Pseudo-Harem Academy: I Can't Stop Acting Around Senpai!
Nanakura Rin has a problem: whenever she's around Eiji-senpai, the boy she likes, her mouth moves on its own—and out comes a flawless tsundere, little-devil, or clingy-girl performance. One girl playing every heroine role? To Eiji, that's comedy gold. To Rin, it's armor. Ever since a middle school play went horribly wrong, she's been terrified of letting anyone see the real her—especially the senpai who calls her "the ultimate harem" without a clue.
But when the drama club announces a romance p
Pseudo-Harem Academy: I Can't Stop Acting Around Senpai! - Let's Change the Script!? ~The Real You Is the Most Amazing~
The day before the culture festival. After school, the club room was empty.
Nanakura Rin sat staring at the script on the long table. On the cover, in Iwata Tsuguhito's round handwriting, were the words *The Many Faces of Love*. The edges of the pages were slightly worn from being turned so many times.
(Tomorrow's the real thing.)
Nakayama's voice from yesterday, overheard outside the club room, was still stuck in the back of her ears. *If Rin can't do it, you'll take her place.* Eiji playing Lirina. The image made her stomach clench tight.
Rin hugged the script to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut.
"Figured I'd find you here."
Rin looked up.
Iwata Tsuguhito stood in the doorway. His black hair was tied back in a small knot, long bangs falling over his eyes. His grayish eyes watched her with a calm light. The black wristband on his right wrist caught the western sun from the window.
"Iwata-kun..."
Rin spoke softly, still clutching the script to her chest.
Iwata walked over with his usual unhurried gait and lowered himself into the folding chair across from her. The old chair creaked.
"I'm thinking of changing the script for tomorrow's performance."
"What?"
Rin's eyes went wide.
"Change the script?"
"Yeah. The heroine stops switching between characters."
Iwata set the black folder he'd been carrying on the long table.
"New script. The heroine lays her real self bare on stage."
Rin's fingers dug into the corner of the script.
"...Her real self?"
Her voice came out hoarse.
"Yeah. I've watched you switch characters every day, Rin-san. Tsundere-chan, little-devil-chan, clingy-chan, cool-chan. Around Eiji, you spin through them all."
Iwata's eyes fixed on her, straight and steady.
"What's underneath all that — as a playwright, I can't pretend not to see it."
Rin's throat made a thin, whistling sound.
(He saw. He knew. All of it.)
Her heartbeat grew loud in her ears.
"I can't. I can't show my real self."
Rin hung her head, still hugging the script.
"I can't. Because nobody wants to see the real me. I'm boring, I'm not interesting, and besides—"
"Besides?"
"If I show my real self and fail, I'll never be able to stand on stage again."
Rin's voice trembled.
"In middle school, I failed on stage. I heard laughter from the audience. 'She's terrible.' After that, I started building characters. If I'm wearing a character's face, even if I fail, it's not me."
Rin traced the bandage wrapped around her right index finger with her left hand.
Iwata was silent for a while.
"Rin-san."
"...What."
"Your acting — it's actually amazing."
Rin lifted her head.
"But the most amazing thing is the real you."
Iwata's voice was quiet. But his words made the air in the club room tremble.
"You've never even seen that, so don't—"
Rin glared at him, fighting back tears.
"I have seen it. When Eiji's feeling down, you're at his side without even thinking. When Kiri's worried, you read the script with her. When Ayaka and the others come by, you smile so gently."
Iwata's mouth curved, just slightly.
"That's the real you, isn't it?"
Something deep in Rin's chest tightened.
"...But I'm scared. If I fail, I'll be laughed at again. And if senpai thinks I'm weird—"
Rin's voice was barely there.
"If you're scared, then it's okay to fail."
"What?"
"On the day, do what you most want to convey. It doesn't have to follow the script. Your words, your voice — say what you want to say."
Iwata pushed the folder across the long table toward her.
"The script is just a tool for that. What I write is nothing more than a starting point — for the stage where you stand as yourself."
Rin stared at the folder.
A tear fell onto the script. The paper darkened with a small stain.
