Taking a sip of her iced tea, Yuka squared her shoulders and looked Jun directly in the eye. "Matsue, did I do something to upset you? If I did, I want you to be straight with me."

  "Not at all," Jun replied, his voice a masterpiece of feigned confusion. "You’re overthinking it. You’ve always been the sweetest person I know; why would I ever be mad at you?"

  "But... you’re being so formal. It’s like we’re back to being strangers." Yuka set the glass down. Suddenly, she lunged forward and gripped Jun’s wrist. She hung her head, her face shrouded by her hair, her voice trembling.

  The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

  "I told you, I’m just having a rough week." Jun gently pried her fingers off him, forcing a lighter tone. He wasn't ready to lay his cards on the table yet. Even if he confronted her, he knew he’d never believe a word out of her mouth again.

  "Well, I hope this news makes your week better! Mrs. Kominato says your suspension is officially lifted!" Yuka beamed at him, looking as triumphant as if she’d just won a court case. "They did a full review and found no 'code of conduct' violations. You don't have to worry about those rumors anymore. The school is even planning to issue a formal apology."

  "That is good news. I guess I’ll be back on Monday."

  Jun buried the shock deep inside. He knew—and Yuka definitely knew—that the rumor about him working that bar was 100% true. To have it cleared so cleanly was impossible.

  How did I get exonerated for something I actually did?

  "I heard Mochizuki was the one who pulled the strings for you," Yuka added.

  "Which Mochizuki?" Jun was genuinely lost.

  "The girl everyone was talking about. The heiress you were supposedly 'manipulating.'" Yuka’s smile turned razor-thin. Behind her back, she was white-knuckling the fabric of her skirt.

  "I’ve never even spoken to her," Jun said, waving it off.

  "I believe you. After all, I’m the only one who knows the 'real' you." Yuka smiled. In the entire academy, she alone held the key to the mask he wore.

  She tried to linger, but Jun stopped giving her openings. He kept dropping hints about a "migraine" until she finally took the hint and left.

  Jun saw her to the door, promising he’d eat every bite of the lunch she brought. As the door clicked shut, her porcelain smile vanished from his mind.

  He went straight to his room and put on a pair of headphones.

  The transmitter was smaller than a button. He’d managed to stick it to the back of her dress while ushering her out. He’d spent every last cent of his "bar money" to buy that piece of tech from the detective.

  He adjusted the dial. The audio was scratchy but audible.

  The rhythmic clack-clack of her heels echoed in his ears. He could almost see her swaying down the sidewalk. He heard the rush of traffic and the chime of a grocery store entrance.

  Jun stood on his balcony, nursing the tea she’d left behind. He wasn't a voyeur; he was just broke, and iced tea was a luxury he only served for guests. He watched the sun bleed into the skyline, listening to her world. A car splashed a puddle, making her let out a sharp, startled gasp. He heard a stray cat meow; her footsteps stopped, followed by the soft sound of purring as she petted it.

  To any onlooker, she was a picture of grace.

  Then, the footsteps stopped. The jingle of keys, the creak of a heavy door. She was home.

  Then came a long, ragged sigh. In the vacuum of her own house, the mask finally cracked.

  "He definitely knows," she whispered. "Jun’s reaction today... it was all wrong."

  "I shouldn't have leaked those photos so early. If I can't keep him within reach, I’ll lose control of the narrative," she muttered, her voice cold and calculating.

  It really was her, Jun thought. The last flicker of doubt died.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "Tomatsu... Tomatsu..." Jun thought someone was calling her, but he realized she was chanting her own name.

  "Tomatsu. Tomatsu. Tomatsu, Tomatsu, Tomatsu..." Her voice grew guttural, her teeth gritting.

  "I HATE IT!" she screamed. "He used to call me Yuka! He’s going to hate me now!"

  He heard her hyperventilating, gasping for air as if she were drowning.

  "All that progress... it’s all going to zero!"

  "System! Show me his Affection Meter!"

  Jun’s expression went stone-cold.

  "-10?!" Yuka shrieked in disbelief. Then came the sobbing—sharp, ugly, and jagged.

  "But... but in the Simulation, it was so perfect! Why...?"

  The audio dissolved into a mess of crying, incoherent muttering, and the sound of glass shattering against a wall.

  Jun listened until the battery died. He had confirmed the impossible.

  Tomatsu Yuka was the System’s new puppet.

  _____

  Jun recorded every second of that breakdown. After a weekend spent dissecting the audio, he was certain.

  The System is still hunting me.

  The Dating Sim System, rejected by Jun, had moved on to the girls he was supposed to "save." Now, he was the trophy.

  Jun thought back to their time together. Sitting on the bleachers, watching her hair whip in the wind. The quiet hours they spent in the library, her peaceful presence a rare comfort. Even now, the memory of her laughter felt like a phantom limb.

  Having someone who seemed to see through his BS was a powerful drug.

  But it was all a script.

  It’s fine, Jun told himself.

  Life is just a performance. He played a character every day; why should he be surprised that she was doing the same?

  On Monday, he walked into the classroom. Whatever the drama, life went on.

  The room was buzzing. As Jun stepped in, the noise died for a split second before erupting.

  "Matsue’s back!" shouted the class monitor.

  "About time, man!" yelled Ken, the captain of the varsity team.

  Jun greeted them with a winning smile. Within seconds, a crowd had formed.

