The following Monday, I woke up at 6:00 a.m. sharp.
Not because I was suddenly a morning person. Not because I'd reformed my sloppy student habits. And definitely not because I was bursting with motivation.
It was because of The Lunch Incident.
You see, after last Friday's courtyard showdown—with Shirogane, no less—Mei had offered to make my lunch. "For continuity," she said. "If people see we're sharing food, it strengthens the illusion."
I hadn't realized she'd actually follow through. But sure enough, Saturday morning, I got a LINE message with a picture of a tiered bento box so beautifully arranged it could've earned its own cooking show.
Then came the kicker:
"Bring your own chopsticks. No one likes a boyfriend who forgets the essentials."—Mei
So here I was, alarm set three hours early, frantically watching YouTube videos titled "How Not to Look Like a Caveman While Eating Bento."
It turns out there's a technique to eating gracefully. No loud chewing. No slurping. No stuffing an entire onigiri into your mouth like a cartoon.
I practiced with leftover rice and nearly choked myself trying to make it look elegant.
By the time I walked through the school gates, I felt like a soldier entering enemy territory. And yet, at 7:53 a.m. on the dot, Mei was there.
Waiting.
Again.
This time, she had something new: a thermos in one hand, and a bag holding the lunch box in the other.
"Morning," she said, calm as a summer breeze.
"Hi," I replied, trying to sound cool and casual. I probably sounded like I had a sore throat.
She handed me the bag.
"It's insulated. Should keep the tamagoyaki warm."
"You made me omelette rolls?"
"Are you surprised?"
"Very. I thought you'd hand me two dry crackers and a note that said 'pretend this is food.'"
She didn't laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitched—an expression I was starting to interpret as Mei's version of belly-laughing.
We walked in together, same as before, and again the whispers resumed.
I had to admit… it was getting easier.
Maybe it was because I'd grown used to the stares. Maybe because Mei radiated confidence so effortlessly that it rubbed off on me. Or maybe—just maybe—it was because I found myself liking walking beside her.
Even if it was fake.
Even if it was temporary.
I wasn't delusional. I knew where I stood in the high school ecosystem: somewhere between "forgettable background character" and "guy-who-fell-asleep-during-the-fire-drill."
But walking beside Mei made me feel visible. Like I'd been given a role in a show everyone else had been watching without me.
Still, the real test came at lunch.
"Courtyard again?" I asked as we left the classroom.
Mei shook her head. "Too predictable. Today we eat on the rooftop."
I blinked. "We're allowed up there?"
"Officially? No. But the lock's broken. I surveyed it last week."
"You've been planning rooftop lunches in advance?"
"I like to be thorough."
So, fifteen minutes later, we sat cross-legged under the sun, a breeze fluttering across the concrete roof, with the skyline of Tokyo stretching out around us like a painted backdrop.
Mei opened her bento and passed it to me.
It looked even better in person.
Sliced strawberries arranged like flowers. A mini hamburger steak glazed in a sweet sauce. Rice balls shaped like bears. BEARS.
"This… is ridiculous," I whispered. "I can't eat this. I need to frame it."
"You'll offend me if you don't eat it."
"Then prepare to be extremely flattered."
I picked up my chopsticks and tried to remember every tutorial I'd watched. No stabbing. No shoveling. Eat with grace.
But right as I was about to pick up a sausage that looked suspiciously like a tiny octopus, the rooftop door slammed open.
And in came a herd.
Three girls, two boys. All from different classes. And at their head—of course—was Tanaka Rika.
"Oh my god, I knew it," she cried. "You two really were up here! You're doing the rooftop romance arc!"
"What?" I said.
"You know! Like in every manga ever! First comes the courtyard, then the rooftop, then the festival fireworks, then emotional confession at the train station!"
"I'm learning a lot about your romantic expectations," I muttered.
Rika dropped her bag with a thud and grinned at us. "Don't mind us! We're just observers. Continue your flirtation."
"We're eating lunch," Mei said dryly.
"Same thing, really."
Mei returned to her bento like she hadn't just been ambushed by a crowd.
I, on the other hand, could feel sweat dripping down my neck. I wasn't good with audiences. Eating in front of people was hard enough, but performing romance while eating? That should be illegal.
But then, Mei did something that made my brain stall.
She reached across, grabbed a piece of tamagoyaki with her chopsticks—
—and fed it to me.
My soul left my body.
She didn't say a word. Just gave me the food and continued eating like it was the most casual thing in the world.
The group behind us exploded.
"Oh my GOD!"
"She just—"
"Straight into his mouth!"