"...I can't decide yet."
Rin spoke without wiping her tears.
"That's fine. You're the one who decides."
Iwata stood.
"But I'll say one thing. I want to see you act as yourself."
He headed for the club room door.
"Oh, and — this is off the record, but—"
At the door, Iwata turned back.
"Eiji still genuinely believes your confession was a line from the script. That level of density is a talent, honestly."
Iwata let out a soft laugh.
"So if there's something you want to tell him, you have to put it into words. Otherwise it'll never reach that guy — not in a lifetime."
With that, Iwata left the club room.
Rin was left alone.
The tears wouldn't stop.
(With my real self, I'll tell senpai.)
The thought was terrifying — and yet, just a little, warm.
—*Clatter.*
"Big siiis!"
The club room door flew open.
Ayaka, still wearing her school backpack, and Moe came pattering in.
"Big sis, do your best! Tomorrow's the real thing, right!"
Ayaka latched onto Rin's waist.
"Rin-big-sis, you're so cool! I'm cheering for you!"
Moe grabbed Rin's hand and swung it back and forth.
"You two, why are you here?"
Rin looked at them, wiping her tears.
"We came to see your face! Because you've been making a weird face lately, big sis!"
Ayaka peered up at Rin from below.
"Weird face?"
"Yeah. A face that's smiling but isn't smiling."
Rin's heart skipped.
"Big sis, I told you before, right? You're fine just the way you are."
Ayaka spoke while still clinging to Rin's waist.
"I want to see the real you! Not tsundere, not little-devil, not clingy — the real big sis!"
Ayaka's voice was direct.
"Rin-big-sis is cool! When you're acting and when you're not, you're all cool!"
Moe shouted, not to be outdone.
Rin felt the warmth of their small hands.
(Maybe it's okay... even the real me.)
Deep in her heart, something slowly came undone.
"...Thank you. Both of you."
Rin gently patted Ayaka's head, then Moe's.
"Big sis is going to do her best tomorrow, okay?"
Rin smiled a small smile.
It was a real smile — not acted.
"Yay! Big sis smiled!"
Ayaka bounced up and down.
"Then we'll go home! We'll definitely come watch tomorrow!"
"Big sis, fight!"
The two of them waved and left the club room.
Quiet returned once more.
Rin opened the folder Iwata had left behind.
The new script. A script where the heroine plays her real self.
(I'll tell him — in my own words.)
Rin held the folder to her chest.
—*Knock knock.*
"Rin-senpai, are you in?"
A bright voice came from beyond the door.
"Kiri-chan."
Shirasawa Kiri poked her head in. Her bright chestnut semi-long hair swayed softly. The star-shaped pin in her hair glinted in the western sun.
"Rin-senpai, um, here—"
Kiri held out the old digital camera hanging from her neck.
"I took this during practice yesterday. You had such a great expression, senpai."
Kiri showed Rin the camera screen.
It was a profile shot of Rin reading the script.
"This is me?"
"Yes. I think you're really cool, Rin-senpai."
Kiri looked at Rin with straightforward eyes.
"Whether you're acting or not. So I want to see the real you too, senpai."
Rin stared at the camera screen.
(Kiri-chan is my rival in love, and yet—)
(And yet, why is she so straightforward?)
"...Kiri-chan, you're not playing fair."
Rin murmured softly.
"Huh?"
"No, nothing. Thank you. I'll do my best tomorrow."
Rin looked into Kiri's eyes and spoke.
"I'm going to stand on stage as my real self."
"Really?! Yay! I'll definitely watch! From the front row!"
Kiri's face lit up. Her fang peeked out.
"Okay, I'm going to go help set up the gym now! See you tomorrow, Rin-senpai!"
Kiri scurried off.
Rin stood alone in the club room.
(I'll stand on stage as my real self.)
Her resolve was slowly hardening.
But she was still trembling.
—The day before the culture festival. Rehearsal.
Backstage at the gymnasium.
Rin stared at her own hands in the dark wings. Her fingertips were trembling faintly.
(It's okay. It's okay.)
