How to Heal NTR Trauma: Method One (1)

After lunch and a thoroughly satisfying walk, we returned to the office.

We agreed that until we clocked out, neither of us would check the community boards or even mention the series to each other — a deliberate effort to cool heads that had overheated from the NTR Drift.

I tried to sell it with some half-assed line about how our mental health is precious, and Riyeon actually agreed with complete seriousness.

The problem started after that.

Why is she so fired up…?

After spending a day and a half this close to Riyeon, the word that kept rising to the surface more than any other was a single syllable: why.

Why would a beauty like her ask me out for drinks yesterday?

Because the shock of Everything had been so catastrophic that the only comrade she could immediately drag into the wreckage was me.

Why would a beauty whose default setting with other people was ice-cold show me so many different faces?

Because the shock of Everything had been so catastrophic that she was one step away from losing her mind.

Why, even now that we'd banned all mention of Everything, was the beauty at the next desk still hammering my personal messenger with messages?

…Yeah. Why?

The earlier questions could all be explained by the NTR Drift of Even After Knowing Everything of You. The last one, though — I had no idea what to call it.

The best ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠answer I could scrape together was that I was her only otaku friend. Her closest otaku friend, even.

…

As if that would be enough.

That was when it finally hit me for certain.

Riyeon had been living alone for a long time — without friends.

At least three years. Worst case, she'd been on her own since high school. That was my guess.

On what basis? Instinct.

My instinct for reading people.

If I may tack on a bit of pointless self-promotion: the one thing you cannot leave out of an HR career that started in recruiting is an eye for people. If someone gives me a bad feeling, they quit soon enough. If someone somehow inspires trust, they work hard and stick around. One glance and I can usually tell what kind of worry they're carrying, what kind of wound they have.

But only at work. That was the problem.

The people actually around me, I never managed to read properly. Like a monk who can't shave his own head.

Fortunately, Riyeon was someone I only ever saw at work, at the company, so there was no chance of my judgment glitching out.

If things crossed into the personal sphere, who knows — but that wasn't going to happen, so there was no need to worry.

Really. I was starting to look like a guy born solely to do his job.

Out of nowhere?

I pressed hard between my eyebrows for a moment.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

I'd thought the same thing. I'd bolted through a convenience-store sandwich at lunch with my heart full of hope, timing it perfectly for the upload — only to read that chapter.

Come to think of it, Riyeon's ears had been completely bare yesterday.

Today they were studded with spiky, thorn-like piercings sticking out in every direction.

Some kind of read on her appearance was starting to form, but I decided not to dig into it. Getting too deep into other people never ended well.

Talking about tastes was fine, but this was the office — I would have preferred she focus on her own work.

I was starting to miss the cool, detached Riyeon from yesterday, the one who'd lasted until overtime.

Answering every single one of her messages had delayed the simple task the handsome team lead had asked for. If I ran too late I'd get snarked at, so I decided to concentrate.

HR work, as always, didn't take long if you'd already kept things organized. At least not when it came to materials other people requested.

"Team lead, I've emailed you the materials you asked for."

"Got it, thanks~."

Couldn't he just check it now?

I'd lost count of how many times he'd pull this exact move and then wander over later asking if I'd sent it yet.

I let out a small sigh, sat back in my office chair, and tipped my head against the rest — and felt a sharp gaze on me.

I followed the sensation and found Riyeon at the next desk, reclined in exactly the same posture, glaring at me.

If this meant she was back ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to her usual self, I would have welcomed it. But the way she was staring looked exactly like a wounded, furious cat.

Riyeon pointed a finger forward.

I followed it to my desk and saw her messages flooding the messenger window on my monitor.

"Injae."

"Yes? Yes!"

I startled so hard at the actual voice that I answered far too loudly. A few people glanced our way, but Riyeon paid them no mind and stood up from her seat.

"Want to go smoke?"

I couldn't quite bring myself to say I'd quit.

