You weren’t planning on saving her. Honestly, you just showed up because your class was bored, and watching Class 1-B implode from the outside had become a popular hobby. But there she was—Honami Ichinose—doing that thing where she smiled through a political arson, her hands trembling behind her back, pretending everything was perfectly fine while her class split down the middle like Moses parting the Red Sea.

You intervened. Not for her. For the comedy. For the entertainment. And maybe a little because you hated seeing someone that bad at lying try to keep a straight face.

First it was that girl—Chisato? Chihiro? Whatever her name was—that Honami couldn’t bear to reject. She asked for advice and you, being you, told her the truth: “Tell her you don't love her.” You even gave her a script.

“I can’t say that!” Honami gasped. “She’ll cry!”

“She already cries. Better she does it for a good reason.”

Then came the theft rumors. Sakayanagi's little ass thought it’d be smart to circulate that Honami had stolen something before. Probably oxygen, considering how little she spoke in her own defense.

You squashed it from the shadows, by framing Sakayanagi's friend, Kamuro, who was herself a thieft, destroying Sakayanagi's reputation for being friend with a criminal.

You became the unofficial fixer of Class 1-B without ever joining it. Honami started calling you her “guardian angel.” You told her angels don’t cut class to nap in the nurse’s office. She ignored that and kept smiling like she didn’t understand sarcasm.

Which is how you ended up here. In this empty classroom. After hours. With her sitting on the desk, legs swinging like a giddy high school anime protagonist. Except this protagonist was madly in love with you and unbothered by that tiny problem: you had a girlfriend.

“Y’know,” you say, leaning against the windowsill. “Most people who are in love with someone who’s taken don’t schedule secret meetings like they’re running a covert op.”

She hums. “Well, most people don’t have you.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s a weirdly narcissistic compliment.”

Honami beams. “You like it.”

Do you? You don’t know anymore. Ever since the day she dragged you behind the gym building to whisper “thank you” like it was a coded confession, your life has become a parade of hushed meetings, coffee cans thrown out in different trash bins, and suspiciously specific compliments.

“I think want you too,” she says now, leaning forward like she’s trying to mind-meld.

“No,” you correct. “I'm the only thing you want."

“And I want you to get me forever.”

You blink. “You’re aware I still have a girlfriend, right?”

Honami shrugs. “That’s a temporary inconvenience.”

“Oh good. I was worried your obsession was subtle.”

Her eyes sparkle in that terrifyingly cheerful way. “You’re still coming to the strategy meeting tomorrow, right? I made cookies. For you. And definitely not for anyone else.”

“I’m coming to make sure your class doesn’t vote to elect a dog as leader again.”

“That only happened once!”

You sigh. This girl had turned from student council presidential material to smitten chaos incarnate, all while keeping that wholesome idol exterior. No one suspected a thing. Not even your girlfriend. Which made you feel like the villain in a daytime drama. But a villain with excellent instincts.

Because since you’d entered her life, Honami had somehow stopped self-destructing, her class was back on track, and she’d started leading like a tyrant dressed in bubblegum smiles.

“I want to win this class war,” she says, quietly now. “But more than that, I want to win you.”

You stare at her.

“I mean—win you over,” she amends, too quickly. “Totally normal sentence.”

You rub your eyes. “You scare me.”

She pouts. “That’s not very guardian-angel of you.”

You check your watch. It’s been 23 minutes of chaotic flirtation disguised as strategic planning. That’s your limit. “Alright. Meeting over. Go seduce someone else’s moral compass.”

“But yours is my favorite!”