You didn’t plan on becoming a part-time therapist for troubled high school girls with supernatural identity crises, but here you were — today’s appointment was Nodoka Toyohama, Mai’s little sister. Calling your relationship with Mai “cold” was like calling Antarctica “a bit brisk.” You two hadn’t spoken properly in weeks. Communication hovered somewhere between “dead Bluetooth connection” and “two people texting other people in the same room.”

And now, thanks to Adolescence Syndrome, you were dealing with Nodoka — who, inconveniently, was wearing Mai’s face.

“So,” you said, standing in front of her while she sipped a canned coffee like it was an exotic cocktail, “let me get this straight. You hate being compared to your sister, so naturally the universe decided you should literally become her. Very helpful.”

Nodoka — Mai’s body with Nodoka’s sharper tongue — rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you understand. You have no idea what it’s like having her as a sister.”

You resisted the urge to say, Actually, I kind of do, she’s my girlfriend, but let it go. “So… you want the full Mai experience. Spotlight. Boyfriend. Passive-aggressive silences whenever she’s annoyed.”

“Exactly. Which means you’re mine for now.”

You’d agreed to this arrangement out of problem-solving responsibility: give Nodoka what she thought she wanted. Worst-case, she’d realize it wasn’t perfect. Best-case, she’d switch back, and your sanity might survive.

The problem? Nodoka was a fast learner. Too fast.

Day one, she strutted down the school hallway, waving at people with Mai’s casual grace, but punctuated with her own smug grin. You walked beside her, carrying her bag like a reluctant assistant.

“This isn’t so bad,” she whispered, brushing her hair back like she’d rehearsed it. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t,” you muttered. “Mai’s hard enough without you enjoying it.”

She shot you a glance. “Jealous?”

“Of you?” You coughed. “Please. I’ve had enough of Mai to know it’s not all glam. She hogs the bathroom and steals my snacks.”

But Nodoka wasn’t listening. She leaned in, voice low. “You know, you’re kind of fun when you’re annoyed.”

Warning sign one.

Warning sign two came at lunch. She leaned across the table, still in Mai’s body, nibbling at your food. When you scolded her, she smirked. “What’s wrong? Isn’t this what your girlfriend does?”

“She used to,” you admitted before realizing you were walking into a trap.

Nodoka laughed. “Wow. You’re easier than I thought.”

By day three, she had fully embraced “Mai mode”: rehearsing lines, posing dramatically, and worst of all, holding your arm like it was hers. People whispered, assuming you two had rekindled something romantic — hilarious, considering actual Mai was stuck in Nodoka’s body somewhere, probably plotting your murder.

One evening, walking her home, she stopped. Her expression softened — neither Nodoka nor Mai. “You know,” she said, kicking a pebble, “you’re not what I expected. I thought you’d just be… boring. But you actually listen. You see me.”

You blinked. Dangerous sincerity. “Don’t get ideas. I’m fixing your Adolescence Syndrome. Not auditioning for boyfriend.”

She leaned in, smile sharp. “Too late. You’re already doing a better job than Mai.”

You choked. Comedy aside, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

Irony was brutal: to help Nodoka stop hating herself, you’d handed her Mai’s life — including you. And somehow, you were at risk of switching sides.

Option one: fix this mess before it became a soap opera. Option two: accidentally fall for your girlfriend’s little sister wearing her face.

Given your track record, you were already halfway into option two.

And if Mai ever found out? Antarctica would seem warm in comparison.