I was Thrown into an Unfamiliar Manga

I quietly stood up from my seat after seeing the protagonist, Sakamoto Ryuji, take the transfer student with him and leave.
At that moment, Satoru, who sat in front of me, asked,
“Ah, Kim-kun, if you’re done reading Jump, can I read it too?”

“Do whatever you want.”
When I handed him the Jump I’d finished, he started reading it with a melon bread in his mouth, grinning like a fool.
Satoru had been in the same class as me in our first year, so he was one of the few people in Class 2-B who knew all the rumors surrounding me were fake.

For someone like me, who doesn’t have a very sociable personality, he was a truly valuable ally.
Ever since I started training like crazy back in first year, I’ve come to really feel how drastically the number of people who casually talked to me had dropped.
As I closed the back door to the classroom and stepped into the hallway, all eyes naturally turned to me.

Ignoring those stares, I followed the back of the protagonist’s head in the distance.
It was still early in the lunch period, so the hallways were packed with students. Yet wherever I went, they parted to the sides as if on cue, making it easy to pass through.
…What is this, the Miracle of Moses?

Anyway, walking toward the emergency stairs in the complete opposite direction of the cafeteria, I thought about what was going to happen next.
Sakamoto would probably start by apologizing to the transfer student.
Romcoms have a formula.

Like the saying “it’s so obvious it’s like a videotape”—you don’t even need to see the rest to know what’s coming.
I hadn’t read Scramble Love in my past life, so I didn’t know what events were supposed to happen next.
The only things I knew were the faces of the main heroines who ranked in the final popularity poll, and that Scramble Love followed the royal road of romantic comedies.

That’s why I inferred.
If I didn’t know what was going to happen next, I’d just predict it myself.
Even now as a high schooler, I still couldn’t let go of Jump for that very reason.
Romcoms had evolved in increasingly irregular ways over time.

If you don’t keep up with the latest trends, you won’t be able to predict how they’ll unfold.
While I was lost in thought like that, I lost sight of the two of them, but I could still easily guess where they had gone.
A place the two of them might go at this time of day—somewhere quiet, perfect for a private conversation.

As far as I knew, there was only one such place: the back garden of the school.
I descended the emergency stairs and exited through the passage leading outside. Not far ahead, I could make out the two of them.
Bingo.

I celebrated inwardly and hid at a distance where I could just barely make out their voices.
Then—
“Sorry! I didn’t do it on purpose!”

Clap!
There it is! The apology with hands clasped!
Truly fitting for a romantic comedy protagonist.

In the two years since I possessed Kim Yu-seong’s body, I’d never seen anyone actually do that pose, but he really pulled it off.
Anyway, Kishimoto Rika, receiving his apology, stood with her arms crossed and looked down at the top of the protagonist’s head. Judging by her twitching lips, she probably hadn’t been genuinely angry.
After a brief silence, she seemed unable to hold back and suddenly burst into laughter.

Then, smiling like a cat, she said,
“You’re more innocent than I thought.”
Sakamoto Ryuji, lifting his head, seemed to finally grasp the situation and raised his voice, “You!”

But Kishimoto Rika, laughing nonchalantly, tapped Ryuji’s chest with her fist.
“What happened this morning was just an accident. I’m not the kind of girl who stays hung up on something like that.”
“…Then why’d you pretend to be mad?”

“Hmm… Your expression when you saw me was too good to pass up?”
“Gahhh! Do you even know how much I agonized over that?!”
“Ahahaha! That face! That’s the one! You’re hilarious!”

“Grrr! If only you weren’t a girl!”
When Sakamoto Ryuji trembled with both fists clenched in frustration, Kishimoto Rika teased, “Why? Would you hit me if I were a guy?” Then, slipping her hand into her cardigan pocket, she added,
“Anyway, that settles the incident from this morning. Don’t bring ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) it up again in front of others.”

“…Fine.”
When the protagonist, utterly worn down from being played with from start to finish, replied with a tired face, Kishimoto Rika shamelessly added,
“You got to see the panties of a pretty high school girl like me for free, so you should be happy. Why the long face?”

