Capítulo 2: Chapter 2: Harem Life? Not So Fast
Oh, it's the first day of class. A fresh start—or at least that's what everyone likes to call it. Me? I call it another day to blend in and survive. As I step into the classroom, the world around me feels like the opening of a rom-com anime, with all the students bustling about, reconnecting after the break. The classroom smells faintly of fresh paint and wood polish, like it was cleaned specifically for this day. The sunlight streams through the windows, casting golden streaks across the desks. And me? I'm just here, slipping through the door like the NPC I am.
So, where do I sit?
I scan the room. The front rows are already filled with the eager overachievers—straight-backed, notebooks open, pens at the ready. The middle rows are alive with chatter, students catching up on their summers. I instinctively head for the back corner, the seat of the unseen and forgotten. You know the one. It's where the main character always sits in anime. Not that I'm the main character, but hey, I can pretend for a second, right?
As I slide into my seat, I notice something odd. People are staring at me. A lot of people. Wait, not people—girls. They're whispering, giggling, and… are they actually sitting near me? This has to be a mistake.
Usually, the back seats are reserved for the boys. The slackers. The troublemakers. But now, there's a cluster of girls. Around me. I glance to my left—yep, a girl. To my right? Another one. Behind me? More of them.
Wait… do they like me?
Am I that handsome now? Did I level up over the break without realizing it? My mind races. This is it. This is the moment every rom-com protagonist dreams of. I'm finally—
"Umm, what's your name?" a girl leans in, her voice soft but confident.
"Mind if I get your number?"
Another girl chimes in, "Me too!"
Finally. This is it. My harem life begins now.
But then—
"Yuto!"
The sharp voice of the teacher yanks me out of my fantasy.
"Don't sleep in my class!"
Laughter erupts around me as I snap upright, wiping drool from my mouth. I glance around, realizing I'm still sitting in my lonely back corner, surrounded by empty desks. Of course, it was just a dream.
"There he goes again," someone mutters from across the room.
"He's so weird," another whispers.
"Idiot," someone snickers.
Yeah, that's me. The class idiot. I've grown a little over the summer—physically, at least. I'm slightly taller now, and my hair actually looks semi-decent, but none of it matters. To them, I'm still the same loser.
"Hey, you guys, stop it! Stop talking bad about him."
The room goes silent. I look up, startled, and see her—Sugiyama Kaori.
Sugiyama Kaori. The newly elected class president and the school's resident angel. Long, silky black hair, flawless porcelain skin, and eyes so gentle they make you feel seen. She's the kind of person who can silence an entire room with just a glance.
She's everything I'm not—popular, intelligent, and universally adored. And here she is, standing up for me. What did I do to deserve this?
But let's be real. She's way out of my league. There's no way this means anything.
...
The day drags on as usual. The teacher drones on about the syllabus while I stare out the window, watching the faint rustle of leaves in the courtyard. The school itself is pretty standard—a mix of aging buildings with a few modern additions. The floors creak in certain spots, and the hallways always smell faintly of disinfectant. Outside, the sky is a perfect blue, dotted with fluffy clouds.
By the time the final bell rings, I'm more than ready to leave. The classroom bursts into life as students gather their things, chatter filling the air. I stay seated, letting the crowd thin out before I finally make my way home.
Walking home is always the same. The streets are quiet, lined with rows of identical houses and the occasional barking dog. The neighborhood convenience store glows in the distance, a beacon of snacks and cheap instant noodles. Some kids play basketball in a nearby park, their laughter carrying through the cool evening air.
I step through the door of my house and call out, "I'm home."
"Welcome back, Yuto! Come and eat!" my mom calls from the kitchen.
"Later," I mumble, heading straight to my room.
My room is my sanctuary. Posters of my favorite anime line the walls, and my desk is cluttered with manga volumes and random gaming gear. I toss my bag onto the floor, collapse onto the bed, and stare at the ceiling.
And let me tell you about my routine. It's not glamorous.
Wake up. Go to school. Survive. Come home. Escape.
Gaming is my escape. In the virtual world, I can be anyone—someone strong, confident, a hero. Someone who matters. Anime is my other escape, especially romance anime. I spend hours bingeing series, losing myself in the fantasy of love I know I'll never experience.
Every night, I stay up late, gaming until my eyes blur and watching anime until the early hours. It's my way of coping, I guess. My way of forgetting that in real life, I'm just another nobody.
And yet, despite everything, I think I'm in love again.
It's hopeless, of course. My track record speaks for itself—seventy rejections and counting. This one will be #71. But I can't help it. My heart doesn't listen to logic.
Why do I keep doing this to myself? I don't know. Maybe because, deep down, I want to believe that one day, something will change. That I'll stop being an NPC and finally, finally get my happy ending.
But for now, I'm just a loser.
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