Can a misanthrope have a harem?

[ School Corridor, After Class ]

The corridor felt impossibly narrow, walls closing in with the weight of unspoken memories. Students moved past like ghosts, their laughter and chatter fading into a dull hum.

Mahiru's eyes searched mine, desperation barely restrained. "Aiko... please. You don't have to do this alone. We all remember, because we don't want to lose you."

Her words feel like chains wrapped tighter around my chest. I want to shout at her to stop, to leave me alone. But I can't. Because part of me aches to reach back, to touch that warmth I can't grasp.

I swallowed a bitter lump and looked away. "You don't understand. Every time you say that, it's like dragging me back into a fire I'm trying to escape."

How do I explain the void inside me? How every memory they cling to feels like a cruel joke when I can't hold onto any of it?

She stepped closer, voice trembling. "It's not just about remembering. It's about us, about what we've lost every single time you vanish."

They lost me. And every time, I lose myself a little more. How can I be whole when I'm torn apart over and over?

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the familiar ache gnawing at my chest. "What do you want from me? To be your perfect memory? To play a role in a story I can't even remember? I'm tired, Mahiru. Tired of dying, tired of waking up as a stranger to my own life."

I'm so tired. Tired of pretending I'm something I'm not. Tired of the weight I can't carry. Maybe if I just let go…

Her lips quivered. "I don't want to lose you again. But I'm scared too. Every time you push me away, I feel like you're slipping farther from me. Like the Aiko I loved is just a ghost."

A ghost. That's what I've become, a shadow in their memories, someone they mourn even while I'm here. I want to scream that I'm still here, but the words won't come.

A hollow laugh escaped me, bitter and broken. "Maybe that's all I am, a ghost trapped between timelines, never really here."

Her hand reached out, fingers brushing against mine, a tentative connection. "You're not alone. Not while we're still here."

I jerked my hand back, the sting of rejection sharp. "I am alone. No matter how many times you try to save me, I keep falling through the cracks."

How can I explain this emptiness? How can I make them see that their love isn't enough to fill the void I carry?

Her eyes glistened with tears she fought to hold back. "Then let me fall with you. Let me share the pain, so you don't have to carry it alone."

I want to believe her. I want to reach for that hand and finally stop falling. But the fear, fear that this time, there won't be anyone left to catch me, holds me back.

For a long moment, silence stretched between us. I wanted to scream at her to stop, to leave me be, but my body refused to move.

Finally, voice barely audible, I said, "I don't know how to hold on anymore."

Mahiru's voice softened, "Neither do I. But maybe... together, we can try."

Together. A word heavy with hope and pain. Maybe that's the only thing worth holding onto.

...

The school emptied faster than usual, footsteps and voices fading like echoes from a distant world. I stayed behind, leaning against the cold brick wall just outside the classroom.

The corridor was empty. Quiet. Too quiet.

Mahiru's words still lingered in my mind, together, we can try.

But the weight in my chest felt heavier than ever.

I slid down the wall, pulling my knees close, trying to anchor myself to something solid.

What if trying just means setting myself up for more pain? I thought bitterly.

The truth was, part of me wanted to reach out. To grab onto that hope before it slipped away like smoke.

But my hands stayed clenched at my sides, trembling.

I hated how tired I was.

Hated how alone I felt even surrounded by people who cared.

The world moved on without me, like I was a ghost haunting a story I didn't understand.

But maybe... maybe if I stopped fighting it-

Maybe I could stop disappearing.

A single breath escaped me, shaky but real.

I wasn't ready to give up yet.

...

[Service Club]

The kettle clicked.

Yui moved first, pouring the water into two teacups with practiced care, but her eyes kept darting to the door like she expected someone to walk through it. Like she needed him to.

He didn't.

He never did anymore.

Yukino sat at the table, hands folded, her expression unreadable. But the silence between them was heavy, like words unsaid had begun to rot in the corners of the room.

"He's getting worse, isn't he?" Yui said softly, not looking up.

Yukino didn't answer right away. Her gaze flicked to the teacup in front of her, then away.

"He's unraveling," she said at last. "And none of us know how to catch him without falling ourselves."

Yui bit her lip, then laughed, soft and bitter. "He used to flinch when I got too close. Now he doesn't even look. It's like he's already halfway gone."

Yukino finally looked at her, something cold and sharp flickering behind her eyes. "And what do you intend to do, Yuigahama-san? Bake him into recovery? Cry until he remembers you?"

The words cut, more than Yukino meant them to.

Yui's smile trembled. But she didn't look away.

"I intend to stay."

Yukino blinked.

"No matter how much he forgets," Yui continued, her voice steadier now, "I'll be here. Even if all I can do is sit beside him while he falls apart."

Silence again.

Then Yukino's voice, quieter.

"We're all sitting beside a man walking toward a grave he doesn't remember."

