My Romance Life System
Chapter 32: Friendship Ender

Chapter 32: Friendship Ender

’Aright. Wingman. Me,’ I thought, my hands moving on autopilot to get my lunch out of my backpack. ’What does a wingman even do? Do I just... shove them together? Write a script for him? Is there a manual for this?’

The whole idea was so completely insane it barely felt real. I was supposed to be the guy who avoided people, and now I was in charge of a high-stakes romance mission for the class gossip. My life was a joke.

I was pulling my sandwich out of its container when a shadow fell over my desk. I didn’t even have to look up. I felt it. The atmosphere in the room just shifted, the volume of the chatter dropping by half.

A chair scraped against the floor, loud in the sudden quiet, and someone sat down in the empty seat next to mine.

I took a slow, deliberate bite of my sandwich, chewing carefully. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

I could hear the whispers starting up around me, a low murmur rippling through the classroom.

"Oh, here we go again."

"Seriously? Can’t he just leave the poor dude alone?"

I heard one of the girls nearby mutter, "What the hell is Ronnie’s problem?"

The whispers weren’t directed at me this time. They were for him. For a split second, I felt this weird sense of... not power, but... solidarity. I wasn’t the class freak anymore. I was just the guy Ronnie was being a dick to.

"You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?" Ronnie’s voice was a low growl, meant only for me.

I finished my bite of sandwich. I swallowed. Then, slowly, I turned my head to look at him.

He was leaning forward, his hands clenched on his knees, his face all tight and angry. He looked like a chihuahua trying to act like a pit bull.

I wasn’t scared.

The realization was a quiet little shock. I wasn’t scared of him at all. I was just annoyed. Deeply, profoundly tired of his whole act.

"No," I said, my voice completely flat. "I don’t think I’m funny at all."

My calm, quiet response seemed to throw him off more than anything else could have. He was expecting me to flinch, to look away. He was used to people being afraid of him.

"So what was all that this morning?" he hissed, leaning in closer. "You and her, walking in all buddy-buddy. You think you’re some kind of hotshot now, moving in on Tyler’s girl?"

I took another bite of my sandwich. It was really good. The bread was soft, and the chicken salad had just the right amount of seasoning.

"She’s not Tyler’s girl," I said after I finished chewing. "And she’s not ’your’ anything either. We’re just friends. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to eat my lunch."

I turned away from him, picked up my sandwich, and took another bite, pointedly ignoring his existence.

I could feel him just vibrating with rage next to me. He wanted to hit me. I knew it. He was seconds away from starting something.

But the classroom was watching. And they weren’t on his side.

"Whatever, loser," he finally snarled, the insult sounding weak and childish even to my own ears. He shoved his chair back so hard it almost tipped over, then stood up and stomped back to his own side of the room.

The tension in the classroom broke instantly. The chatter started up again, a little louder this time. I let out a quiet sigh. I hadn’t panicked. I hadn’t shut down. I handled it.

’Huh,’ I thought. ’So that’s how that works.’

I was just finishing the last of my sandwich when Nina walked back into the room, a carton of juice in her hand. She looked around, her eyes scanning the classroom, and then they landed on me.

Her face lit up with that now-familiar smile. She started walking over, weaving through the desks.

"Hey," she said, pulling up the chair that Ronnie had just been sitting in. "Sorry, the line for the vending machine was a nightmare. You didn’t get into any more trouble while I was gone, did you?"

I just looked at her, and a real, genuine smile spread across my face.

"Nah," I said. "It was a pretty quiet lunch, actually."

She popped the top of her juice carton with a satisfying click. "So, have you decided on my required reading yet? I need to know if I have to block out my entire weekend for it."

"I’m still weighing my options," I said, trying to sound serious. "It’s a big responsibility, assigning your first manga. It has to be the right one. Something that says, ’Welcome to the world of nerds, please enjoy your stay.’"

She took a sip of her juice, a little smile playing on her lips. "As long as it doesn’t have a hundred and fifty volumes, I think I can handle it."

"No promises."

We ate in comfortable silence for a minute. The classroom noise faded into a low hum in the background. This was... nice. It was just lunch. No drama, no stares, no life-or-death missions. Just two friends, eating.

But then, my brain, the traitor, decided to remind me.

Jake.

The mission. The ten thousand dollars. The hiccups.

’Damn it,’ I thought, the piece of sandwich in my mouth suddenly tasting like cardboard. My eyes flickered to Nina. She was just happily drinking her juice, completely unaware of the raging tyre fire that was my current life assignment.

’Maybe...’ a tiny, logical voice in my head whispered. ’Maybe you could just ask her?’

The thought was so simple, so practical. She was a girl. She was my friend. She was good at talking to people. I needed advice on how to help a guy talk to a girl. It made perfect sense. I could just lean over and say, ’Hey, weird question, but if a guy wanted to ask a girl out, what should he do?’

And then, a much louder, much more panicked part of my brain slammed on the emergency brake.

’NO. ABORT MISSION. DO NOT ASK. I REPEAT, DO NOT ASK.’

A lightning-fast montage of every romance manga I’d ever read flashed through my mind. The dense-as-a-rock protagonist, completely oblivious, turning to the main heroine—the girl who is obviously in love with him—and asking for advice on how to get with some other side-character girl.

It was the ultimate friendship-ender. The ’You Don’t See Me At All, Do You?’ flag. The precursor to a dramatic scene in the rain where she cries and he has no idea why. It was the biggest, most cliché, most surefire way to screw everything up.

’That’s Rule Number One of not being a clueless protagonist!’ my brain screamed. ’You never, ever ask the girl you’re becoming friends with for advice about another girl! It’s social suicide! It’s the point of no return!’

I almost physically flinched at the thought. I had just gotten this. This easy, comfortable thing with Nina. The idea of risking it, of accidentally sending some weird, wrong signal and making everything awkward again, was terrifying. More terrifying than Ronnie. More terrifying, even, than the socially-triggered hiccups.

This was a problem I had to solve on my own. Operation Wingman was a solo mission.

"Kofi?"

I blinked. Nina was looking at me, her head tilted. "You okay? You looked like you were having a painful flashback or something."

"What? Oh. Yeah, no, I’m fine," I said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. I took a big gulp of water from my bottle. "Just, uh... thinking about the Peloponnesian War again. Classic resource management problem."

She just stared at me for a second, an unreadable expression on her face. Then, she slowly shook her head, and her lips curled into a small, amused smile.

"You are so weird," she said, but it sounded like a compliment. "You know that, right?"

"I’ve been told," I said, my heart finally slowing down from its panicked gallop. I had successfully navigated the landmine.

I was safe.