Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ My Adult University Romcom Is Wrong, As I Expected ❯ Endings and Beginnings ( Chapter 1 )

ONE

“So that’s it then?” I confirmed. I looked at Yukino and felt very sad. Resigned. Emotionally exhausted. 

“I’m sorry Hachiman. I enjoyed our time together, but this is my career. Don’t make this hard for me,” she insisted using that practiced mask face she’d started using more and more since getting into her family political business. I’d placed too much of my expectations on her, so it was obviously my fault that all her practiced housewife capacity is being discarded for her career. I knew this was coming. Of course I knew this. 

I sighed, bowed formally, picked up my suitcase and left. The movers had the rest of my carefully boxed things and I am grateful we weren’t married. Otherwise I’d be paying for our divorce for the rest of my life or something equally terrible. I suspect Yukino will either go into a loveless arranged marriage or become a serial monogamist and collect divorces like most modern women do. 

The last year of high school had started with romance and intimacy, but now it was breakup and heartache. She was going to Chiba U, and I was heading for a certain university in Tokyo. No, seriously, there’s over a dozen of them. There’s four in Chiba. 

My commute to my chosen university in Tokyo is going to be an hour each way using the crowded train system. Me and all those salarymen. As much as I’d like a place near my school I can’t afford the dorms, off campus is even more expensive, and rail passes are cheaper than rent. 

“Excuse me sir,” said a voice of authority. I was exhausted, staring at nothing out the window of the train. It was stopped, but this isn’t where I get off yet. 

“Eh?” I asked. I was grabbed firmly. It was a policeman. 

“Come with us,” he ordered, cranking my arm painfully. 

An hour of interrogations, ID proved, and the “victim” long gone. My wallet and identity were returned to me. 

“Can I make a suggestion?” offered the interrogating cop as he removed the handcuffs. “Wear dark glasses. And a suit. You look like a yakuza.” 

This happened three more times before I caved and got sunglasses and the salaryman suit, which was cheap because it is the national uniform. And a tie. What a pain. It set me apart from the other students, most of them in hoodies and track suits. There’s even a girl that my 108 skills insists is a hottie but dresses like Narusegawa from that old anime I liked. My sister mocked me for my necessary dress sense. 

She was having a great time at Soubu, and was on the student council as its VP, working for Iroha. Komachi had dated Taishi for the first year of high school, then broke up and went with a jock, then another guy, and I don’t bother keeping up anymore. At this point I’d already done my sibling duties to threaten her boyfriends I just don’t care anymore. As genki as my sister is she sure goes around breaking boy’s hearts like it’s a hobby. Where did I go wrong? 

As for Uni itself, me and my suit are in an applied psychology program. It turns out I’m actually good at it. The material is so natural to me, my 108 skills providing insights beyond what most people can see, and my natural repulsiveness giving me a psychological advantage in interviews and negotiations. My confrontational style actually works better than if I was attractive or typically modest. 

In the first two years of university I am writing academic research papers for school. Proper papers with references and research material. I was using the methods described to do research by using my two hours of daily commutes like zoologists study the habits of Zebras and Lions. I was people watching, and turning it into material. I know well that using a video camera in such places is highly illegal, so I didn’t bother. I just watched, then wrote notes. So now I find myself meeting the department chair. He was a senior academic with decades of experience and still retained enthusiasm for his work, strangely enough. I wonder if I will ever be that happy? 

“Hachiman, your grades are very good. The latest papers you’ve written are getting peer reviewed. You might publish properly as academic papers if they pass the process. I’d like you to consider our graduate psychology lab. You’d have a mandatory paid teaching position for undergraduate psychology courses. It isn’t a lot, but there’s also scholarships and grants so it would mean some money, possibly living expenses if you are frugal. If you can get your Primates paper published I can get the faculty to offer you a contingent contract with some grants starting once approved. It means you’d have to be loyal to our program, but I think I can convince them. We’d also want you to defend this as your primary thesis, if you can build on the work,” sensei explained. I was beyond shock. Money? Teaching job? Lectures? I nodded. I was working on revisions and expansion anyway. I think I’ve got a book worth of possible research in this project. It’s not exactly persuasive essays to irritate a single high school teacher, but it was something. 

I wondered about my next paper, and the income potential of this paid teaching job and grants. My part time job working as a stock-boy in a Lawsons isn’t a lot of money, but it’s not a lot of time either, and pays for the tuition. 

The following week during my morning psych class I noticed the student assistant to the professor making eyes at me. She was cute and wore glasses and made her approach. She was cuter up close and friendly so I listened. 

