April 2.

Late spring break, a warm and pleasant afternoon.

In my living room, I was desperately holding back from spitting out the barley tea I’d just been served.

"...Sensei. April Fool’s was yesterday, you know?"

I shot a skeptical look at my former homeroom teacher—Misaki-sensei—who was bowing so deeply across the table it looked like she might prostrate herself.

"It’s not a joke, Shizuku-chan! I’m serious, completely serious! I want you to teach an acquaintance of mine 'a 23-year-old man' how to properly treat women—in other words, the ‘essence of escorting’!"

"No, no, no. Why does a seven-year-old girl who’s about to become a second grader have to teach a fully grown man how to flirt with women? What kind of joke is that?"

As I sighed in exasperation, Misaki-sensei suddenly grabbed both my hands tightly.

Her eyes were bloodshot, filled with a level of seriousness I’d never seen before.

"He’s a really good person. He can do housework, he doesn’t cheat—he’s like a miracle-level top-tier catch in this insane world. But he’s missing something crucial. That ‘male’ presence, that spine-tingling, smooth escort ability!"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

"So! I want him to see you—the ‘perfect answer’ in this world—and learn even a little from your example! Please, Shizuku-chan! My future life 'and peaceful retirement' depends on this!!"

A near-thirty kindergarten teacher clinging desperately to a seven-year-old.

In a world like this, expecting ‘escort skills’ from a man might already be unrealistic, but seeing Misaki-sensei’s tearful desperation, my old habit from my past life—helping junior coworkers with relationship problems—slipped out.

For the record, I’ve now spent two years in this world.

Mentally, I’m twenty-eight, well into my late twenties.

Constantly dealing with the overwhelming emotions of women here might’ve pushed my mental age even higher.

"...Sigh. Fine, fine. Don’t cry. I’m not going to personally train him or anything, but if he wants to observe me and ‘learn’ on his own, that’s up to him. In return, you’re paying for a cake buffet on our next day off."

"Shizuku-chan... Thank you, really, thank you..."

Misaki-sensei clutched my small hands and cried tears of gratitude.

And just like that, I ended up taking on a bizarre mission—demonstrating my ‘salesman-style consideration skills’ from my past life to a complete stranger.

* * *

A few days later. First Sunday of April.

Misaki-sensei brought me to a slightly stylish open-terrace café near the station.

I was dressed casually today—black hoodie, slim jeans and sneakers, prioritizing comfort.

My hair was tied up in my usual high ponytail.

"Ah, there he is. Naoya-kun!"

Where she waved energetically—a young man sitting at a terrace table, sipping iced coffee, noticed us and stood up.

Early twenties, gentle eyes peeking out from slightly long bangs, wearing a spring coat.

Yeah, he definitely gave off that ‘clean-cut high-quality catch’ vibe.

"Hey, Misaki-san. So, that kid is?"

The young man called Naoya widened his eyes slightly when he saw me.

Well, of course.

A 23-year-old man being told to learn how to treat women—from a grade-school girl.

"Let me introduce you. This is my ‘master,’ Nanase Shizuku-chan. Shizuku-chan, this is Naoya-kun."

"...Nice to meet you. I’m Nanase Shizuku."

I extended my right hand casually, in a businesslike manner from my past life.

Naoya hesitated slightly, then shook it.

"Ah, right. I’m Naoya. Nice to meet you."

"...Huh?"

The moment I grasped his hand—a faint jolt of something like static ran through my mind.

The texture of his palm, the firmness of his grip, the small callus at the base of his thumb.

It all felt strangely familiar.

And not just that.

As I sat down and observed him more closely—

‘...What is this sense of déjà vu?’

As soon as he sat, he unconsciously pulled out a paper napkin and wiped the condensation from his iced coffee glass.

Then he relaxed his shoulders slightly, tapping the table lightly with his fingers.

The slightly detached yet attentive ‘work mode’ smile he wore while listening to Misaki-sensei.

And when the waiter came—

"Ah, sorry. I’ll have a hot black coffee too,"

That oddly seasoned tone and casual manner.

"...Wait. Hold on. Hold on a second."

My heart pounded heavily.

In this insane world, someone acting like a ‘modern Japanese office worker’ like this was practically impossible.

More importantly—

That habit of wiping condensation.

That habit of tapping the table while thinking.

That laid-back yet efficient air.

The lid on my past life memories burst open with a click.

Nights at the bar listening to complaints until the last train.

Painful afternoons apologizing to clients together.

That cheeky junior whispering, "Senpai, I’ll take the girl at the end," during group dates.

And the idiot who fell asleep in the passenger seat, mouth open and drooling while I drove back from snowboarding—

Naoya noticed my intense stare and tilted his head.

"Uh... Shizuku-chan? Something wrong? Is there something on my face?"

No way. This can’t be happening.

But this feeling—this certainty from my soul—there’s no way I’m wrong.

Before I realized it, I leaned slightly forward and spoke, my voice coming out not as a seven-year-old girl, but in the low, exasperated tone of his former ‘senior.’

"...Hey."

"Huh?"

"You still haven’t fixed that habit of tapping the table three times before an important presentation? Sales Department Section 2, Naoya. You always ordered the large katsudon curry at that diner near the office, didn’t you? And then you’d shove the last piece you couldn’t finish onto me, saying ‘Sharing happiness, senpai.’ You still remember that taste?"

The tone carried the unmistakable familiarity of someone who knew him well.

Naoya’s eyes widened to their limit in shock.

The cup of coffee in his hand clattered against the saucer.

"N-No way... it can’t be... senpai!?"

In the peaceful spring sunlight of an open café—a stunned former junior about to jump out of his seat, and a seven-year-old girl with the mind of his former senior, clutching her head.

Thus began an unprecedented reunion with a troublesome junior from a past life.