Romantic Troubles of Duanmu-kun

Before she could call the police, the Novelist quickly explained the truth. Senpai’s movements were quite practiced, and she didn’t look like she was joking at all.

“Hmm, I see.”

Senpai nodded, seemingly accepting his explanation readily as she put her phone away.

“It doesn’t seem to have left any wounds… no problem. Let’s forget about it then.”

Her fingers touched her forehead as she once again wobbled to her feet.

“Um, well…”

The Novelist hesitated, wondering if he should help support her.

“Yuuko. My name is Asami Yuko.”

Senpai spoke languidly.

“Ah… nice to meet you, Asami-senpai.”

After the self-introduction, the Novelist’s attitude became somewhat more serious.

“That situation earlier seemed quite dangerous.”

“…Mm.”

For an ordinary person, it wouldn’t have been anything special.

But for someone like the person before him, she might have truly been trapped under those books for an entire day. Considering this room’s remote location, if not for him, she might not have been discovered until the security guard came to check at night.

“Doesn’t anyone else come here? This should be some club’s activity room, right? Where are the other members and the supervising teacher?”

Though he had already guessed the answer, the Novelist asked to confirm.

“There are no other members, just me.”

Asami-senpai shook her head with minimal movement.

“After the club qualification assessment day two weeks from now, I’ll probably leave too… and this place will be vacated for other purposes.”

“So earlier, you were…”

“Yes, I was organizing the bookshelves when I accidentally fell. If not for kouhai-kun, something truly awful might have happened, you know.”

She answered naturally, probably due to not having eaten lunch and not having slept for twenty consecutive hours.

…Even without her explanation, the Novelist could understand. After all, senpai was standing there, swaying continuously like a pendulum. Her school uniform’s sleeves and hem were long, looking somewhat baggy on her.

It was probably difficult enough for her to stay awake.

“Rest well, and remember to maintain regular eating and sleeping habits in the future, senpai.”

After admonishing her, the Novelist picked up the gym bag, preparing to leave.

“Wait, kouhai-kun, could you help me with something?”

Asami-senpai called out to him from behind.

“…?”

After the Novelist turned around, he saw the sleeve-dragging girl had unknowingly slumped over the desk and chair.

“I need to rest for a bit… please… watch the door for me…”

Her voice grew fainter and fainter until it disappeared completely. It was replaced by the sound of steady breathing.

“Hey! Wait a minute, don’t just—”

Before he could react, the girl named Asami Yuko had fallen asleep. Even shaking her shoulders produced no signs of waking.

…Aah.

The Novelist scratched the back of his head in frustration.

Seeing her peaceful sleeping figure, for some reason, he recalled his past self who had often stayed up late to meet deadlines, suffering from prolonged sleep deprivation.

Senpai was perhaps like him back then, having something difficult yet necessary that forced her to push herself to the limit to complete.

Sighing, he took out his phone from his pants pocket.

Fortunately, he had nothing important scheduled today. That is, if helping Misao prevent Kaori-san from cooking new dark cuisine didn’t count…

“Hafu…”

Who knows how much time had passed.

Asami Yuko slowly opened her eyes and, realizing she was waking from sleep, let out a small sigh.

The girl sat up straight and rubbed her eyes. Only then did she notice a blanket sliding off her shoulders. Someone had draped it over her while she slept.

The room was lit with a dim yellow light. It was just bright enough not to disturb sleep while providing minimal illumination. The activity room, which normally looked cold and empty, now seemed somewhat warm.

Not far away sat the boy Asami Yuko had just met this afternoon. He was engrossed in reading a novel he had taken from the bookshelf.

“Kouhai-kun… why are you here?”

“You’re awake? And as the one responsible for this situation, don’t ask such questions so matter-of-factly.”

“…I see.”

Asami Yuko remembered what had happened earlier.

Then, realizing what might have occurred during this time and the changes that had taken place, she smiled.

“Thank you very much.”

“It’s nothing.”

The Novelist shook his head.

“…This place is quite quiet. It’s a good spot for reading and resting. I’ve been here long enough without even noticing. By the way, what club’s activity room is this?”

“What does kouhai-kun think?”

“Hmm…”

His gaze fell on the book in his hand.

The spine read “Midsummer, Butterfly, Dream.”

This was his debut work as a mystery Novelist. It wasn’t particularly famous and hadn’t been reprinted. It was no longer available on the market, so he was surprised to see it here.

Judging from the cover and pages, considerable time had passed since it was purchased and unwrapped. There were signs that someone had read through it; it wasn’t just bought and left on a shelf. Noticing this, he couldn’t help but feel pleased.

Not just this book, but most of his later works could also be found on the bookshelf. But this didn’t mean the room’s owner was specifically his fan—more accurately, they should be a mystery novel enthusiast.

Whether it was the books scattered on the floor or those on the shelves and bookcases, all were works involving mystery, suspense, and detective themes.

“The Mystery Novel Club?”

The Novelist answered tentatively.

“That’s right.”

Asami-senpai smiled in confirmation.

“I see…”

Being a cultural club subdivision might explain why the club’s current situation was so desolate. This was a private high school, and unlike the “Kyoto University Mystery Research Society” with its long and distinguished history…

“Are you interested in that book’s author?”

Senpai, bored and sprawled across the desk, suddenly asked.

“…Why do you think so?”

“Because of your attitude.”

Asami-senpai pointed to the ground behind him.

“You spotted this book from that pile on the floor with just a glance, right? And afterward, you didn’t browse or compare with others, which is strange.”

When asked how she knew this despite being asleep, she answered naturally, “Because the position of the books hasn’t changed from my earlier memory.”

“I just randomly selected one.” — Of course, he could tell such a lie, but the Novelist felt it was unnecessary.

Lies and misunderstandings were necessary elements in constructing a “romantic comedy,” and since he disliked the latter, he wouldn’t make needless concealment.

“Because I’m the author of this book.”

That was his answer.