“Hey, I saw you in class today. You made a good point on primate behavior. Can you expand on that?” she asked me. I found myself maneuvered out of the class and into one of the common seating areas. I sipped a cold Coffee Boss while Ami-san explained her own studies. She was a fourth year, and would be going into the graduate program after next year. I was in my third, doing advanced classes and done with the paper, which was off for peer-review. This is a long process. 

“So I noticed you wear those shades a lot,” Ami said. I took them off and looked at her with my actual eyes. She stared back but didn’t flinch. 

“That’s a real bad-boy stare you’ve got there. You must be a real lady killer,” she said, holding my gaze. 

“My ex thought so. She was a fan of Pan San, but I can’t really see the resemblance,” I replied, wondering if she’ll make excuses to leave now. 

“So my family owns an upscale coffee shop. It’s nearby. Would you like to come?” she asked me. 

Sometime later, after we had finished some very athletic private time together, we lay together in cooling sweat, stinking of what we’d just done, and she shivered against me. 

“Wow. So that’s what its like,” she said. It had been her first time? That explained the bravado. 

“You waited this long?” I confirmed. 

“I’ve been too shy to ask,” she admitted. She shifted a bit. “I’m sticky. Is this why people always go for a shower after?” 

“Usually,” I agreed. “You might feel a bit tender for a couple days,” I warned. 

“Considering how the rest of me feels, that is a small tradeoff. Can we do that again?” she asked me, grabbing ahold and moving a certain way. Apparently, the answer is yes. We were busy for some time after that and slept from exhaustion. 

We awoke together and were still attracted to each other in the early morning. My phone had several dozen messages from my sister and parents. I messaged them with short answers and made use of Ami’s shower, where she joined me for a lazy scrub down. 

“Hey, get a coffee with me downstairs,” she offered. “It’s time to open anyway.” 

In the café two floors down I found an old man with white hair giving us a look. Why do I sense we weren’t quiet enough? He turned off the heat for a coffee roaster. 

“Dad, this is Hachiman. He’s my boyfriend,” Ami said, stepping behind the bar and strapping on an apron. The old man looked at me, like he was trying to figure out what to say to the man who railed his daughter most of the night, probably where he could hear it. 

“I see. How do you like your coffee?” he said finally. They had a fancy vacuum vessel system where water is boiled and then drawn up into the upper vessel to become coffee with the turn of a valve. It was very showy, somewhat impractical, but this was a high end shop. The smell of fresh roasted beans filled the shop so I was getting the real thing. 

“Black,” I answered, taking a chance, and offering a challenge. A real barista would not flinch. He nodded and began the brewing process. A few minutes later he poured a coffee into a cup with a saucer and passed it across the counter to me. Dark, smooth, untainted by cream or sugar. Ami was making something with foam and chocolate sprinkles. She waited a moment before sipping it, leaving a white mustache. I sipped my coffee carefully. I usually have cold coffee because I’ve got a Cat Tongue, and dislike hot things, but Yukino’s tastes in tea had trained me to accept the momentary pain. I do not think Yukino was ever this active in bed over the year we were together, so Ami has that to recommend her for the girlfriend role. She is certainly enthusiastic and isn’t put off by my eyes. The coffee was very good. Not bitter. Full of many rainforest chemicals. 

“So Hachiman, are you a member of one of the local Yakuza?” her father finally asked me. He looked to be dreading the answer. 

“I’m a student at the university, psychology program. I’m currently writing an academic paper on the psychology of primate hierarchies and related behavior,” I explained. “I’ve never been in the Yakuza, no matter how my eyes look.” 

“I wonder how you’ll get along with our part timer,” Ami said. “Sakurai has a certain stern look the ladies love.” 

“Why?” I asked her. 

“Oh, he works the afternoon shift. He’s in the second year psychology class now,” Ami mentioned. “I’ve noticed a certain student expressing interest in him. I’ll introduce you. He’s in your year.” 

Sometime later that day Ami lead me to the quad, between buildings and pointed at the very odd couple. 

“Sempai! Sempai! That thing you did made my back sore, Sempai!” complained the short girl with the huge tits. I mean, these were seriously gigantic. She was wearing a white baseball shirt with blue sleeves and the front said “Sugoi Dekai” in romanji, which just means “huge rack”. Her face wasn’t right for a model or anything, and she is lolicon short around 150 centimeters, but those tits were the size of her head. Are those J cups? How is this possible? 

“Are you kidding me?” I asked Ami. “Those two?” Sakurai responded in a way that did NOTHING to remove the implied sex act from her accusation. The whole crowd of students glared at him. 

“Enemy of women!” hissed a few singles at Sakurai. I observed. I took notes. These two were hilarious. 

“Are this always like this?” I asked her. 

“She follows him around, has been following him for her first year. Now it’s her second year and she went on the attack. I think she wants him, but she’s got all kinds of denial issues,” Ami suggested. 

