My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong, As I Expected. IF ~Yukinoshita Asks One More Time~ - The sound of gears beginning to turn

A week passed, and still I couldn't get that rainy day out of my head. Outside the window, the sky was overcast again today, looking ready to burst into rain at any moment. The clubroom on the fourth floor of the Special Building—the Service Club's room—was dim and quiet as always, wrapped in an atmosphere as if time itself had stopped. I, Hikigaya Hachiman, was slumped over the table in my usual seat closest to the door. Zero motivation. On top of that, my stomach was about to growl, and it was just before five in the afternoon. Completely out of energy. In her usual spot by the window sat Yukinoshita Yukino. Her long, glossy black hair swayed softly with the faintest movement of air. Her clear blue eyes were fixed on the paperback in her hands. Her posture was perfectly straight, not a single wrinkle in her uniform blazer. Just her presence in the room seemed to tighten the very air around us. Since that rainy night, we had been sharing these wordless hours in the clubroom every day. There was almost no conversation. But I'd decided to think that it was better than not coming at all. No, honestly, I don't really know. I'm genuinely bad with this whole "emotions" thing. It's a pain. I don't even understand what I'm thinking myself. It's just that when her presence is there, I have a reason to come to the clubroom. That's all. I told myself that, and closed my eyes. ...And then, it happened. *Click, click.* The sound of heels approached from the hallway. Almost no one came up to the fourth floor of the Special Building at this hour. Besides, I recognized that way of walking. The sound stopped in front of the clubroom, and from beyond the slightly open door, I heard a small cough. "It's been a while. I see you're still keeping up with club activities." The door slid open with a clatter, and in walked Hiratsuka Shizuka. A Japanese literature teacher at Sobu High and the Service Club's faculty advisor. Her long black hair was carelessly tied back, and she wore a lab coat over her suit—single, in her thirties. Her face was beautiful, but her personality was... disappointing, or rather, her way of barging in was always brutal. Hiratsuka-sensei glanced around the clubroom, confirmed where Yukinoshita and I were positioned, and smiled thinly. In her hand was a single rolled-up piece of paper. "You two, it's work. For the first time in a while." Sensei narrowed her blue eyes and casually tossed the rolled-up paper onto the desk. The paper spun as it landed, unfurling limply partway. A request form. *"Request from the Cultural Festival Executive Committee to the Service Club. Assistance with each class's event planning, as well as review of the planning documents and identification of potential issues."* ...Cultural Festival Executive Committee? Assistance with each class's event planning? What kind of vague request is that? What exactly are we supposed to do? I almost clicked my tongue. "...What a pain." The honest reaction slipped out of my mouth. Yukinoshita was different. She quietly rose from her chair and picked up the request form. Her long black hair swayed gently. Her blue eyes glided across the paper, tracing the words. "A request from the Cultural Festival Executive Committee... checking the planning documents, is it." She murmured briefly, then glanced at me for just a moment. But she immediately looked away. Since that rainy day, Yukinoshita sometimes looked at me like this. Like she wanted to say something. But the moment our eyes met, she'd flee. I didn't pursue it either. Yukinoshita held the request form with both hands and straightened her back. "Let's accept it." Her voice was clear enough to reach the corners of the classroom. And yet, it sounded somehow lonely. Quiet, transparent, and yet filled with resolve. Still slumped over the desk, I stole a glance at her profile. Yukinoshita's expression was unreadable. What was she thinking? No, I probably had an idea. She was thinking that this request might be her "last job." July of our third year of high school. Once the cultural festival ended, the next big event would be the school trip. Entrance exams were approaching too. The Service Club didn't have much time left to be active. That's exactly why she'd accept it. ...To someone like me, that reason was a little too bright. Hiratsuka-sensei crossed her arms and looked back and forth between me and Yukinoshita from the center of the room. "So," Sensei's voice dropped a notch lower. She chose her words slowly, as if probing for something. "Have you contacted Yuigahama?" The air in the clubroom froze in an instant. Yukinoshita's fingertips stilled on the hand holding the request form. She lowered her head slightly, hiding her expression behind the shadow of her long bangs. I looked out the window. The gloomy clouds hung heavy, almost theatrically so. No answer. There was no way we could answer. Because among us, not a single person had spoken the name Yuigahama Yui since that day on the rooftop. She didn't come. We didn't call. And somehow, we'd made it to today like that. Hiratsuka-sensei looked at us and let out a deep sigh. "...I see." With just that, she turned on her heel. The hem of her lab coat swayed, and the sound of her heels receded from the clubroom. "Tomorrow after school, go to the executive committee. I've already spoken with them." Leaving only those words behind, her footsteps disappeared beyond the staircase. Silence returned to the clubroom. I sat up, ran my hand through my disheveled hair, and looked at Yukinoshita's back. She was still looking down. "...Tomorrow, huh." I muttered, but there was no reply. But I knew. She would go. And I would end up going too. That was what accepting the request meant. Outside the window, a single drop of rain tapped against the glass. The next day. The sky was a little brighter than yesterday. But the humidity still lingered. It was that unpleasant heat where your uniform shirt clings to your skin. After school. I was walking alongside