She repeated it over and over in her mind.
But when she saw the stage lights, her legs froze.
"Rin."
A voice called, and Rin turned.
Kitahama Eiji, having finished the final check on the set pieces, walked over. His light brown, messy mop of hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His dark brown eyes glowed softly even in the dark wings.
"Senpai..."
Rin forced the word out.
"What's wrong? You're pale as a ghost."
Eiji peered at her face.
"I'm fine."
Rin tried to smile on reflex.
But her facial muscles wouldn't cooperate.
"You don't have to force it."
Eiji spoke quietly.
"Just be yourself. No matter what role you're playing, Rin, you're still Rin to me."
Eiji scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed.
"I bet the real Rin is amazing too."
Something deep in Rin's chest thumped hard.
(Senpai says the real me is okay.)
(Senpai says the real me is amazing.)
"...Senpai, you're not playing fair."
Rin looked down.
Tears threatened to spill.
"Huh, why?!"
Eiji panicked.
"Because if you say things like that, I have no choice but to do my best!"
Rin lifted her head.
Through her tear-blurred vision, she saw Eiji's gentle face.
"Whoa, Rin, are you crying?! Sorry, did I say something weird?!"
Eiji's hands fluttered helplessly.
"No. These are happy tears."
Rin wiped her tears and smiled.
"Senpai, tomorrow I'm going to stand on stage as my real self. So please watch."
Her voice was trembling. But it was direct.
"Yeah! I'm looking forward to it!"
Eiji grinned wide.
That smile lit a small flame in Rin's heart.
—Rehearsal ended.
Eiji was cleaning up the set pieces.
"Eiji."
Iwata stood beside him.
"Oh, Iwata. What's up?"
Eiji set down the hammer and looked at him.
"There's something I want to ask you."
Iwata fixed his grayish eyes on Eiji.
"Rin's confessions — do you think they're acting or real? What do you think, yourself?"
"Huh?"
Eiji blinked.
"The lines Rin says to you — 'I like you,' things like that. Do you think all of those are just acting?"
"Well, they're lines from the script, right?"
Eiji tilted his head.
"True. That's what the script says."
Iwata nodded.
"But even when it's not in the script, Rin says similar things to you."
"Huh, does she?"
Eiji crossed his arms and started thinking.
"...Huh? Now that you mention it, when she's Tsundere-chan, or little-devil-chan, I feel like she says stuff like that a lot."
Eiji's brow slowly furrowed.
"That's all acting though, right? I mean, Rin's always playing a character around me."
"Have you ever thought about why Rin only plays characters around you?"
Iwata's voice was quiet.
"Why?"
"Rin talks normally around the other club members. Around Nakayama, around Kiri, around me. But only around you does she switch characters."
Iwata looked Eiji straight in the eye.
"Have you ever thought about why that is?"
Eiji went silent.
(Rin only plays characters around me.)
(Why?)
(...Why only around me?)
Something in Eiji's head began to turn, slowly.
"...I'll think about it."
Eiji spoke with a serious face.
"You do that. Tomorrow's performance — your answer might be what pushes Rin forward."
With that, Iwata left the gymnasium.
Eiji was left alone.
"Rin's... confession..."
Eiji murmured.
"Was it acting...?"
The setting sun poured through the gym's high windows.
—After rehearsal, the club room.
Rin stood before Iwata.
"Iwata-kun."
"What."
Iwata was marking up the script with a red pen.
"Please change the script for the performance."
Rin's voice was trembling. But it was clear.
"I want to tell senpai something — as my real self."
Iwata set down the red pen.
"Got it."
Iwata looked up at her.
"Then I'll rewrite the script by the day. In whatever form conveys what you most want to say, the best."
Iwata smiled faintly.
"Thank you, Iwata-kun."
Rin bowed deeply.
"Save your thanks for after the performance. I haven't done anything yet."
Iwata picked up the red pen again.
Rin left the club room.
She walked down the hallway.
The setting sun streamed through the hallway windows, stretching Rin's shadow long.
(For the first time, I chose to show my real self — by my own will.)
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