Mm, mm, mm.
Bocchi-chan’s brain had entered a state of absolute, total system failure.
Her entire body remained curled into the corner as she clutched her guitar, completely motionless, looking precisely as though she had expired on the spot.
Hiroto Tachibana remained squatted beside her, tilting his head to inspect her form.
Hmm?
In his baseline memory, Bocchi-chan shouldn’t be quite this fragile.
Fainting out of sheer terror was well within the realm of possibility, but flat-out dying was a structural impossibility.
Countless weak, shadows-dwelling creatures routinely resorted to playing dead.
Purely judging by surface appearances, Bocchi-chan truly looked identical to a fresh corpse.
Could it be that she had actually evolved her defense mechanisms to such an extreme threshold?
Just kidding.
Hiroto had naturally read through her facade from the absolute beginning; Bocchi-chan was explicitly playing dead.
His gaze drifted down toward the guitar she held tightly within her embrace.
They say an instrument is a guitarist’s very lifeline—it never leaves their hands, and they even clutch it securely while sleeping.
Under standard parameters, if a fellow classmate were to suddenly expire right beneath one’s nose and direct influence, what should one’s baseline reaction look like?
”Ah!” Hiroto let out a sudden, frantic gasp, his tone laced with absolute panic.
“S-She’s dead?!
Goto-san!
What do I do, what do I do?!
This is entirely my fault, I shouldn’t have terrorized her like that, what on earth am I supposed to do?!”
Hiding behind her facade of mock expiration, Bocchi-chan registered that her master plan had succeeded perfectly, the corner of her lips progressively curving upward in secret triumph.
”Then again,” Hiroto’s tone suddenly plunged back into complete, eerie tranquility.
”Dead is dead; there really isn’t any alternative measure available anymore.
Furthermore, this can’t be factored as entirely my responsibility anyway, considering Goto-san expired far too effortlessly.
But if the authorities launch an investigation and knock on my door, having the liability pinned entirely on my person would be highly problematic.”
He stood up, resting his hand against his chin as though locked in profound, serious contemplation.
”Since she’s already deceased, I might as well simply dispose of the body.
It’s currently lunch break; if I execute the dismemberment first and manage the body disposal right after, I should still make it back in time.
Let me see here—”
A torrential sheet of cold sweat instantly erupted across Bocchi-chan’s entire frame.
I-It’s all over.
Tachibana-kun…
could he genuinely be contemplating an act of explicit dismemberment right this second?!
Is there still a window of opportunity to salvage this?
Should I inform him that I am actually completely alive, and that it was merely a facade…?
But…
but what if he loses his temper and genuinely slaughters me on the spot?!
Trapped in an absolute, agonizing dilemma, Bocchi-chan remained thoroughly frozen in place, not even daring to draw a loud breath.
”Sigh—” Hiroto let out a heavy, dramatic sigh.
“Letting things persist like this won’t do either.
Let me at least adjust your posture so you can rest in absolute peace.”
He extended his hand, reaching directly for the chassis of her guitar.
The exact millisecond prior to Bocchi-chan snapping her eyes open, she suddenly perceived a distinct loosening of the grip around her instrument.
The guitar was on the verge of being confiscated!
Driven by pure survival instinct, her fingers forcefully tightened their grip, violently snatching the guitar right back into her possession.
The immediate next frame, she abruptly registered that something was profoundly wrong; opening her eyes, she was met squarely with Hiroto’s highly amused, half-smiling expression.
Hiroto stared down at the thoroughly dazed, terror-stricken Bocchi-chan.
Is this specimen genuinely a fraction foolish?
Could she have honestly believed that I genuinely assumed she was dead?
Bocchi-chan parted her lips, stammering erratically, yet failed to produce a single coherent syllable.
”To think that even upon expiring, Goto-san would still maintain an ironclad, unyielding grip on her guitar,” Hiroto smoothly opened his mouth to bridge the silence, his tone remarkably solemn.
“Truly magnificent.
It’s profoundly moving.”
Bocchi-chan remained rooted to her spot, blinking her eyes twice in rapid succession.
Eh?
He…
He was actively deploying a narrative to bail her out of her mortifying embarrassment?
Staring up at Hiroto’s half-smiling face, her rims unexpectedly felt a fraction moist.
Waaaah, this is far too moving.
”I-I’m sorry,” Bocchi-chan’s voice was microscopically faint.
She seemed to have progressively registered that her operational sequence moments ago was thoroughly idiotic.
But shifting her train of thought…
Tachibana-kun might genuinely be an exceptionally good person after all.
Look at how he hadn’t displayed a single shred of irritation, even going so far as to actively bail her out; could she have completely misconstrued his character from the beginning?
Just as this exact realization was taking root in her mind, Hiroto opened his mouth.
”It’s of no consequence,” he noted.
“You merely need to deploy alternative avenues to compensate me, and we’ll call it even.”
”Ah—!”
Bocchi-chan violently whipped her head upward, her pupils quivering with massive, frantic tremors.
Compensate?!
What commodities did her person even possess that could structurally function as compensation?!
Her brain launched into an absolute, high-velocity calculations loop.
The valuable assets tied to her physical frame?
Her brain?
Her corneas?
Her liver?
Her kidneys?!
”U-Um…” Her entire voice was trembling violently.
“C-Could you please refrain from harvesting my internal organs?
I-I possess monetary currency…”
”Ah?
What on earth are you even talking about?” Hiroto was briefly dazed, staring at Bocchi-chan’s face, which was practically a canvas of absolute terror.
He was entirely incapable of tracking her bizarre cognitive trajectory.