  "We’re so sorry, Matsue. We totally got the wrong idea."

  "I kept telling them! There was no way you’d do that stuff!"

  "I always had your back, man!"

  They formed a wall around his desk, their faces masks of performative guilt.

  Jun played his part, repeating the same script:

  "It’s fine."

  "Don't worry about it."

  "I didn't take it personally."

  "I’m tougher than I look!"

  As their smiles returned, Jun felt his stomach flip.

  Which one of you grilled me after school? Which one of you put thumbtacks in my locker?

  He wanted to scream. This was the "polite" society—where every knife in the back was wiped clean with a "sorry."

  But this was the price of the life he’d chosen. He clenched his fist, then let it go, projecting a smile so bright it was practically blinding.

  The bell rang. As the crowd dispersed, Jun finally saw her.

  In freshman year, Jun had been elected President. No one was surprised. But when it came to Vice President, Yuka—who usually stayed in the shadows—had volunteered.

  "I want to step out of my comfort zone," she had said, smiling at him with that same porcelain-pale face.

  She was still there, sitting to his left, watching him in total silence. Jun had a chilling thought: if the building collapsed right now, if the room were painted in blood, she would still be sitting there, quietly staring at him.

  "Good morning, Tomatsu," Jun said with cold politeness.

  She gave him the same smile back. "Good morning."

  Two weeks passed.

  Nothing exploded. Jun continued his act, though he started intentionally letting the mask slip, making himself look a little more flawed, a little less "perfect."

  He thought he was being subtle, but even Ken—who had the emotional intelligence of a brick—noticed.

  "Hey, Matsue... what’s the deal with you and Tomatsu? You guys used to be inseparable."

  The distance between them was becoming a social stain.

  In reality, Jun was seeing Yuka more often. In the cafeteria, she’d be at the table directly behind him. In the gym, she’d "coincidentally" walk past his line of sight. When he studied, she was always just a few shelves away.

  Jun realized she wasn't appearing more; he was just finally noticing the shadow.

  He wanted to keep her at arm's length. Every time she spoke, he gave her a "polite" brush-off or made an excuse to leave. They were both professional actors; they kept the peace.

  "Well... after the rumors, I think it’s better to maintain professional boundaries," Jun explained to Ken.

  "The curse of the heartthrob, huh?" Ken sighed just as Yuka entered the room.

  After school, Yuka caught him as he was heading for the door. "Matsue, Mrs. Kominato said we need to organize the records from the last board meeting."

  Jun dropped his bag and followed her to the archives. They walked down the hallway in a silence that felt like a tightening noose.

  Students whispered as they passed. They were the "Golden Couple" of the Academy. Yuka was the top-ranked student; Jun was the face of the school. They were the only ones allowed in each other's orbit.

  "Mochizuki... Mochizuki... is that the guy?" Jun heard a group of girls whispering.

  Ttap-ttap-ttap. He heard frantic footsteps. A girl hurried past him, did a double-take at his face, and scurried back to her clique.

  "Mochizuki! He’s a total ten! He’s exactly the kind of guy I want to meet under the clock tower!" the girl squealed.

  Mochizuki. Jun noted the name. Yuka’s pace quickened, her breathing becoming shallow. He had to hustle to keep up.

  They reached the archives. Jun shut the door, cutting off the noise of the school. They sat at opposite ends of a long table, heads down, sorting through stacks of paper.

  "How have you been lately, Matsue?"

  Jun stopped and looked at her. She didn't look up.

  "Good. Everyone’s been great, and the school made things right. Life is back to normal." He added, purely out of social obligation, "And you?"

  "I’m not okay," she whispered.

  Jun heard her perfectly, but he played dumb. Only a masochist would ask why.

  "I said... I’m not doing well!" Yuka snapped, looking up. Tears were already spilling over. "Every time you call me 'Tomatsu,' I feel like I’m being stabbed."

  "Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying to hold it together?" She stood up, sobbing, and walked around the table. She sat right next to him, leaning over and looking up at him like a wounded animal.

  Jun didn't say a word. He didn't even look at her. He just kept sorting papers with a terrifyingly calm expression.

  "I’m sorry, Jun. I shouldn't have done it. I regret leaking those photos. I regret getting you suspended. I just... I’m so obsessed with you. Every time we’re alone, I just want to be closer. I want to feel you."

  She grabbed his right hand and pressed it hard against her cheek.

  Her skin was warm, but Jun felt absolutely nothing.

  "But I know you don't care about me as much," she continued, her voice spiraling. "And that's fine. I can fix that. But you were always so unreachable... I couldn't stand it. I wanted to break you. I wanted to make you so isolated that you’d have no choice but to crawl to me..."

  Her voice trailed off into a daze. She pulled his hand closer to her face, staring at his fingers with glassy, unhinged eyes.

  Suddenly, she did something transgressive. She darted her tongue out, tasting his skin, before pulling his fingers into her mouth. She clutched his hand with both of hers, pulling him into her private, desperate space.

  This was the girl who gave the valedictorian speech. The girl who rejected every confession with poise. And here she was, in a dark storage room, treating his hand like a drug.

  Jun didn't flinch. He slowly pulled his hand out of her mouth. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and methodically wiped his fingers dry.

  Finally, he looked her in the eye.

  "Why?"

  ***********************************************

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