glimmer with the light coming in from the tall windows of my classroom. “That should be loud enough.”

I lick my lips.

And, in that moment of crystallized silence before the classroom can erupt into something that I know will be far more annoying than I can deal with today, I grab her waist, stand up, throw her over my shoulder, and flee as fast as I can.

As Iroha giggles and Saika cheers, the last thing I can catch out of the corner of my eye is Ebina staring between Hayama and me with a mournful expression that I would rather not decode.

‘She thinks that now it’s slightly less likely that you two will hatefuck—’

Fuck you!

‘Well, yes. That’s also unlikely.’

***

“It worked,” Shizu finally says from the other end of the phone.

To my left, Iroha loudly deflates before she slumps over the desk in the Service club. In front of me, Yukino and Yui tightly hold one another’s hand, and I can see the slight trembling going through the taller girl before Yui aggressively drags her over her lap and into a protective hug.

“Okay,” I say, the relief washing through me like water on the verge of freezing, tension leaving my shoulders and making the room sway around me. “Okay, what… what do you mean worked?”

“Everything’s all right, Hachi. Enjoy your lunch break,” Shizu says.

Which, of course, makes me narrow my eyes in suspicion, but…

But Iroha’s looking at me with exhausted joy, her head resting sideways over her folded arms, and Yui’s rubbing comforting circles on Yukino’s back, and…

And I’m a sentimental moron.

“You’re going to your parents now?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says after a moment that will likely have been spent deciding that being with people who support her is actually a good idea.

“Good,” I tell her. And then, before she can believe for even a single second that I’m letting her off the hook this easily, I add: “I’ll go to your apartment as soon as school’s over.”

“We will go to your apartment,” Iroha says.

“Wouldn’t you rather talk with your mother—” Shizu starts.

“After,” Iroha counters.

Because, of course, no matter how much I’ve tried to be subtle about it, the foxy junior hasn’t been fooled for even a second.

I expect my college years to be uncomfortably eventful.

‘Hopefully.’

Yes. Hopefully.

“I… Okay, I’ll be there. Now, you two get to class before the lunch break ends, or I’ll set Inoue on both his most delinquent students,” she says with a mildly joking tone and some much-deserved vindication for my roaring blood.

“Wait,” Yukino says. “My sister… have you told her?”

The four people in the room stare at my phone set on the desk between us, and, for a single moment of uncomfortable empathy, I can relate to how acute the pain of social pressure must be on the poor black rectangle.

Thankfully, I hold no empathy at all for the woman stalling in her answer.

“I… haven’t called her?” Shizu finally says.

And I groan.

“You mean to tell me that, after all the theatrics and literal crimes—”

“Misdemeanors—” Yukino tries to shift the blame while also shifting on Yui’s lap, something that looks sinfully comfortable, given the way a slender back rubs against two plush pillows.

“Blackmail and corporate espionage, not to mention the other crimes that had your mother enact her own blackmail,” I retort.

“Doesn’t that cancel out? Blackmail for blackmail? It sounds like they should cancel out,” Iroha comments with worrying, apparent sincerity.

“That’s not how the legal system works. I think,” I say with certainty and aplomb. “Anyway, to go back to what I was saying: crimes. Trauma. Tearful planning sessions. And you still haven’t called Haruno?!”

“I thought we should do it together!”

“You thought that we should all be together when we gave Haruno the news that we’ve fought tooth and nail for her and freed her from her own moronic, self-destructive, likely infectious martyrdom?!”

“Yes!”

“Ah. Right. That does seem like a good idea,” I comment, idly scratching the side of my chin.

For some mysterious reason, there are three women glaring at me.

‘“Mysterious Reason” is—’

A very dangerous gag to make while in front of a fully armed Yuigahama.

“You are impossible,” both the voice coming from the phone and the voice coming from behind Yukino’s pillows state.

“Merely improbable, but I’ll take the compliment,” I say, making a flawless reference to Sherlockian philosophy that will likely get lost on—

Yukino groans.

I beam.

‘For some mysterious reason.’

***

“I feel like this scene is too crowded,” I say as we reach Shizu’s door, and I briefly wonder if a certain neighbor is losing her mind at the idea of even more girls joining Shizu’s retinue.

“I agree. We could clearly do with less extraneous narration,” Yukino savagely comments.

