"Shizuku-chan, let’s eat lunch together!"

"Yeah, sure."

Right as the lunch break chime finished ringing, Hoshikawa Aoi came rushing over to the side of my desk, her golden twin-tails bouncing.

Holding her chair and a cute bear-pattern lunchbox she hugged carefully to her chest, she settled down next to me without hesitation.

‘Hehe… I’m taking the seat next to Shizuku-chan.’

Aoi placed her chair right beside mine—so close our shoulders could almost touch—and sat down with a beaming smile.

Ever since that swing incident, Aoi had completely attached herself to me.

From the morning bus ride to pickup time, she stuck to me like a shadow, never leaving my side.

"Aoi, aren’t you a bit too close? Isn’t it hard to eat?"

"Nope, not at all! This distance feels warm and comforting."

Saying that, Aoi smiled shyly and rubbed her small head against my arm.

Like a golden retriever puppy I used to have in my previous life, or like a clingy younger niece, her adorableness naturally made the corners of my lips lift.

"I see. Well, if you’re fine with it, then it’s fine."

I accepted it and opened my lunchbox.

At this kindergarten, to support the girls’ dedication toward their "future husbands 'boys'," they had top-tier warming equipment to keep lunches at the perfect temperature.

As I opened the lid, the savory steam of my mom’s homemade fried chicken rose gently and tickled my nose.

It was a colorful lunch.

Tamago-yaki, sausages, and a generous portion of fried chicken from last night’s dinner.

When I glanced forward, a scene straight out of hell unfolded before me.

There were 32 kids in the class.

Out of those, only two were boys, including Hiroto.

That meant roughly 15 girls per boy.

In a group date from my previous life, that kind of ratio would’ve made the guys run away with stomach ulcers.

As expected, around Hiroto’s desk in the back, the 15 girls had formed multiple layers of crowds, fiercely competing to show themselves off.

"Hiroto-kun! Try my tamago-yaki! I woke up early with my mom to make it!"

"No, mine first! I’ll feed you my octopus sausages—say ahh!"

"Don’t push! You’re hurting Hiroto-kun!"

"You guys are so annoying! I’m not in the mood for sweet eggs, so I don’t want them! I’ll just eat the sausages!"

...At this point, he was basically a carp being fed at a tourist pond.

No—he was worse, lounging arrogantly while picking and choosing offerings from the girls.

And the girls, at just five years old, were already desperately strategizing how to win over a man’s stomach.

Maybe it was because so many of them grew up without fathers—or maybe it was instinct ingrained into them.

"...How do they not get tired of that every single day?"

Resting my cheek on my hand, I muttered in exasperation as I picked up a piece of fried chicken with my chopsticks.

Then Aoi, sitting beside me, lightly tugged at my sleeve.

"Shizuku-chan…"

"Hm? What’s up?"

"Um, I have fried shrimp in my lunch… the kind you like. Do you want some?"

Inside Aoi’s lunchbox were two small fried shrimp, decorated with cute rabbit picks.

It seemed she was offering me her favorite food.

"Oh, seriously? You sure?"

"Yeah! I want you to eat it, Shizuku-chan…"

Looking slightly shy, Aoi picked up one shrimp with her chopsticks and gently held it out toward my mouth.

"O-open wide?"

"Mm. Thanks."

Without hesitation, I took a bite of the offered shrimp.

The crispy coating and sweetness of the shrimp spread through my mouth.

Yeah, it was good.

"Mm, this is good. Your mom’s a great cook, Aoi."

"R-really!?"

At my honest comment, Aoi’s face lit up instantly, turning bright red all the way to her ears.

It was like the reaction of a newlywed wife being praised for her cooking—completely over the top.

"If you want, you can have some of my fried chicken too. It’s my mom’s special soy-garlic flavor, though it might make your breath smell a bit later."

"I-I’ll eat it! If it means I’ll smell the same as you, Shizuku-chan, then that’s even better!"

Aoi exclaimed with incomprehensible intensity, leaning forward eagerly.

I split a large piece of fried chicken in half with my chopsticks, gently blowing on it to cool the heat from the center, then brought it to her mouth.

"Here. It’s hot, so be careful. Say ahh."

"Ahm… mm, it’s so good…"

Aoi’s face melted with pure happiness as she ate the fried chicken.

Things like indirect kisses or feeding each other didn’t even cross my mind—even with my past life memories as a 26-year-old (now female).

To me, it just felt like sharing lunch with a cute niece.

'...Man, this is seriously healing. Girls really are the best. I never want anything to do with that tense competition over guys.’

Enjoying the peaceful afternoon, I gently stroked Aoi’s silky blonde hair as she happily chewed her food.

She narrowed her eyes with a soft "hehe" and leaned even closer into my arm.

* * *

Meanwhile, from a staff desk a short distance away, someone was staring intently at us.

It was Misaki-sensei, the dark circles under her eyes slightly lighter than before.

'...What is that space?'

Holding a piece of tamago-yaki from her own lunch midair with her chopsticks, she froze completely while staring at our table.

On one side, a hellish table where 15 girls fought brutally over Hiroto, offering food like sacrifices.

On the other, a table where a beautiful black-haired girl and an angelic blonde girl fed each other, radiating nothing but sweet, affectionate energy.

'Aoi-chan has completely stopped paying attention to Hiroto-kun… no, more than that, the way she looks at Shizuku-chan is totally like a wife looking at her beloved husband…’

In this world, for a girl to withdraw from competing over boys was an abnormal situation.

But that it was because she had fallen seriously in love with another girl—one whose inside was basically a handsome gentleman—was beyond Misaki-sensei’s imagination.

'And Shizuku-chan… from that overly manly expression when she gave me ramune the other day, to how naturally she feeds Aoi-chan and pats her head now… she’s way more smooth and dependable than any man around…'

Misaki-sensei suddenly remembered how her heart had pounded the other day and shivered.

'No no no! She’s a five-year-old girl, get a grip! But… ahh, why isn’t Shizuku-chan a boy… No, wait, I feel like even as a girl it might still work…’

The lethal pheromones(?) emitted by Nanase Shizuku—the walking, unintentional yuri production machine—had begun steadily invading not only girls her age but even the hearts of exhausted working adults.