"Here."

"Thanks."

I took the drink Riyeon held out.

The company-approved smoking area. A company that actually had a smoking room — for smokers, that was peak welfare. Non-smokers got the indirect benefit of not having to smell cigarettes near the building either.

I, however, was in the middle of quitting.

"You're not going to smoke?"

"No. You go ahead, Riyeon."

"I don't smoke."

The usual harsh look was back in her eyes. Having that stare fixed on me in silence was uncomfortable.

So this was one of those situations — getting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠called out to the smoking area to get chewed out by a senior.

Except Riyeon wasn't my senior, and we weren't even in the same part of the team.

"I don't mind the smell. Go ahead and smoke."

"I'm quitting."

"How long?"

"Half a year now…"

Riyeon glanced around. Aside from the two of us, the smoking area was empty. She let out a sigh, then spoke to me with her posture tilted at a stubborn angle.

"Injae."

"Yes."

I deliberately smiled a little and looked back at her with clear, mild eyes. If whatever came out of that mouth was unreasonable hostility aimed at me, I would need to handle it smoothly and flexibly.

I was braced for it when Riyeon hesitated, then forced the words out with difficulty.

"I really, really hate NTR. And this Drift isn't some ordinary disaster either."

"No. You're right."

"I'm having a really hard time right now, okay? Someone who doesn't get it might say I'm losing my mind over a stupid comic, but you're not that person. At the very least, you're the one conversation partner in this whole scene I can actually talk to openly."

"This whole scene meaning…?"

"Otaku."

"I'm not an otaku."

"Sure, sure. Of course you're not."

Even after my immediate denial, Riyeon's face brightened — the look of someone who'd known exactly what I'd say. My self-esteem took a hit.

"My stomach is so nauseous I feel like I'll have to run out and throw up if anyone pokes me wrong. Honestly Mizuki's disgusting confession scene keeps replaying in my head, but I've been holding it in because you said we shouldn't talk about it."

"I suggested that because I was trying to avoid it too."

"I know. But you told me we should avoid it, then said you'd recommend works for me — so why aren't you answering and just doing your own work?"

Click.

Riyeon tried to open the drink can and failed. Looking closer, I saw her hands were trembling. She couldn't even get the tab up, so I quickly took it, cracked it open, and handed it back.

Riyeon stared blankly at the opened can, then stuck her lip out at me.

"I was really looking forward to it. For some reason I thought that if it was a recommendation from you, I might be able to forget about Everything for a little while while I was reading."

Forget about everything for a little while, huh.

Oddly enough, the double meaning of the words lined up perfectly.

"Because you're an otaku, I figured you could recommend other amazing works."

"I'm not an otaku."

"Sure, sure. Of course you're not."

It was a lame bit of banter, but it made Riyeon feel better.

Disarmed.

I'd been ready to show her how I managed HR all by myself the moment an attack came in — but instead she was desperately asking for help. Which meant, in the same spirit, I had an obligation to show her how I'd been managing HR alone all this time.

Today, though, was inconvenient.

"I've got a lot of backlog. I also have to check whether the on-site contracts got signed today."

"…I see. I'm sorry."

The expression was starting to drain from Riyeon's face. She looked ready to slide back into her usual severe-eyed, all-business demeanor — a defense mechanism kicking in to wall herself off from the NTR Drift.

I hated that.

My meddling HR-specialist instincts had already activated, so there was no reason to leave her alone.

"Instead, though."

Time for a change of angle.

"How about you recommend something ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to me?"

"Me?"

"Yes. Anyone who can hand me demands that specific and picky should have no trouble recommending something that can satisfy me, right?"

Click.

I opened my own can and took a sip. Warm chocolate latte. Far too sweet. Not great.

"You're an otaku, after all."

"I'm not an otaku."

"Sure, sure. Of course you're not."

How about that? Landed a hit, didn't I?

"Not an otaku — an otaku friend."

Damn. She landed one right back.