He had assumed his phrasing was structured to be easily misconstrued along romantic lines; how on earth had she bridged the gap straight to organ harvesting?
”It has absolutely nothing to do with internal organs,” Hiroto squatted back down, bringing his line of sight level with hers.
“I recognized your identity.”
Bocchi-chan blinked, her face a portrait of absolute, blank confusion.
”Guitar.
Hero.” Hiroto delivered the syllables with perfect clarity.
Bocchi-chan’s entire physical frame instantly turned to solid stone.
”The video footage you archive across the digital network—I have reviewed it.
Your performance proficiency is exceptionally high.
I am an authentic fan of yours.”
Bocchi-chan’s mouth progressively parted, shut, parted, and shut again.
Her complexion transitioned from a ghost-white pallor straight into a vibrant pink hue, looking precisely like a sudden, terminal surge of revitalization.
”A f-fan…?”
”Mm.
Consequently, I would highly appreciate securing an autograph.” Hiroto retrieved a pen from his pocket, holding it forward.
“Would that be acceptable?”
Staring at the pen before her, then looking up at Hiroto’s undeniably handsome face, an indefinable, complex sensation welled up within Bocchi-chan’s soul.
Was that truly the absolute extent of his objective?
She could hardly be factored as some grand, mainstream celebrity…
to think the entire cataclysmic scenario would be completely resolved with a mere autograph?
She accepted the pen, her hand still delivering violent tremors as she scribbled the four characters for “Guitar Hero” across the notepad Hiroto had extended.
The initial attempt emerged thoroughly crooked and misshapen, prompting her to cross it out entirely and execute the script a second time.
”H-Here you go…”
Hiroto accepted the slip of paper, cast a brief glance over the script, methodically folded it, and tucked it securely into his pocket.
“Thank you.”
Bocchi-chan lowered her head, her internal conscience still profoundly plagued by a wave of guilt.
The other party was an authentic fan, yet she had explicitly resorted to playing dead and even harbored wild suspicions that he was plotting to harvest her internal organs…
the more her mind processed her behavior, the more crushing her sense of remorse became.
”U-Um…” She mustered up an immense surge of raw courage.
“Tachibana-kun…
I…”
”Let us migrate toward the cafeteria first,” Hiroto stood back up.
“We can converse smoothly while on the move.”
”Eh?
Eh?!” Bocchi-chan panicked instantly.
“T-There is absolutely no necessity to initiate such grand complications!
I-I actually brought a home-cooked bento…” She clasped her guitar tighter against her frame, her voice progressively dropping in volume.
She harbored an absolute, deep-seated dread regarding the school cafeteria—there were far too many human entities present, managing table logistics was a nightmare, and there was always the terrifying probability of strangers marching over to ask if the adjacent seat was occupied…
she flat-out lacked the fortitude to endure it.
”It’s completely fine; you can simply treat me to a meal!”
Bocchi-chan lifted her head, her vision locking straight into his gaze.
A-A treat?
If she executed a sequence to treat him to a meal, that would mean she wouldn’t remain indebted to his favor anymore, correct?
”T-Then I suppose that’s fine…”
She progressively stood up, her legs feeling a fraction weak, yet she maintained a tight chokehold around her guitar as she fell into step directly behind Hiroto.
Operating in a strict front-and-back formation, the two of them scaled the flight of stairs.
Staring at the silhouette of the individual leading the march ahead of her, Bocchi-chan suddenly registered that her internal dread didn’t seem quite as absolute anymore.
…Just a tiny bit, at least.
The logistical execution of consuming lunch within the cafeteria proceeded in a remarkably smooth fashion; aside from capturing a substantial volume of casual stares from the crowd, it failed to trigger any major disruptions.
Naturally, this included Bocchi-chan watching with a delicate blend of absolute terror and profound reverence as Tachibana-kun methodically and systematically rejected one female student after another who desperately sought to occupy the adjacent seats at their table.
‘So, so bizarre…
there are clearly countless vacant tables scattered across the floor, why on earth are they so intent on sitting right here?’ Bocchi-chan mused internally.
As the lunch window drew to its final close, Hiroto utilized his status as a fan to smoothly execute a sequence to exchange digital contact information with Bocchi-chan.
After bidding her farewell, he launched a direct march back toward the International Culture Class.
The exact millisecond he crossed the threshold of the outer doorway, he instantly detected that the atmosphere was distinctly off.
The crowd was caught in a noticeable wave of commotion, and the hallway corridor was choked with an immense volume of entirely unfamiliar faces.
Why on earth were there so many external entities loitering around during the lunch break window?
Advancing closer to inspect the disturbance, he sliced through the narrow parameters of the crowd, his vision catching sight of two exceptionally brilliant, contrasting landscape lines.
Yukinoshita Yukino.
Utaha Kasumigaoka.
One stood directly flanking the classroom doorway, while the other leaned casually against the corridor window frame.
One maintained a thoroughly pristine, freezing expression, while the other harbored an immensely lazy, half-lidded gaze.
A strict geographical buffer of roughly two meters separated the two girls; neither party displayed the slightest intention of initiating a verbal sequence, yet the sheer tension saturated within the air was already thick enough to practically liquefy.
The surrounding spectators were huddled together, letting out a continuous stream of hushed, rapid whispers.
”Isn’t that the second-year Kasumigaoka-senpai?
What functional business could she possibly possess over at our classroom?”
“I’m completely clueless; the exact second she arrived, she directly demanded an audience with Yukinoshita…”
“Do they share some prior personal connection?”
“The sheer presence of those two standing together…
it’s flat-out terrifying.”