“And this is her chosen approach? It’s certainly novel… though I had a kouhai that was very odd myself. She’d invite me on dates, then insist it wasn’t a date. If I offered to hold her bags she’d insist she wasn’t interested in me, and did various rejection lines at me a dozen times. I’m reasonably sure she’ll get stabbed by someone’s jealous wife someday. Or an overworked underling will push her in front of the express train. Either one, really,” I admitted. Iroha was a serious pain. “There isn’t a girl alive who enjoys being treated as a younger sister,” I quoted Iroha. Ami quirked an eyebrow at that. 

“Well, Uzaki is hilarious and drives Sakurai up the wall. He’s got this whole following of housewives who buy expensive coffees at our shop to get served by him. He was on the swim team so he’s all muscles,” she said, practically salivating. 

Psychology classes have benefitted me. I am no longer dense nor slow on the uptake. I’d been her first, and she’s probably got a list of men she wants to bed. I can be the grownup here. There’s a few girls from high school I wouldn’t mind bedding if I ran into them. Or went looking, I admitted to myself, thinking about Yuigahama and Saki and Shizuka. 

“So did we traumatize your father?” I asked her. 

“I guess. He’s also relieved that I’m not carrying around my V-card anymore. He said I needed more perspective on being a woman.” 

“So do you have that now?” I asked her. “Or are you going on a training journey?” She laughed at this but didn’t deny it. 

“Thank you for being my first time. You were better than I’d heard of most men, and as good as I expected. I need to browse. I hope this won’t affect our working relationship at the Graduate lab in a couple years,” she admitted. 

“At least we studied psychology so we understand each other and ourselves. It will probably avoid some jealousy issues,” I admitted. I excused myself and went to afternoon classes, managing to wipe the tears from my eyes. This is not rejection, I told myself. 

The ride home to Chiba lead to some good observations on women who ignored the women’s-only car and got onto the mixed car, surrounded by men. I could see each was aroused by the experience and I observed behind my sunglasses rather than interfere with what they were doing with the salarymen pressed around them. Women, human females, are adventurous. They like sexual variety. They like risk and random sex, and they find many things arousing and have a couple dozen more erotic zones than men do. They are both amazing and animals. The most amazing thing is that despite the known tendencies of human females, they’ve managed to impose marriage AND cheating for centuries in Japan. My own research finds that primates are actually more monogamous than humans are, which was a surprise. I’m relying on rates published by Goodall and her trained scientists following her work with Chimpanzees, as well as specialists working with the Japanese Macaques. Great Apes like chimps and Macaques which are monkeys are useful comparison for having very similar DNA and the same hormones as humans. Chimpanzees are 99.8% the same as humans, carry the same diseases and organize into troops. Chimps are as smart as a 15 year old human, and it is not coincidence that physical anthropologists and medical doctors state that humans are mentally mature at 15, no matter what laws say. They aren’t experienced enough yet, but they’re basically adults. I eventually changed trains and got to Chiba station, then used the local bus to get to my neighborhood, arriving home and a frowning Komachi. 

She sniffed me. Wrinkled her nose. 

“So, you’ve been busy,” she grouched. “Want some dinner? I bought croquettes,” she offered. She heated them on a frying pan and I sipped miso soup and waited for her to talk. She placed the plate in front of me and I thanked her for the food, sipping tea and eating some chicken croquette. 

“So I got chatted up by the cute Teaching assistant, who is a year ahead of me in psych. She’s going to the graduate program too, only she’s going next year. She read my primate paper and wanted to ask me some questions. We talked, and hit it off. I ended up spending the night with her.” 

“And you couldn’t, I dunno… text us that you were okay? You could have been dead in some alleyway, mistaken for some Yakuza,” she complained. Her expression was troubled. 

“Sorry. I mean it,” I apologized to my sister. “It’s just it was a very busy night, and I was totally exhausted afterwards. It was her first time, and then second and third… well, you get the picture. She was pent up.” 

“A psych major virgin? Is that even a thing?” she asked me, expression now genuinely confused. 

“Apparently. And we’ll have lab together for graduate school for two or three years,” I explained. 

“Hope that’s not awkward,” Komachi offered. She sipped her tea. 

“Not as awkward as this morning. Her father heard us going at it all night, and we met him this morning in the coffee shop they own downstairs. Good coffee, upscale. Think I’ll buy coffee there again.”

“Isn’t that kinda… I dunno?” Komachi asked, very uncomfortable. 

“His daughter is a psych major. He’s probably got better understanding of her issues than anyone.” 

“So you’re super exhausted and short on sleep and have school tomorrow. That means an early night.” 

“Yep. I’ll clean the dishes and then turn in,” I promised. I followed suit, finishing them in a quarter hour and getting a quick shower, then to bed. I slept like a log.