✦ DONE FOR ＃ yansim

✦ WEEK 5, CHAPTER 25

He nodded solemnly. "Infused with sweat, victory, and two years of sports trauma. It's basically a holy artifact now."

She raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to give that up?"

"Rookie," he said, looping it loosely around her wrist. "You've got boss battle energy right now. I'm just giving you a buff."

It was soft, worn, and slightly damp from earlier training. Still, it fit.

Strangely comforting. Once again.

What's with these rivals giving her stuff though?

"I'll wash it," she muttered, but her voice was gentler than before.

"Do what you gotta. But don't forget—"

He tapped two fingers against her forehead. Not hard. Just enough.

"You're still here. Whatever you've been through? You’re still in the story."

[Y/N] fidgeted with the edge of the wristband, brushing her thumb over the fraying threads. Something in her chest itched. Not quite panic. Not quite comfort. Something else.

Aso didn't push. Just leaned back against the fence, arms behind his head like this was the cooldown phase of an anime training montage. Which, to be fair, it kind of was.

"So," he said after a moment, eyes watching the sky instead of her. "You planning to run from anything else today? Or was cardio your limit?"

She shook her head. "I think my trauma has a longer stamina stat than me."

"I knew you were an RPG girl." He said, grinning. "Classic tragic protagonist."

"Pretty sure tragic protagonists don't get sidelined by gym class and mirror demons,” she muttered.

"Mirror demons?" he echoed, blinking.

"Nevermind."

But Aso didn't press. Just nodded slowly like that made perfect sense.

"Okay. Just say the word if you need backup. Or someone to punch a mirror for you."

"Wouldn't that give you seven years bad luck?"

"Then I'll break two and cancel it out."
She laughed again—tired but real. And the sound did something to him. A flicker of warmth crossed his face too fast to name.

But someone else saw it.

—

From the other side of the sports building, partially hidden behind the corner wall, Ayato Aishi stared.

His eyes were dark. Focused. Unmoving.

He'd come looking for her.

He hadn’t expected to find her smiling with someone else.

His fingers clenched. That stupid green wristband. That easy laugh.

The way Aso looked at her like she was something golden. It grated. Not because he cared—he told himself that—but because it was off-script.

She was supposed to be untouchable. That's what made her interesting.

But here she was. Letting someone in.

And Ayato didn't like it.

—

He cornered her an hour later.

[Y/N] had barely stepped out of the main building, gym bag slung over one shoulder, still twirling the wristband around her fingers—

"You're spending a lot of time with people who can’t protect you."

She froze. And then turned slowly as if she were caught red-handed.

Ayato stood there in the afterglow of twilight, half-lit like a painting you shouldn’t touch.

"And you think you can?" She challenged.

He didn't smile, "Not think," he clarified. "Know."

The air tightened.

He stepped forward—closer than necessary. Close enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of confusion in her eyes.

"You act like none of this touches you." He whispered. "Like you're immune. But you keep collecting soft spots."

His hand lifted—hesitated just before it reached her cheek. His fingers trembled slightly before he curled them into a fist and pulled away.

"You make it hard to focus on Taeko-chan, you know that?"

Her breath caught. "What—?"

But Ayato was already turning away, eyes unreadable, voice colder than before. "Forget I said that."

He didn't look back.

And for a long time after, she didn't move.

—

[Y/N]'S PANIC BOOK
Entry #016
Location: In my bathroom. On the floor.
Mood: BURNT.

HELLO???? WHAT WAS THAT??? "You make it hard to focus on Taeko."

SIR??

I DIDN'T CONSENT TO THIS.

I WAS MEANT TO BE A BACKGROUND CHARACER. TO SURVIVE THIS MURDER SIM ISEKAI PLOTLINE.

SEND HELP.

Also. How does everyone keep giving me accessories. Is this an RPG or a dating sim???

PS: Aso's wristband still smells like lemon sweat and emotional support. I’m not taking it off. PPS: If Ayato says one more cryptic line I am throwing hands. Or mirrors.

—