"Meeting up offline with the bassist of Kessoku Band when you're the infamous bassist of a third-rate band… putting aside what the drama-loving fans would think if that got out, your own bandmates wouldn't feel great about it either, would they?"
At the family restaurant, Tōru Narumi looked at Yamada Ryō, who was intently working on her steak, with a faintly amused smile.
"Your face looks awful. Why didn't you agree to go to the hospital earlier?"
Yamada ignored his teasing outright—along with the faintly sardonic edge in his voice.
Narumi was already used to it. Sarcasm and backhanded jabs that usually worked on anyone else slid right past Yamada, like punching cotton—completely powerless.
"I wouldn't stiff you on the medical bills or anything… well, okay, if you left me an opening, I'd definitely take advantage of it."
"Jumping into every hole you see will only get you hurt."
And her focus was always strange. Of course, Narumi Tōru was the least qualified person to say that about her.
"I don't want to go to the hospital. Going would just be a waste of time."
Narumi rolled his eyes at Yamada without bothering to hide it, then rummaged through his pockets. He stopped midway—remembering you couldn't smoke here—and gave up.
Yamada noticed the movement. She spaced out for a moment, then seemed to understand something—
She picked up some vegetables with her fork and stuffed them straight into Narumi's mouth.
"..."
Narumi stared at Yamada in speechless disbelief at the sudden act, then silently chewed and swallowed the vegetables.
How should he put it… he could predict how most people in this simulation would act next. Even being abandoned by Hayama and Hikigaya had been among the scenarios he'd anticipated.
Only Yamada Ryō—he couldn't read her logic at all.
"When you feel like smoking, just eat more greens. It's not like you smokers don't already eat plenty of 'grass.'"
She wore a self-satisfied grin that clearly said "that pun definitely landed", which only made Narumi wonder why the restaurant's AC was set so cold.
"Then you might as well treat me to a pork cutlet bowl."
Narumi ignored her terrible joke and suddenly threw that out there.
"Why are you eyeing my wallet out of nowhere?"
Just a second ago she'd been happily eating steak; now Yamada clutched her pocket like she was facing a mortal enemy.
"I mean, in TV dramas, cops always use pork cutlet bowls to loosen suspects' tongues—hey, if I have to explain the joke myself, it loses all impact!"
"Ohhh, I see."
"Don't play along in places like that, you weirdo."
Miss Yamada set down her knife and fork. Full and satisfied, she wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin and spoke slowly.
"It can't be helped. If you just up and die like this, Koumi, that would be a real hassle for me."
She used the nickname that belonged exclusively to Yamada Ryō in the real world. Narumi, pale-faced, froze for a split second—but quickly steadied himself.
Back then, Yamada would occasionally call him Koumi on a whim anyway. The Yamada Ryō inside the simulation doing the same still made sense.
"Besides, dying while keeping your current reputation? That's the worst possible draw."
Having finished her steak, Yamada Ryō moved on to dessert, lifting a bite of tiramisu to her mouth. Her calm gaze pointed straight at the curly-haired boy across from her.
"Whether it's the audience that likes underground shows or the organizers who provide venues, none of them think very highly of you. Didn't you say before that you wanted to perform on stage together with Bocchi?"
She didn't say much, but her intent was obvious.
If he really meant to keep that promise, then he should take better care of his body—and stop doing things that trashed his reputation.
"You sure care a lot about me, Yamada. Why's that?"
Narumi, who had ordered an alcoholic drink, took a small sip. Instead of answering, he responded with a question.
"Hmm…"
Miss Yamada openly showed that she was thinking. After pondering for quite a while, she only came up with a vague, ambiguous answer.
"Why, huh. I'm curious about that too. Maybe you can help me figure it out."
What is wrong with this woman?
"Thanks for your concern, but I'm afraid I can't keep that promise."
Narumi's eyes shifted slightly. While enduring the churning pain in his stomach, he still followed his cravings and drank the alcohol he'd just ordered.
"Besides, the caterpillar didn't keep its promise with me either. Me breaking one once—seems fair enough."
"Ahh, so you're that type—tsundere, huh."
"You are."
"Great. Then prove it—to me—that you're not a tsundere."
"I'm not falling for such a cheap self-proof trap."
Narumi sighed. Still, after talking with Yamada for a while, his emotions really had settled down compared to before.
Constantly playing a role completely different from his real personality—even if that role might be another version of himself from a parallel world—was exhausting.
"I get it. You're just trying to make little Bocchi hate you."
Yamada Ryō stated the conclusion without hesitation.
"But I still don't understand why you'd do that. It's all harm and no benefit—not even any upside for your band's performances… hmm."
She suddenly paused, as if something had just occurred to her. Her usually placid eyes sharply contracted.
She'd noticed something off.
"…But our shows… seem to be getting more popular."
Rumors were scary and spread easily. But if, within those rumors, you were the one being bullied—the weaker side—then public pressure would instead push you onto the moral high ground.
"In the Shimokitazawa underground scene, there's a nasty bassist with mediocre skills and painfully average performances who loves to mock and slander the guitarist of another band in public."
Told from the victim's perspective, that story became—
In Kessoku Band, there was a low-key guitarist who was repeatedly provoked and ridiculed by some third-rate bassist. Her playing was actually excellent, but because she was shy, she'd make the occasional mistake. Often too embarrassed to face people, she'd shut herself inside a cardboard box—yet no matter how many times she was humiliated, she never truly lashed out.
Even people who weren't originally part of Kessoku Band's audience came to shows out of a sense of "I've heard so much about you." Many stayed on, captivated by their performances, becoming genuine fans. And quite a few cheered loudly for poor, bullied Bocchi-chan.
If Narumi's goal wasn't to bully Bocchi—then this was it.
"There's something I want to ask of you, Yamada."
Even after being seen through this far, Narumi's expression remained calm.
This was the first time Yamada Ryō truly looked straight into the curly-haired boy's lake-blue eyes. The depth reflected there didn't belong to the arrogant, overbearing third-rate bassist called Narumi Tōru. It was closer to the gaze of the guy who would smile at the front desk and chase off thugs.
"No one else will do. You're the only one I can rely on."
For a brief moment, she almost lost herself in those lake-blue eyes—eyes that looked as if they'd already planned everything.