You're Unpopular, Aren't You?

"Teacher, you're unpopular, aren't you?"

Rattle. Rattle.

The steady vibration of the carriage climbed up my spine.

Inside the cramped coach, the seat across from me sat completely empty—and yet Elara insisted on taking the spot right beside me. Close enough that every jolt of the wheels mixed our body heat without the slightest pretense of subtlety.

"…Hey, Teacher."

With the call came a soft rush of sweet lavender, spilling from her swaying silver hair. My flustered face filled the blue eyes looking up at me.

"Where are we going today?"

Half curiosity, half worry. The white fingers gripping her sleeve fidgeted restlessly. That tiny motion tickled somewhere deep in my chest in a way I couldn't quite name.

I let a mischievous pause stretch out, then lifted one corner of my mouth.

"It's a secret."

"…Tch. You're so mean."

"But I will promise you this. It's a very memorable place. One Lady Elara will… find quite meaningful."

…It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't a place she would enjoy.

Windmill Hill.

The coordinates Gogumador had pinned for me—and the site where her trauma still lived. Whether Elara broke there or overcame it would decide if this ending swung toward a happy one… or plunged straight into a bad end.

Oblivious to the way my insides were burning, Elara let out a quiet sigh.

"Teacher."

Chin resting on the window frame, she looked at me. Backlit by sunlight shattering around her, she no longer looked like the patient I knew—only a woman, complete and perfect.

"Yes? What is it?"

"…You're really not going to tell me?"

"You'll find out when we arrive. For now… let's call it a surprise."

Faced with that iron wall, Elara's lips pushed out in a pout.

"That's so unfair. I worked up all this courage to come out… you could at least give me a hint."

"I'm sorry."

"Tch…"

She turned her face to the window, sulking. Then, as if something had just occurred to her, she looked up at me again. A playful, coquettish smile curved her lips.

"Hey, Teacher."

"Yes?"

"Teacher… you're unpopular with women, aren't you?"

"Excuse me…?"

I had let my guard down. The fact-bomb hit me completely unprotected and stopped the words cold in my throat.

In this world, Elara was the first woman I had even met—and back in reality, I hadn't exactly been drowning in romantic prospects either. Grounds for a rebuttal were… thin.

"Ah—no, what do you mean by—I'm not unpopu—unpopular…"

"Heh…"

Watching me stammer and flail, Elara curved her eyes into perfect crescents.

"Someone who understands a woman's heart this little could never be popular."

"…"

"Hmph. So… you're unpopular."

She smirked like a victor and turned back to the window, lightly covering her reddened ears with her veil.

…Hitting me with facts like that. Dirty play.

I clutched my stinging chest and swallowed a hollow laugh.

A few minutes after that one-sided exchange ended, the Elara reflected in the window had already drifted into soft, gentle sleep. I looked at that peaceful face and let out a small sigh.

"She's asleep… good."

I activated the gallery again.

Had three seconds even passed since I hit post?

True to form for gallery ghosts with nothing better to do, their reaction speed was LTE-tier.

Fuck. No dreams. No hope.

Right—professionally speaking, as the psychiatrist Aris Mardia, dating a client was forbidden. And the client in question was a former hero candidate and a currently active mentally unstable villainess. She could whisper "I love you" in bed one second, then flip into black-and-white logic the next and declare, "Sex is a bad thing!" while throttling my throat.

Breath play was not my kink.

And besides…

I already knew the truth, but getting hit with it as a fact still left a bitter taste. What about my precious youth…

Then an unexpected comment dropped.

I thought this bastard was on my side. He was not.

"Haa…"

Whether they were helping or just piling on more stress, I couldn't tell. I shook my head and moved to close the gallery window. Still—after reading their nonsense, the tension did seem to ease a little.

That was when it happened.

"Hyah! Master, Teacher. We're here!"

The coachman's booming shout came with the carriage slowing down. I looked at the sleeping Elara and swallowed dryly.

Finally. We had arrived. The jokes were over.

"…Crazy bastards."

Whether it was encouragement or a curse, I couldn't tell—but somehow a smile still found its way to my lips. Leaving the gallery's noisy racket behind, I shut off the hologram window.

Pop.

The blue light in front of my eyes vanished, and I was back inside the real carriage. Time to face actual reality.

"…"

Elara, breathing soft and even in her sleep. I carefully shook her shoulder.

"Elara. We've arrived."

"Mmngh…"

A low moan slipped between her red lips. For mere sleep-talk, the sound that dug into my ear was far too sticky.

Slowly—very slowly—her eyelids lifted. Beneath long, trembling lashes, moist blue eyes appeared, as if holding water. An unfocused, hazy gaze wandered through empty air before settling on my face.

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"…Ah."

A voice cracked a full tone lower than usual, still soaked in sleep. She blinked languidly, as if she couldn't quite place where she was.

Her veil had slipped while she slept, laying bare the white line of her throat and collarbone, and a few strands of sweat-damp silver hair clung precariously to her cheek.

"…Teacher?"

Calling my name, Elara tilted her head slightly. At that small motion, the soft skin that had been resting against my shoulder brushed and rubbed against me.

Was she still dreaming?

Instead of sitting up, she fixed me with loose, heavy eyes and lazily curled the corner of her mouth.

"…Is this a dream?"

Her gaze slid from my eyes to my lips, then slowly down to my collarbone—a thick, lingering look, as if she were tracing me with her eyes. Unconsciously, she wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

"Warm…"

As if entranced, she reached out. The fingertips that touched my cheek trembled faintly. A sweet body scent rode her breath and washed over me all at once.

Dangerous.

Alarm bells screamed inside my skull. This was not the face of a patient who needed protection. This was the defenseless temptation of a woman, stirring a man's instincts from their deepest root.

I swallowed dryly and forced my eyes away.

"…Lady Elara. This is not a dream. Please wake up."

At my stiff voice, focus slowly returned to her eyes.

"…Ah?"

She realized her own hand was still on my cheek. But rather than startling—

She withdrew it slowly, almost reluctantly. Then, face flushed red, she whispered with a strange little smile in her eyes.

"…I didn't look unsightly, did I?"

"Unsightly? Not at all. Please get up. We've arrived."

I spoke with deliberate calm and stepped down from the carriage. In place of the coachman, I held out my hand to escort her.

Elara carefully took it and came outside.

A cool—no, a slightly chilly spring wind wrapped around us.

"This place is…"