Chapter 30 Simulation Heroine Is Bocchi?
Yamada pursed her lips as she watched the group of fans below the stage engrossed in Narumi's performance.
"We still need to find a way to teach him to improve his skills... It's definitely not about trying to rip Narumi off."
And so, Yamada Ryo remarkably adaptable for someone who looks like she lives in her own world accepted the premise that she had been inexplicably dragged into a so-called "parallel world."
But since no mysterious voice echoed in her mind, and no frantic stranger grabbed her shoulders shouting "We have to find a way to escape!", Miss Yamada reached a calm and logical conclusion:
"Let's take it one step at a time. Staying here and playing for a while longer isn't a bad idea. Maybe it was all just a dream."
As long as she could play bass and hang out with friends, reality or fantasy made no difference. Nijika and Ikuyo were almost exactly the same as she remembered anyway, so there was no need to panic. Whatever this world was, she could accept it.
However, her friend Narumi someone she originally knew in the real world—had changed in this one.
"Caterpillar, you must be busy practicing all day long. You wouldn't want to drink that devilish water that makes you fat and lazy, would you?"
He said that while shamelessly stealing the Coca-Cola Gotoh Hitori just bought. After finishing it, he would sniff and mutter, "Why does it taste like toilet cleaner?" with complete seriousness.
"Is it because caterpillars like to hide in dark places? Under the sunlight, you have nowhere to run, so you stay in that cardboard box and pretend to be invisible?"
He mocked Bocchi again after her performance in a mango box, until she flushed red and discarded it in shame.
"Who cares what I do? If you're bored, go find something else to do. Do I owe you a report every time I smoke? Are you my mother—or are you planning to inhale secondhand smoke on purpose?"
He fired that off coldly when Bocchi gently advised him to smoke less for his health. She shrank back, eyes trembling, until Narumi reluctantly crushed the cigarette with annoyance.
"Ugh, what a terrible person."
Having witnessed everything, Ijichi Nijika didn't bother hiding her resentment. Ryo, who had watched the same scene, only sipped her canned coffee without expression.
"Should I tell my sister to stop collaborating with his band? I feel like if this continues, Bocchi-chan will cry for sure..."
"Hmm... that's hard to understand."
Ryo didn't answer her directly; instead, she muttered to herself.
"What's so hard to understand?"
"Nijika, don't you think Narumi is just bluffing? Like he's only mean because being mean is the only way he knows how to communicate?"
"I never thought of it that way... Why can't he just be bad?"
"Because I didn't sense any malice in what he did."
"Ryo, you'll get hurt if you assume the best in people! And why do you sound like you know him so well? Have you two met before? You're talking so casually about him—"
"I..."
Yamada opened her mouth to answer, but stopped. The curly-haired boy and Bocchi were arguing again—not that it was a real argument. It was more like Narumi repeatedly selecting "harass Bocchi" as if she were an NPC option.
Something blocked the truth in her throat. It wasn't willful silence—more like the world itself refused to let her speak.
And at that moment, Yamada Ryo realized something chilling:
She was not the protagonist of this world.
She was merely programmed into it.
Still, to her credit, Yamada's sixth sense was spot on.
All the so-called "atrocities" Narumi committed weren't driven by genuine malice—they were simply bluffs and forced bravado.
"Bullying someone just because you like them is pathetic... even elementary schoolers don't act like that anymore."
If synchronization wasn't necessary, he wouldn't bother doing something so exhausting.
But after surviving one simulation already, Narumi had acquired a keen sense for identifying which character mattered most in each one.
This time, the answer was obvious:
Gotoh Hitori.
In this rock-infused simulation, she was the only figure connected to his past, present, and future. Her existence wasn't random it was deliberate.
Without a doubt, Bocchi-chan was the core of this simulation.
His next goal was clear:
What was her wish?
What did she want from this world?
How could he make himself unforgettable to her?
This time, there was only one ending. He couldn't afford mistakes.
Should he gently guide her to step out of her comfort zone? It was possible but slow, inefficient, and incompatible with his simulated personality.
Should he give her sincere affection? Impossible. Dishonesty was embedded in this version of himself. If he acted genuinely, the system would reject it.
Thus, there was only one viable approach—one that aligned with the twisted emotional circuitry of this future "Narumi Toru."
He had to push her. Pressure her. Corner her.
Not out of spite—but because that was how this version of him expressed attention.
And how this simulation demanded he act.
Narumi's lips curved into a thin smile as the idea cemented in his mind—reckless, childish, unsightly, yet disturbingly effective.
If Bocchi was destined to grow through music and human connection, then Narumi Toru would become the single obstacle she could never ignore.
Not her friend.
Not her lover.
Not her supporter.
Her enemy.
