When your homeroom teacher climbs in through your window holding groceries like she's your live-in wife, you're forced to do some reflection.
On your life.
On your choices.
On the increasingly suspicious nature of the universe.
Also on the fact that you're wearing a hoodie that says "Shirtless in My Mind."
I tried to cover the text with my hands as Natsuki-sensei stepped through the window like this was completely normal behavior for a grown woman with a teaching license.
She looked around my room, unimpressed. "Still a disaster zone, I see."
"Y-You came in through the window, Sensei!"
"The front door was locked."
"You know you could've knocked?"
"I could've," she said, walking past me to the kitchen like she owned the lease. "But then you might've pretended you weren't home."
I blinked. "Wait. You were going to break in even if I didn't answer the door?!"
"It's not breaking in if I bring groceries," she replied, like that was a law of physics.
Aya poked her head out of the hallway, hair still damp.
"...Is that my math teacher?"
"It's our math teacher," I said grimly.
"Why is she putting miso paste in our fridge?"
"Don't ask questions. Just accept the curse."
Natsuki-sensei moved through my kitchen like a practiced assassin.
She was still dressed casually—loose cardigan, tank top, jeans. Nothing scandalous. But the casualness of it was the problem. It was too homey. Like we'd already skipped six flags and five dates.
She opened a cabinet.
Empty.
She opened the fridge.
Also empty.
She turned to me, expression flat. "Have you eaten anything this week besides instant noodles and despair?"
"I had an egg yesterday."
She closed the fridge. "I'm making you soup."
"You don't have to do that—"
"You're sick."
"I pretended to be sick."
"You're pale."
"I'm always pale."
"You have stress acne."
"That's puberty!"
She gave me a long, soul-piercing stare.
"Sit. Down."
I sat.
Aya sat across from me again, leaning on her palm.
"...You really weren't kidding," she muttered.
"I never joke about reality-warping pervert powers."
"I thought you were just hallucinating from anime burnout."
"I wish."
She looked toward the kitchen. "So how much of this is your fault?"
"I didn't mean to think about her coming over," I whispered, panicking. "It was a passing thought! Like: 'Wouldn't it be funny if Natsuki-sensei came over and saw how miserable my fridge was?' Boom. Ten minutes later, she's sliding through the window with a daikon in her hand!"
Aya nodded slowly. "Okay. So, new rule: you need to stop thinking anything. Ever."
"Believe me, I'm trying."
Twenty minutes later, the smell of miso soup filled the room.
I hated how comforting it was.
The way the steam curled in the air. The faint clatter of utensils. The home-cooked warmth that my soul hadn't felt in months.
Natsuki-sensei placed the tray down gently. Soup. Rice. Pickled vegetables. Tofu.
Not a heart-shaped anything in sight, thank god.
"Eat," she said.
"...Yes, Sensei."
I bowed like a prisoner being handed his last meal.
Aya raised her hand. "Do I get some?"
"No," Natsuki said without looking at her.
I took a sip of the soup.
Delicious.
Of course it was.
Because now, on top of everything else, my brain had magically summoned a flawless domestic wife route.
If I wasn't careful, I'd accidentally think of her in an apron next and she'd start humming while doing dishes in my kitchen.
Don't. Visualize. The apron.
...
Too late.
I immediately stood up. "I need to go outside."
"It's raining," Natsuki said.
"I need to be cleansed."
Aya narrowed her eyes. "He's trying to escape his own thoughts again."
"I'm not escaping—I'm running from reality before I break it."
I grabbed my coat and practically launched myself out the front door into the drizzle.
Rain hit my face like a divine slap. Cold. Wet. Honest.
I stood there in silence, eyes to the sky.
"Okay, Universe," I said quietly. "I get it. I have a power. Some weird manifestation quirk. Great. But can we please, please, put a limiter on it?"
Thunder rumbled softly, which felt like a "No."
My phone buzzed.
I checked it.
[Rika Kurose]: You left your bento box on the desk. I will retrieve it and return it in person.
I stared.
Up at the sky.
Then down again.
No.
No, no, no—
Another buzz.
[Kurose]: Also, you imagined me in an apron earlier. Didn't you.
I dropped the phone into a puddle.
Back inside, Natsuki-sensei was doing dishes.
In.
An.
Apron.
White. Frilly. Full coverage. Nothing outrageous.
And yet, it was somehow the most dangerous thing I'd seen all week.
I collapsed face-down on the couch.
Aya looked at me, biting into a rice cracker she stole off the tray.
"So how long until your brain accidentally spawns a hot nurse?"
"Don't. Tempt. Fate."