Weren’t You Only Using Me As A Stand-in? [14]

In the front of Class 1-A’s classroom, the math teacher stood at the blackboard, chalk in hand, writing out set theory concepts with a rapid tap tap tap.

Set theory.
Necessary and sufficient conditions.
The truth or falsehood of propositions.
And the three forms: converse, inverse, and contrapositive.

The students below watched with focused attention.

Whether they were actually absorbing the content… was another matter entirely.

By the window in the back row, Kitahara Takeru spun his pen idly while keeping pace with the teacher’s lecture.

Japanese high school math was no joke.

By the first semester of their first year, students were expected to master number theory, set logic, quadratic functions, planar geometry, data analysis, and basic statistics.

Second semester? Probability, permutations and combinations, properties of integers and geometric figures—the difficulty curve kept rising.

A Chinese high school graduate taking Japan’s Center Test and university-specific Secondary Exams without additional prep would be absolutely wrecked.

How do those isekai protagonists manage to become top students without ever paying attention in class? Takeru wondered.

He had the benefit of memories from his past life, and his brain worked pretty fast, so keeping up wasn’t hard.

Even so, he didn’t dare slack off. He listened closely to every lecture.

As the bell finally rang to end class, Ōtani Shōta jumped up and shouted toward Takeru and Tanaka Kōta, “Takeru! Kōta! Let’s eat!”

The math teacher, just about to step out, stopped and turned to glance at him.
Noted. He’d be calling on Ōtani next class.

Tanaka Kōta froze, ducking his head down onto his desk in panic.

You don’t see me. You don’t see me, he chanted internally.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Ōtani, completely oblivious, bounded over.

Thankfully, the math teacher left. Kōta sat up and growled, “You couldn’t have waited until he was out the door? What are we eating today?”

“Miso ramen, obviously! Miso ramen is the best!”

“What? A teishoku set meal? I was thinking that too!”

“Kōta, you bastard! You dare mock ramen?! ORA ORA ORA ORA!”

“Useless! MUDAMUDAMUDAMUDA!”

“You deflected it all? I underestimated you. Behold: Domain Expansion—Infinite Void!”

“You dare, Satoru Shōta?! Take this: Secret Art—Hollow Cage!”

...

Under the stunned gazes of their classmates, Ōtani Shōta and Tanaka Kōta descended into a full-blown chūnibyō battle.

Takeru silently stood up and slipped out of his seat, pretending not to know them, head down, walking briskly toward the door.

He really didn’t understand—how was this different from taking a dump in public?

Is this what “being two-dimensional” means?

“Takeru! Wait for me!” x2

The moment he heard that, Takeru picked up his pace.

But just as he stepped out the door—whack!
A love letter flew at him like a shuriken and smacked him right in the face.

“Kitahara-kun! Please go out with me!”

Takeru clutched his stinging cheek and looked at the girl standing in front of him. She was beautiful. Curvy. Confident.

“…What number is this for the week?”

“Ninth, I think.”

“He deserves death. He really deserves it.”

The rest of Class 1-A barely reacted anymore. Takeru getting confessed to at the door was practically a daily event.

They all watched the scene like a live drama, waiting for the poor pretty girl to get ruthlessly rejected.

Some of the boys even thought, Hey, if she’s heartbroken afterward, maybe I can swoop in to comfort her...

Girls liked “gentle” guys, right?

Maybe she’d end up as their girlfriend instead.

People had to dream, after all.

Takeru didn’t mind being watched—but he hated being turned into a public spectacle. “Kyu—”

“I’m not Kyuumi,” the girl interrupted, blinking up at him. “My name’s Ayami Komaki.”

Takeru: “......”

After a pause, he bowed slightly. “Sorry.”

He really hadn’t mixed her up on purpose.

Being a scholarship student, first in the entire year, on track for the special advancement class, and basically guaranteed a spot at one of the Empire’s top universities, it was no surprise girls liked him.

That, plus he was objectively handsome. Already 177cm in his first year of high school and likely to break 180cm. What girl wouldn’t chase a guy like that?

He got multiple love letters in his shoe locker every single day.

Most people probably wouldn’t receive even one love letter in their entire life.

And confessions? Easily seven a week.

Even after getting turned down, some girls came back again, determined to wear down his resistance like water against stone.

Which meant... yes, sometimes he saw the same girl more than once in a week.

At a private high school like Seijō, with an academic deviation score of 77, the girls were all the same age, wore the same uniform, had the same hairstyles—and even spoke in eerily similar tones.
It was genuinely hard to tell them apart without focusing.

“Komaki-san, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now.”

He stepped to the side to leave.

But Komaki Ayami blocked his way. “Kitahara-kun, I’m not finished!”

Takeru sighed and paused.

She looked up at him with a mix of shyness and determination. “I know you don’t know me, and I’m sorry for confessing so suddenly. It might seem intrusive… but please believe me. I’m not the type to take feelings lightly...”

Takeru listened in silence as she lowered her head bashfully, twisting her fingers in the hem of her uniform.

“A week ago… I saw you at the library.”

She remembered that day so clearly—bright sun, a gentle breeze, and the sight of a boy in a clean white shirt, reading quietly beneath the window.

The sunlight streamed through the trees, falling across his concentrated profile, and in that moment… something inside her lit up.

It must have been love at first sight.

“Ever since then… I can’t stop thinking about you. My heart starts racing just at the thought...”

Her voice faded to a whisper.

Meanwhile, Takeru’s expression was still as calm as a dead lake.

Ayami’s face flushed red—so red it looked like a ripe persimmon, ready to drip juice.

“I want to understand you, to be part of your future… Please give me a chance.”

She meant every word.

This confession—was real.

She didn’t want her youth to end with regret.

Takeru took a breath, ready to reject her gently—but then a slender, pale hand suddenly hooked around his arm and pulled.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Takeru looked over. “Kamikawa?”

Kamikawa Rie didn’t say a word, just dragged him off with a stony face.

“Don’t yank me like that! You’re gonna ruin my sleeve.”

Takeru protested with his mouth, but his body obediently followed—and in his heart, he gave her a silent thumbs-up.

Perfect timing.

Kamikawa Rie didn’t stop until they reached a corner in the hallway. Then she shoved him against the wall.

Bang!

Both hands slammed on either side of his body.

A wall pin?

Takeru blinked, confused.

In both of his lifetimes, this was his first time getting kabedon’d.

The funny part? Kamikawa Rie wasn’t even taller than him. So in trying to recreate that manga moment, her arms were actually wedged under his ribs—making it look less like a kabedon and more like she was… hugging him.

“Kitahara Takeru,” she said coldly. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Takeru: “???”

---

This is a fan translation of 不是说只拿我当替身的吗？by 雪碧加冰. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!