"Do you think they kiss after lunch?!"
I managed to swallow without dying. Barely.
I glanced at Mei, but she was studying the horizon.
"Why," I whispered, "would you do that?"
"Building intimacy," she replied. "Also, your hands were shaking. I assumed you needed help."
"That was not helping! That was nuking the social battlefield!"
"I strive for efficiency."
I buried my face in my hands.
"I'm going to get assassinated by the School Council's Jealousy Enforcement Division."
"They don't exist."
"They will after today."
After the group finally left (one of them saluted us as if we were national heroes), I leaned back against the wall, exhausted.
"Do you ever get tired of being so composed?" I asked.
Mei tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"You're never flustered. Or awkward. You're always five steps ahead. Doesn't it wear you out?"
She was quiet for a moment.
Then said, "It used to."
That surprised me.
She didn't elaborate.
So I said, "I guess I admire that. You being in control all the time."
"You think I'm in control?"
"Yeah."
Another pause.
"You'd be surprised."
That was the end of the conversation. But something about her tone stuck with me.
It wasn't cold. It wasn't teasing. It was… tired.
That night, I couldn't stop thinking about it.
This whole thing had started as a bizarre ploy to protect her reputation. But there were layers under Mei's perfect act.
And I was starting to think I wanted to know more.
Not for the role.
Not for the show.
But because I was genuinely curious.
About the girl who made bear-shaped rice balls and said "building intimacy" like it was a science experiment.
About the girl who smiled when no one was watching.
About the girl who, maybe, wasn't quite as unshakable as she seemed.
The next day…
Something changed.
I didn't notice it at first. Mei was as precise as ever—on time, well-dressed, socially bulletproof.
But during class, when I dropped my pencil and bent to grab it, I looked up—and caught her watching me.
Just for a second.
Our eyes met.
And she looked away.
Fast.
Too fast.
It wasn't the usual analytical glance she gave everyone. It wasn't measuring or cold. It was… uncertain.
And that was new.
That moment replayed in my head the entire day.
She didn't bring it up.
Neither did I.
But later, during cleaning duty, she passed me the broom and said, "You didn't finish your pickled radish yesterday."
I blinked. "You noticed?"
"Observation is part of the role."
I grinned. "Or maybe you just care."
She didn't reply.
But her ears turned a little red.
And I counted that as a win.
Later that week…
The rumors had reached critical mass.
"Did you hear they've been dating for a month?"
"No way, I heard they kissed on the roof!"
"She's totally going to propose at graduation."
The exaggerations were getting out of hand.
But weirdly, I wasn't stressed.
In fact, I kind of… liked it?
People greeted me in the halls now. Other classmates included me in conversations. I even got invited to a study group, which was about as rare as spotting a unicorn doing taxes.
All because of Mei.
Or rather, because I was with Mei.
At lunch that day, she handed me another perfectly crafted bento.
This one had tiny carrot stars. Like actual stars. Who even had the time?
"Why stars?" I asked.
"They're statistically charming."
I laughed. "Do you run surveys on this?"
"I've been known to collect data."
I wanted to ask something else.
Something real.
But before I could, Mei suddenly said, "After school. Come with me."
"Where?"
"You'll see."
And just like that, we had our first after-school rendezvous.
4:15 PM. Train Station. Platform Three.
"I knew it," I said as we stood under the cherry blossom tree near the platform.
Mei adjusted her satchel. "Knew what?"
"This is where we supposedly confessed, right? According to your backstory?"
"Yes."
"And now you've brought me here. Feels poetic."
"It's a stress test," she replied.
"A what?"
"I want to see how the environment influences your behavior."
"Mei," I said. "You're not testing a robot."
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then did something completely unexpected.
She sat on the bench and patted the spot beside her.
I sat down, cautiously.
"You said I always seem in control," she said quietly.
I nodded.
"But the truth is… being in control is exhausting."
My breath caught.
"I've always felt like if I let my guard down for even a second, everything would fall apart. Expectations. Reputation. Image. People only like me because I'm flawless."
"That's not true."
She turned to me. "You're the first person who talks to me like I'm normal."
I didn't know what to say.
So I said, "You are normal. You're just good at faking perfection."
She laughed. A soft, real laugh.
"That might be the nicest insult I've ever gotten."
I smiled. "I'm here to help."
We sat in silence for a while.
Then she whispered, "You know… sometimes I forget we're pretending."
I turned to her, heartbeat suddenly very loud.
"Me too."
She looked at me then.
Really looked.
And for the first time since this whole crazy scheme started—
—she didn't look away.