Yukinoshita toward a classroom on the second floor of the main building. Classroom 2-A, being used as the Cultural Festival Executive Committee's temporary headquarters. Well, "alongside" wasn't quite right. Yukinoshita walked ahead. I followed about two steps behind. The fact that I couldn't close that distance said a lot about where we stood now. Actually, we'd talked a little on the way home yesterday. "What do we start with tomorrow?" "I'll ask the executive committee chair for instructions." "Oh, okay." Just that kind of report-like exchange. Since that rainy day, our conversations had been decreasing—gradually, but surely. No, maybe they'd never been that frequent to begin with. When we entered the classroom, the cultural festival executive committee members were bustling around busily. A schedule on the whiteboard, cardboard boxes, colored paper, thumbtacks. On the desks, stacks of printed planning documents were piled up like mountains. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and paper, and honestly, my sense of "what a pain" increased by about thirty percent. In the midst of all that, a short boy—probably the committee chair—spotted us and jogged over. "Oh, the Service Club people? I heard from Hiratsuka-sensei. Um, so you guys are going to check the cultural festival planning documents? That's a huge help, thanks." Oh, this guy gets to the point fast. His eyes had completely shifted into "reinforcements acquired" mode. Calculating little bastard. "No, it's not really..." Before I could finish, "We're Hikigaya and Yukinoshita from the Service Club. We look forward to working with you today." Yukinoshita stepped forward smoothly. At her dignified voice, the classroom fell silent for just a moment. Her blue eyes narrowed slightly as she looked straight at the committee chair. "Eh, Y-Yukinoshita-san!? *The* Yukinoshita-san is here to help!? Oh, no, I mean, thanks... seriously, this is a huge help!" The committee chair's voice cracked. The other committee members around us were also buzzing at Yukinoshita's appearance. She was famous at school, after all. Flawless appearance, top grades in the year. She had a cold impression, but that just made her the quintessential aloof beauty. She lived in a different world from me. I quietly averted my eyes. Right. Yukinoshita and I originally lived in different worlds. ...But now, we were together like this. Whether that was a miracle or just inertia, I couldn't say. "Use the desk in that corner! There are planning documents for eight classes total. Go through the documents each class submitted and list up any issues from the perspective of budget shortfalls, conflicts with the venue schedule, and feasibility. There are also formal requirements, so check the manual for those." The committee chair spoke rapidly, pointing to a long desk against the wall, folding chairs, and a thick stack of manuals. So we were supposed to wrestle with a mountain of paper. This would be our battlefield. ""Got it."" ""Yes."" Our replies overlapped. Yukinoshita and I looked at each other. ...What's with that pause? It's awkward, damn it. We silently moved to the designated corner seats. The corner of the classroom. A long desk against the wall. Normally, these would be seats for the students of class 2-A. On the desk, remnants of yesterday's classes remained. Eraser shavings, mechanical pencil lead, doodles. Not exactly comfortable, to put it kindly. But this was our workspace from today onward. I pulled out a chair and sat down. Yukinoshita sat down too, leaving one seat between us. ...Close, yet far. The distance between us was as delicate as ever. The work began. Each class's planning documents were stapled together by class and bound with clips. Project name, content, required items, budget, staffing, classroom and time slot. All of it was crammed onto the pages. But planning documents made by high schoolers were pretty much full of holes. I picked up the stack for class 3, and Yukinoshita took class 1. The only sound between us was the turning of pages. "Class 1 is doing a food stall. A food and beverage project. There's no mention of hygiene management. If they're handling food, they'll need to file a notification with the health center." Yukinoshita murmured, sticking post-it notes onto the document at a steady pace. There was nothing to say except "impressive." Her judgment was sound, with no wasted motion. "Still, every class is probably the same. Either the budget's short or the planning's sloppy. Haunted houses, cosplay cafés—they recycle the same stuff every year. They should be a little smarter about it." I shrugged as I looked over class 3's documents. "That's why you're slow at the work you're asked to do. Anyone can point out flaws." "...So you're saying I should carefully do what anyone can do." "Yes. You can do that much, can't you?" Yukinoshita glanced at me. A faint smile played at the corners of her mouth. This exchange. Stupid banter. But somehow, for the first time in a while, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease a little. This was how we used to be. My twisted remarks, and Yukinoshita cutting back with merciless logic. That was probably our way of conversing. And now? We could barely manage a single conversation. So this exchange of sharp words felt like a real breeze passing between us for the first time in two months. Even if it was just my imagination, it was a little fun. After that, we continued working in silence. The sound of turning pages. The sound of post-it notes being stuck on. Occasionally, the sound of someone pulling out a chair, or the voices of students running in the hallway, drifted in from afar. Outside the window, the baseball team was doing practice swings on the field. The soft light of evening. "This class's budget is clearly off." Yukinoshita tapped one of the documents with her fingertip. It s

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Episode 3

Name: My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong, As I Expected. IF ~Yukinoshita Asks One More Time~
Author: Novelia

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