The silence that followed Kenji Tanaka's confession was not awkward or tense, but heavy with the weight of his vulnerability. It was a fragile moment, a confession whispered into the quiet sanctuary of the club room, and Yuki Hoshino knew that her next words would determine whether he shattered or found the strength to piece himself together. She felt the raw honesty of his pain and understood that what he needed wasn't a quick solution, but a lifeline. He was a swimmer lost in a vast, lonely ocean of his own feelings, and she had to be the shore.
Her expression softened, her professional presidential demeanor melting away to reveal the deep, sincere empathy that was the true foundation of her character. She leaned forward, her hands clasped in her lap, creating an aura of safety and trust that silently communicated, You are heard. You are not alone in this.
"Thank you for telling us, Tanaka-kun," she said, her voice soft and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, analytical silence emanating from the corner of the room. "I know how difficult it must have been to say all of that out loud. To carry those feelings by yourself for so long… it takes a lot of strength, even if it doesn't feel like it right now. Most people would have let those feelings fade away, but you held onto them. That means something."
Kenji looked up, his eyes wide with surprise. He had braced himself for judgment, for pity, or perhaps for a clinical, detached analysis. He had not expected this. Not validation. A small, imperceptible knot of tension in his shoulders seemed to loosen, a physical release from a burden he hadn't realized was so heavy. It was the first breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long.
"The first thing you need to remember," Yuki continued, her gaze kind and unwavering, "is that you shouldn't blame yourself for being paralyzed. It's completely understandable. When you admire someone from afar for so long, they can start to feel less like a real person and more like an impossible ideal, a character in a story you've written in your head. Every day you don't talk to them, the story gets longer, the character gets more perfect, and the pressure builds. It's only natural to be afraid of breaking that image, because you don't know what you'll find on the other side."
She paused, letting her words sink in, giving him a moment to process the idea that his fear was normal, not a personal failing. It was a permission slip to be human, an acknowledgment that his feelings, however painful, were valid.
"So," she said, her tone shifting from gentle comfort to constructive guidance, "let's forget about a big, dramatic confession for now. That's too much pressure for both of you. The goal isn't to get a 'yes' or a 'no' tomorrow. The goal is much simpler, and much more important: to turn the ghost into a person. To have Satou-san see you, Tanaka Kenji, as a classmate, and for you to see her as one, too. Right now, you're interacting with the idea of her. We need you to interact with the real person."
This reframing of the objective seemed to lift a visible weight from Kenji's shoulders. The impossible mountain of a confession had been replaced by a small, manageable hill. The pressure to perform was gone, replaced by the possibility of connection.
"How… how do I do that?" he whispered, the question now filled with a sliver of hope instead of pure despair.
"We start small," Yuki said, a gentle, encouraging smile on her face. "So small it feels almost insignificant. You said you know what kind of music she likes from the keychains on her bag. That's a perfect starting point. It's a common interest. Maybe the next time you see her listening to music, you could ask a simple question about the band. Something like, 'I've seen that band's logo before, are they any good?' It's not a confession. It's not a grand gesture. It's just a conversation, thirty seconds long. The goal is just to hear her voice say something to you."
She continued, laying out a path paved with small, achievable steps, each one designed to build his confidence. "Or, you could look at your class schedules. Do you have any electives in common? Any shared assignments? Finding a legitimate, school-related reason to talk removes all the pressure. You could ask about a homework problem or a difficult concept from a lecture. The important thing is to be genuine. Don't pretend to be someone you're not. A relationship built on a false persona is like a house with no foundation; it's bound to collapse, and you'll be trapped in the rubble of trying to be someone you're not. Just be a friendly, curious classmate."
Her advice was a soothing balm. It was practical, kind, and focused entirely on building a real, human connection, brick by brick. There were no tricks, no manipulations, just the slow, steady work of honest interaction. Ren nodded along enthusiastically, her expression full of admiration for her president's wisdom. This was what the club was all about.
"It won't be fast," Yuki concluded, her voice firm but gentle, acknowledging the reality of the situation without diminishing his newfound hope. "Building a real connection takes time and patience. There might be awkward moments, and that's okay. Awkwardness is just the space between two people getting to know each other. But every small conversation, every shared smile, is a victory. You just need to take that first, terrifying step. And you have the courage to do that. I know you do, because you had the courage to come here today."
She finished her counsel, leaving Kenji with a look of dawning hope on his face. The path she had laid out was long and uncertain, but it felt right. It felt honest. He looked at her with a gratitude so profound it was almost painful to witness.
Throughout the entire exchange, Kaito Ishikawa had not moved. His eyes, sharp and analytical, had remained open, observing the interaction. He processed Yuki's words, categorizing her methodology. Approach: Emotion-centric. Strategy: Gradual exposure through low-stakes social interaction. Core principle: Prioritizes emotional authenticity over outcome efficiency. Flaws: Relies on uncontrolled variables, such as the subject's mood, the client's inconsistent emotional state, and external social factors. The client's lack of confidence could lead to mission failure at any step. Probability of success: Moderate, estimated at 48-52%. Estimated timeframe: Indefinite, potentially exceeding the client's emotional endurance.
He made no sound, offered no opinion. But his silent, unwavering presence in the corner of the room was a counter-argument in itself. Yuki had offered counsel from the heart, a path of patience and sincerity. It was, in his assessment, a beautiful but deeply inefficient strategy. Kaito knew there was another way. A faster way. A more logical solution was forming in his mind, an equation waiting to be spoken.