There are a few things in life I've learned to accept. First: cold cafeteria curry is one of humanity's most dangerous biological weapons. Second: if you do anything remotely useful in public, the world assumes you're qualified for literally everything. And third: no good deed goes unpunished—especially in high school.
Apparently, outperforming the so-called prodigy Riku in a one-act improv tragedy and solving a missing-prop crisis was enough to warp me into some kind of mythical being. Overnight, I went from "weird loner who mumbles to himself" to "school-wide cheat code."
"They're calling you the Brain now," Koharu muttered with a sour look, twirling her pen like it was a deadly weapon. "Like some final boss with a glasses sparkle."
"I don't even wear glasses," I replied.
She scoffed. "That's what makes it worse."
Rumors swirled faster than our school's ventilation system during curry day. Some said I hacked the school's computer system. Others claimed I was dating every girl in the Theater Club. One particularly imaginative tale involved me building a bomb-diffusal robot out of old rice cookers in the robotics lab. (I'd never even been inside the robotics lab.)
Despite my best efforts to avoid attention—strategically timed bathroom breaks, fake naps during lunch—none of it mattered.
Especially not when she showed up.
"Senpai~!"
I flinched at the voice that practically sparkled with genki energy. Turning slowly—as if I could somehow delay the inevitable—I found myself face to face with Ami Tachibana.
Second year. Track team. Idol-level popularity. The kind of girl whose smile could reverse climate change.
"I've been looking everywhere for you!" she said, clutching a folded piece of paper like it was a treasure map.
"...You sure you've got the right guy?" I asked.
She giggled. "Of course! You're the 'Puzzle Senpai,' right? I need your help with something super mysterious!"
"Is this a prank?"
"Nope! It's this anonymous confession thing that's been happening. Students keep getting love letters from someone... and they're causing chaos."
Chaos. The one word I'm allergic to. Naturally, it had found me again.
"I'm not a detective," I said flatly.
"But you solved the rehearsal disaster!" she beamed. "You're smart and cool and kind of cute in that weird 'anti-social anime boy' way!"
Great. Now I'm a trope.
Koharu, who had been quietly munching on a pocky stick, didn't even look up. "Wow. You're suddenly the school's cheat code?" she mumbled.
"Not by choice," I muttered.
---
Despite every cell in my body screaming "run," I met with Ami behind the gym later that day. She brought a stack of letters. Each was folded identically. Typed. No handwriting. Clues, riddles, vague declarations of love… all unsigned.
"It started with the Student Council President getting one," she explained. "Then the volleyball captain. Then... me."
I raised an eyebrow. "You think they're all from the same person?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. But it's too calculated. Each letter mentions things the recipient's only said or done in private. It's creeping people out."
Someone was spying. Tracking. Or worse—playing cupid with a god complex.
"This one's yours," Ami said, passing me a sealed envelope. "It arrived this morning."
I hesitated. Opening it felt like stepping into a minefield made of clichés and unnecessary subplots.
Inside:
> "To the boy who solved the unsolvable. You see everything, don't you? Even the cracks people hide. You look away on purpose... but you already know what this means."
No name. No signature. Just the faint scent of sakura ink.
I stared at it for a long time.
"…Creepy," I said finally.
"Creepy hot, though?" Ami offered.
"Just creepy."
---
I ended up spending lunch in the library, trying to trace any pattern in the confessions. Mitsuki appeared beside me like a summoned spirit, arms folded, glasses gleaming with judgment.
"You've been dragged into the game," she said, sitting beside me.
"It's not a game if you don't get to quit."
Mitsuki handed me a notebook. She'd already started mapping out the timeline of the letters.
"I figured you'd try to solve it. People like you can't ignore a glitch."
I didn't respond. I didn't have to.
---
By the time classes ended, I had at least three girls wave at me in the hallway. One gave me chocolate. One asked me to help with her math homework. One... tried to peek inside my shoe locker.
It was like being caught in a dating sim where every route was a trap.
I found Koharu sulking by the vending machines.
"Surprised you're not surrounded by your harem," she said without looking at me.
"I escaped through the back stairwell."
She narrowed her eyes. "Wow. You really are the cheat code."
I blinked. "Why does that sound like an insult?"
She shrugged. "You were supposed to be my NPC. My background furniture. The awkward senpai I could bounce off of while I conquered the world."
I raised a brow. "Sorry for breaking character."
"Yeah well…" She sighed, looking away. "You're not supposed to be interesting to other girls."
I paused. "…Is that jealousy I hear?"
"Shut up," she muttered, cheeks pink.
---
That night, I lay in bed, the letter still on my desk.
"To the boy who solved the unsolvable…"
The thing is, they were wrong. I never wanted to solve anything. I just… couldn't look away when something was broken. Maybe it's because I know what it feels like.
People say the truth sets you free. But in high school, truth is more like a social death sentence written in Comic Sans.
Still, I couldn't ignore it. Not the fake confessions. Not the growing chaos. Not the way Koharu looked at me like she couldn't decide whether to slap me or kiss me.
I wasn't a protagonist. But maybe, just maybe, I was a bug in someone else's system. And bugs… always break the game eventually
To be continued