The last day of camp began like a horror movie.
Not because of blood.
Because of hope.
Hope that today, things might resolve.
That I might pick someone.
That I might stop stalling.
That I might finally say it.
That four-letter word that makes stories end or explode.
Spoiler: I didn't pick anyone.
Bigger spoiler: I wasn't allowed to.
Because today?
Today was event-trigger day.
It started with Aya handing me a bento box.
Heart-shaped.
With an actual heart-shaped egg in the center.
"I woke up early," she said, smiling too warmly.
"To emotionally blackmail me via egg?"
"To remind you who was here first."
She winked and walked away.
The egg stared into my soul.
Then Kokoro approached me.
No sarcasm. No binder. No Regulation Distance™.
Just… quiet determination.
She handed me a single folded note.
On the front: "Read this after breakfast."
On the back: "Unless you're a coward."
So I ate slowly, with the dread of someone chewing through plot.
When I opened the letter, it read:
"I'm done waiting. Meet me by the cedar tree at noon.Choose, or I'll choose for you."
– K
My brain immediately went into full power-save mode.
Aya? Sweet and terrifying.
Kokoro? Cold and vulnerable.
Sensei? Probably orchestrating this entire arc from a control tower somewhere.
And me?
I was sweating over whether I had to confess or get confessed at.
11:45 AM.
I tried hiding behind a tree.
Aya found me in eight seconds.
"Why are you crouching like a sad squirrel?"
"I'm trying to glitch out of the genre."
She sat down beside me.
No teasing.
Just silence.
Then she said:
"You should go to her."
"…And you're okay with that?"
She smiled.
And for once, it was real.
No sparkle. No smug.
Just sad and sweet and honest.
"She was first in your heart. I was just first in your house."
Noon.
The cedar tree.
Kokoro stood there like a final boss and a confession girl rolled into one.
I stepped forward.
She didn't speak.
I didn't either.
For a while, we just stood in silence.
Then she said:
"If I tell you I like you, will you run?"
"No."
"Will you lie?"
"…No."
"Will you say it back?"
I swallowed.
This was it.
The end of the route.
My answer would either close her book...
Or write the next volume.
And just as I opened my mouth—
The sky split.
Fireworks. Again.
But not Sensei's this time.
This time, it was Kokoro's dad.
And by "dad," I mean a black limousine pulling up with a dozen men in suits and the world's most unnecessary family banner reading:
"KOGANE FINANCIAL GROUP: WEALTH. POWER. MARRIAGE."
Kokoro's face went blank.
"Oh no," she muttered.
"Wait—this is real?!"
A man stepped out.
Sharp suit. Thin glasses. Smile like a banker who's evicted 3,000 families and slept like a baby.
"You've had your fun, Kokoro. Time to come home."
"I'm not done," she said quietly.
"You're playing around with commoners."
"I'm—"
"—compromising the Kogane name."
Kazuki.exe stopped responding.
Kokoro stepped forward.
"This isn't a romance route. This is my life. And I'm picking it. Not you. Not some outdated system."
I stared at her.
She was trembling.
But her voice didn't waver.
And for the first time…
She looked like the protagonist.
Aya appeared behind me.
"Should we… do something?"
"Like what?! Fight capitalism with feelings?!"
"…Wouldn't be the weirdest thing this week."
Eventually, the limo drove off.
Not because the problem was resolved.
Because Kokoro chose not to be taken.
And no one had the guts to stop her.
Not with that fire in her eyes.
After it all, Kokoro looked at me.
Expression unreadable.
And said:
"I'll ask again later."
"…What?"
"The cedar tree. The question. You're not ready. I can tell."
And she walked away.
Leaving me standing in the ruins of a half-confession and a half-revolution.
That night, back at the tent—
Aya passed me her phone.
A photo.
It was me and Kokoro, both crouching behind a tree the day before, hiding from our feelings like cowards.
Caption: "True Romance Is Mutual Denial"
"I think she likes you more than she admits," Aya whispered.
"And you?"
She smiled.
"I like watching you try to figure it out."
We packed up camp the next day.
The ride home was quiet.
No chaos.
No declarations.
No surprise baths.
Just… three people.
Caught between what was said, and what wasn't.
And one teacher in the front seat, updating a chart that read:
Love Polygon Status: Act Two Complete.