“…Did you really just say that out loud yourself…”
As soon as he pointed that out, Kishimoto Rika blushed slightly and slapped Sakamoto Ryuji’s hunched back with her palm.
“Hey! Watch your mouth!”

Sakamoto Ryuji, now forced to straighten his back, looked at her with resentful eyes. But Kishimoto Rika just grinned mischievously and walked off.
***
Right after their conversation—which I assumed was a canon event—came to an end, I dropped the branch I’d been holding and ended my concealment.

My impression after watching their conversation? It was the textbook opening of a youth romantic comedy.
Based on romcom formulas, Kishimoto Rika was the archetypal cheerful and easygoing gyaru character.
She was the type of heroine meant to draw in readers who usually didn’t care about manga—one of those “hoi hoi” types.

Her bright smile, without a hint of pretense, was more than deserving of her title as the undefeated No.1 in popularity polls.
I had no intention of interfering with the original storyline, but I did think I’d just witnessed something truly delightful after a long while. I sat down on a nearby bench and pulled out the lunchbox I’d brought from class.
It was a Chinese-style lunch I’d made myself that morning.

Of course, I wanted to eat with my classmates in the classroom too. But looking like this, I was sure I’d only make them uncomfortable—so I came outside.
Until the others in class could get used to my presence, I figured I’d have to keep eating alone in nature like this for the time being.
Just as I was about to eat a still-crispy piece of yuringi(Korean-style deep-fried chicken with tangy soy-based sauce), even though it had gone cold—

“Kim Yu-seong! What is the student council secretary doing here?!”
Suddenly, a familiar scolding voice rang out from behind me.
I gently placed the yuringi back into the lunchbox and turned around cautiously.

“…President, what brings you here?”
“I tracked the location of your phone. Ohohohoho!”
Aren’t you being way too proud about doing something illegal?

The black-haired beauty with a hime-cut covered her mouth with a gold-trimmed black fan as she laughed like a princess.
This was Saionji Kumiko, student council president of Ichijo Academy.
A direct descendant of a prestigious noble family based in Kyoto, she was the head of the student council, which wielded suspiciously overwhelming power.

All the executive officers of the student council, including the vice president, were her minions—so it was practically a private organization.
In romcom terms, she was the type who’d be used as a comic relief rival or a low-impact sub-heroine.
In any case, I had no idea why someone like her was here.

“Weren’t you busy with beginning-of-term work, President?”
“I was, but I can spare some time to eat lunch with a subordinate who’s dining all alone.”
With that, the president signaled with her eyes.

She wanted me to come with her.
Knowing there was no point resisting once she’d made up her mind, I obediently picked up my lunch and followed her.
As I walked alongside the president through the schoolyard, I asked,

“Where’s the vice president who always accompanies you?”
“I sent him ahead to the cafeteria to reserve seats. If you’re late, it gets full.”
I thought we’d eat comfortably in the student council room, so this was unexpected.

“There’s nothing in the cafeteria you’d like, President.”
She glanced sideways at me, then covered her face with her fan and said,
“Hmph! I can eat commoner food too, you know. That dish I had at your family’s place the other day—what was it, pork bulgogi rice bowl?—that was quite good.”

Just last year, she used to slice steak elegantly in the student council room. Now she was casually naming pork bulgogi rice bowls. I couldn’t help but be surprised.
Is this what personal growth looks like?
Still, I had to correct one misunderstanding of the president’s.

“Sorry to say, but the school cafeteria doesn’t serve pork bulgogi rice bowls.”
Hearing that, the president widened her eyes in disbelief and asked,
“What?! Then what do they have?!”

“Why not try gyudon (Japanese beef bowl with thinly sliced beef and onions simmered in a soy-based sauce over rice), which is similar?”
If she’d tasted Korean working-class food, then it was only natural she should now experience Japan’s version.
Murmuring “Gyudon… gyudon… it has a nice ring to it,” the president clenched both fists with resolve.

“I, Saionji Kumiko, shall now bravely experience this gyudon dish as my next commoner trial!”
Ohohohohoho!
Watching her theatrical display, I thought to myself:

If only she’d just keep her mouth shut.
What a waste of a good face.