“It’s not extraneous: it serves to set the tone of the scene as well as allow viewers a glimpse into the sharp wit that could be gleaned through an apparently detached, borderline dissociative, perspective on the occurrences surrounding the attractive main character,” I comment, suppressing my smile as I look back over my shoulder at the younger Yukinoshita not rolling her eyes, at Iroha biting her lower lip to disguise an amused smile, and at Yui taking a deep breath that will prelude both a sigh and something that I will strive not to stare at.

‘Twice. You’ve had sex twice today.’

Stop reminding me. I’m trying not to stare.

“Will you ring that doorbell before that ego of yours gets even more inflated?” Yukino asks in a disappointingly lackluster way.

“Just because it’s you, I’ll graciously ignore the underlying innuendo,” I tell her, turning to face her fully.

“And just because it’s you, I’ll graciously ignore the overt sexual harassment,” she answers.

“If only…” Yui wistfully comments.

“Ah… Too much?” I ask while trying not to wince.

Her eyebrows rise in mild surprise, and she looks at an apparently somewhat guilty Yukino before she softly smiles, lets go of her girlfriend’s hand, and walks up to me.

To pat my cheek.

“No. Not at all. We’re friends, aren’t we, Hachi?” she says, the same question that she asked what seems like ages ago while looking far scarier than I ever thought the puppy girl could ever look after I unwittingly went a step too far while engaging in one of my verbal spars with… the girl that had just become her girlfriend and that I no longer had any claim to.

Except, this time around, Yui’s eyes aren’t sharp or intimidating.

They are just…

Yui’s.

So her fingers on my cheek are warm, gentle, and soothing, and I can’t help reaching up to hold her hand with mine for… for a fleeting moment that is no longer pregnant with what may have been, but with what is. With me being in awe of one of the strongest women I’ll ever meet.

Her smile widens, her eyes twinkle, and, yet again, I’m witness to what Yui has that none of us do.

Then her fingers slip past mine, and she, of course, and without bothering to check whether I’m done with my delaying tactics, rings the doorbell.

Almost immediately, a frazzled woman still wearing about two-thirds of her battle gear, only lacking her jacket and coat, opens the door, and I’m assaulted by a cloud of tobacco smoke that does nothing at all to allay my suspicions regarding how closely she stuck to my plan.

“You messed up,” I accuse.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.

“You’re copying me. If that’s not foreshadowing, I don’t know what is—”

“I’m not copying you. You don’t have a trademark on that line. It’s a staple of characters trying to avoid uncomfortable talks for a reason. If you just stuck to the classics—”

“I don’t want to hear that from an Inuyasha fan.”

“You philistine—”

“It’s Dragon Ball Z for shoujo fans!”

“It’s a Takahashi work. At least she doesn’t forget how to draw her own characters!”

“That was one time! And it was only Launch! Who the heck cared about Launch—”

“You very much did, seeing as you immediately knew what I’m talking about, you insufferable, hypocritical brat.”

“Well, I don’t know who Launch is, but I’m pretty sure that she was as important to this ‘Dragon Ball Z’ as this conversation is in general,” a voice says from behind me.

I freeze.

Then, I, only briefly taking in Shizu’s barrage of shifting emotions, slowly turn around to find Haruno standing by her sister’s side.

“You know perfectly well what Dragon Ball Z is. It’s the most famous anime ever,” I calmly state.

“Do I?” she asks with that infuriating grin of hers.

“Yes. Yes, you do. You’re only doing that thing you do, riling me up so I’ll rant about something that you only care about because it amuses you to see my own reactions,” I say.

“Am I?” she comments with a couple of musing, fluttering winks.

So I take three steps toward her, stopping when I’m right in front of Haruno, close enough that her tan coat brushes against my own blue coat.

“Yes. Yes, you are,” I breathe out.

“Where’s my amusing ranting, then?” she says, her lips rising into her usual smirk.

Except it’s quivering at the corners, and her eyes glimmer with something unshed as her voice trembles just a bit with suppressed emotion as I stand right in front of the woman I love that was almost torn from me.

So I… I push just a bit forward, and then it’s my chest pressed against hers, my eyes set on lavender, our lips parting, our breaths mingling…

And Iroha crashing right between us, clinging to a frantically backpedaling Haruno who bats futilely at empty air as our particularly amorous human koala does her very best to asphyxiate her with both arms and tongue.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

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This work is a repost of my second oldest fic on QQ, where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 105 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Also, I’d like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: aj0413, LearningDiscord, Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and help me keep writing snarky, maladjusted teenagers and their cake buffets, consider joining them or buying one of my books on Amazon. Thank you for reading!