Friends surround her. Romance requires emotional timing she has not yet earned. But the role of "enemy"—that gnawing presence she can neither avoid nor dismiss—that was vacant. And Narumi knew one truth about human nature:
You remember your enemies longer than your crushes.
To become unforgettable, he must first become the thorn she cannot pull out.
It was manipulative, borderline villainous, and something only someone like Narumi could proudly commit to.
He already had experience. He had played the devil's advocate for Hayama at the Service Club; he knew how to provoke people into confronting themselves.
The blueprint was complete.
The first task: become a target Bocchi could not ignore—not just for her, but for her entire band.
"You didn't play that note correctly, did you?"
That was why Narumi remained behind after every Kessoku Band performance, striking just as Bocchi took a relieved breath. He would whisper those poisonous words straight into her ear like a demon lodging itself in her heart.
For a guitarist, this was equivalent to telling a manga artist, "Your shading is terrible," telling a straight-A student, "You messed up the easy question," or telling a basketball trainee, "You shoot like trash."
It was psychological warfare at its finest.
"Ugh…!"
The moment his words hit, Bocchi stiffened like someone struck in the spine. Her fingers clenched her tracksuit collar, knuckles pale, throat tight, unable to respond.
Narumi continued mercilessly:
"If a tiny audience makes you panic and mess up notes, how do you expect to stand beside me on a real stage? Ask yourself—can you actually do that, Caterpillar?"
"I… I…"
Before the trembling girl could formulate an excuse, Nijika—who had been ahead—noticed Bocchi lagging behind. Her expression hardened, and she returned with decisive steps.
"That's enough. Stop bullying her!"
She wrapped her hands protectively around Bocchi's cold fingers, her voice firm and burning with indignation.
"Let's go, Bocchi-chan."
She shot Narumi a glare overflowing with righteous fury before pulling Bocchi away.
"If you want to practice, I'll practice with you as long as it takes. We're not letting a guy like that look down on us!"
"Nijika-chan…"
Bocchi looked stunned, stunned by the sudden warmth. Nijika's grip was soft, reassuring, almost unbearably gentle.
"But Narumi-kun, he…"
Still worried she had somehow angered Narumi, Bocchi turned back—
And froze.
Narumi was neither embarrassed nor angry. He wasn't frustrated about being confronted. He simply stood there, hands in his pockets, smiling faintly, as if the world was proceeding exactly as he intended.
His eyes—calm, unreadable—followed them until they vanished around the corner.
Why would someone who wanted to hurt her look… satisfied?
Bocchi didn't understand.
Narumi finally shifted his gaze away once they disappeared.
Become an enemy, but leave room for doubt.
If people fully understand your intentions, you are no longer an enemy—just a jerk.
Mystery is what turns hostility into gravity.
"Why were you staring at Nijika and Bocchi like that?"
Ryo Yamada approached, sipping canned coffee with the casual tone of someone commenting on the weather.
"What, got a crush on her?"
It was a joke delivered so flatly it felt like a trap.
In a traditional tsundere script, Narumi should now avert his eyes and mutter something like:
"Hmph. I-It's not like I like her!"
Thankfully, Narumi Toru did not live in a cliché.
"I like her? Don't be ridiculous."
His smirk was mocking, sharp enough to cut.
You might as well claim I like you.
To say one thing while meaning another—such contradictions were the very essence of this simulation's Narumi.
"Hmm. Is that considered a confession? I'll think about it."
Ryo's response was so calmly absurd that it pulled the air out of the moment. Narumi didn't even blink he already understood that Yamada Ryo operates entirely outside the normal emotional range.
Become Bocchi's enemy.
Exclude Ryo Yamada.
Did Narumi have a reason?
None whatsoever.
He simply believed—without logic or evidence—that Ryo could understand him in any version of the future. Even without shared memories.
"Why are you suddenly asking this? Did I make it obvious?"
"You weren't confessing? Well, I didn't think so. You just make it very clear that you want Bocchi to hate you. I don't get why."
Sharp. Too sharp.
"Your behavior is more like a villain training her on purpose. You provoke her until she questions her worth, then Nijika and Ikuyo lift her back up. With you as the enemy, she'll grow faster."
Narumi blinked. Ryo stared, unreadable.
Someone had finally cracked his logic.
What was he supposed to do now?
"Of course, it's just my guess. For all I know, this is some melodramatic love triangle where one person can't obtain the love they want."
She yawned, as if bored with her own insight.
"After all, you and I… um."
She hesitated.
Then spoke the truth the world forced upon her:
"After all, I don't know you at all."
That was the moment Ryo Yamada understood:
She wasn't allowed to be more than she already was.
She wasn't permitted thoughts that strayed outside her assigned role.
This wasn't her story.
And the system would not let her speak like someone who mattered.
---
Goto Ichiri once had a dream.
End Of Chapter.