Yui nodded slowly. "Then let's make sure he doesn't walk it alone."

...

The door creaked open.

I hadn't planned on coming here. I don't even know why I did.

But I stepped inside anyway.

Yukino and Yui both looked up, surprised, but only for a second. Yui's eyes softened immediately. Yukino's gaze sharpened like a scalpel, masking something gentler underneath.

"...Aiko-kun," Yui said first, rising halfway before sitting back down. She looked like she wanted to run to me. Or maybe run away.

"Didn't expect to see you," Yukino said, folding her hands again. Her voice was neutral. Too neutral.

I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. My head hurt. My chest hurt more.

"I'm not here for tea," I muttered.

"No one asked you to be," Yukino replied, not unkindly.

Yui hesitated, then held something out, a small box. "I saved this for you. Strawberry daifuku. Thought you might… you know. Want something sweet."

I stared at it, then at her. I didn't move.

"Do you think I'm a child? That snacks will fix me?" I said, sharper than I meant.

Yui flinched.

Yukino stood slowly. "That's enough."

I looked at her. "Why? You're all so desperate for me to be who I was. To wake up one day and remember the version of Aiko you loved. But what if that person's dead? What if he never existed?"

Silence.

Yui looked like she might cry.

Yukino's voice came out steady. Cold. "We're not desperate. We're grieving. There's a difference."

"Grieving?" I scoffed. "I'm standing right here."

"Are you?" she said, and that hurt more than it should have.

I turned away, gripping the doorknob.

Then Yui's voice, small, fragile: "Even if you never remember us… can you stop pretending we don't matter?"

I froze.

Yukino added, quieter, "We're not here to pull you back into the past, Aiko. We're trying to keep you from vanishing in the present."

I didn't answer.

The silence stretched.

Then I muttered, "You should give that sweet to someone who still deserves it."

And I left.

But as the door clicked shut behind me, I realized:

I had wanted to take it.

I had wanted to stay.

I just didn't know how.

...

The hallway was empty, mostly. A few echoing footsteps, a muffled voice through a closing door.

I stepped out, daifuku box still in my hand. I hadn't meant to take it, but… I did. Like a coward who couldn't say thank you and couldn't say no.

I should've gone left.

I went right.

And stopped dead.

Alya stood with her arms crossed beside the lockers, leaning casually but eyes sharp. Mahiru was next to her, hands behind her back, pretending to study a noticeboard.

Neither of them said anything when they saw me.

But they didn't move, either.

I could've turned around.

I didn't.

"You look like shit," Alya said. Her voice was teasing, but it missed the mark, like her heart wasn't in the performance.

Mahiru turned slowly. Her expression was soft. Guarded.

"We heard your voice," she said. "Through the door."

I exhaled through my nose. "Of course you did."

Alya stepped forward, one hand on her hip. "You don't have to keep doing this."

"Doing what?" I snapped, more bitter than I meant. "Walking through a school I don't remember, being cornered by girls who treat me like some tragic ghost they want to fix?"

Mahiru flinched.

Alya blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "That's not what this is."

"No?" I stepped toward them. "Then what is it? Pity? Nostalgia? You all loved someone who isn't me. I'm just… the echo. The broken copy. The filler episode."

Alya's jaw clenched.

Mahiru stepped closer, quiet but firm. "You think we don't know that?"

"I think you don't care," I shot back. "You care about the version of me you lost. Not the one you're stuck with."

Silence.

The kind that made your ears ring.

Then Alya said, her voice lower now, tighter, "You really think it doesn't kill us? That we don't lie awake wondering if we're being selfish just for talking to you?"

Mahiru's voice broke next. "Every time we look at you, we see the boy who held our hand, who made promises, who disappeared. And we hate it. But we can't walk away."

"Why not?" I asked. "Why not just leave me alone?"

Mahiru smiled sadly. "Because you didn't leave us. Not really. You die. But you always come back."

Alya crossed her arms again. "And we always find you."

"I didn't ask you to," I said, but it came out as a whisper.

Mahiru stepped so close I could smell her shampoo. "I know."

There was a long silence.

Then Alya, in a softer voice than I'd ever heard from her, asked, "What happened in there?"

I didn't answer.

But I opened my hand.

The box Yui gave me was still there, crumpled slightly. The strawberry daifuku inside untouched.

Alya stared at it.

Mahiru's shoulders sank.

I didn't look at either of them. "I'm tired," I said. "I don't want to be this person. But I don't know how to be anything else."

For once, neither of them tried to fix it.

Mahiru quietly said, "We'll wait."

Alya added, "Even if it hurts."

I wanted to scream at them.

But instead, I stood there in silence, clutching something sweet I couldn't taste, surrounded by people who remembered too much.

And I, who remembered nothing, was the one they all refused to forget.

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