Our First Meeting is Wrong, As I Expected

The rain hadn't started yet, but the sky hung heavy, like a warning. Or maybe it was sympathy. I wasn't sure which was worse.

I stood by the shoe lockers, pretending to be deeply invested in tying my laces. In reality, I was just buying time. The longer I lingered, the less chance there was of running into anyone who might try to make small talk.

Small talk was for people who mattered, people who could trade trivial words without the weight of failure pressing down on them.

Orimoto had made that clear enough.

I let out a breath, slow and quiet, but it still felt too loud in the empty hallway.

"That's a pretty depressing expression."

I froze, not out of fear but irritation. The voice was calm, almost bored, like someone commenting on a mildly interesting cloud. I didn't recognize it – but that didn't matter. Whoever it was would leave if I ignored them long enough.

Except they didn't.

I glanced up.

She stood just a few steps away, her head tilted slightly like she was evaluating something.

As I reached for my locker, I noticed her standing there, perfectly still. She wasn't fumbling with her lock or rearranging textbooks. She just stood there, gaze fixed ahead like she was watching something invisible. Or perhaps waiting.

What the hell does she want with me? People who stood around doing nothing were usually just looking for attention.

"You've been standing there for five minutes," she said without turning. Her voice was flat, devoid of the typical high school theatrics.

"Is that so." I didn't ask how she knew. It wasn't worth the effort.

She finally looked at me, her expression unreadable. Her eyes, intense and unsettling, flicked over me like she was scanning for flaws. I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass.

"Hikigaya Hachiman," she said. It wasn't a question.

I raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember introducing myself."

"You didn't." She closed her locker with a soft click. "I know who you are."

"Right. And I should care because...?"

"You shouldn't." Her gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary. "But I've decided you'll be useful to me."

"Useful?" I repeated with annoyance. "I'm flattered. Truly. But I think you have the wrong person."

She stepped closer, just enough to make the space between us feel suffocating, not because of proximity, but because of the weight of her stare.

"No. I don't."

I sighed, pulling my bag over my shoulder. "Look, I get it. You're either bored or trying to mess with me. But if this is some roundabout way of asking for notes, I'm not interested." I spat the words out, hoping to shake her off.

"You misunderstand." Her voice was steady, unaffected by my sarcasm. "I need you."

I blinked. "...Come again?"

"You heard me," she said plainly.

I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. Maybe a smirk. A raised brow. Some kind of sign that she was joking. But there was nothing. Her expression didn't budge an inch.

"Right. And I assume this is part of some elaborate prank?"

"No. It's practical."

"Practical," I repeated, letting the word sit for a moment. "You know, most people just get a cat when they feel lonely. Or maybe therapy. I hear that's a thing."

Good thing I have a cat.

"This isn't about loneliness. I need someone."

I couldn't help but laugh under my breath. It probably creeped her out which is good, "Well, that's a new one. So, what? You drew straws and I lost?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the closest thing to irritation I'd seen from her. "Your lack of social ties makes you a convenient option. There's no risk of complications."

"Flattering. Really." I leaned against the locker, glaring at her. My hands weren't trembling at all. "You don't exactly seem like the type who needs a boyfriend. Why bother?"

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she regarded me with the same gaze as before.

"You're asking the wrong question."

"Am I?"

She stepped back, giving me just enough breathing room to feel like I wasn't about to be dissected.

"The real question," she said, her tone evencoldernow, "is why you haven't already said no."

I froze.

"...What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your hesitation answers it for you." She adjusted the strap of her bag. "You're not as indifferent as you pretend to be."

"Tch. You're awfully confident for someone who's asking for a favor."

"I don't ask you." Her eyes locked with mine again. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.

The weight of her stare made it clear—this wasn't a negotiation.

I shifted uncomfortably, trying to mask the irritation creeping up. "...You're not even going to tell me why, are you?"

"You don't need to." She turned slightly, already signaling the conversation was over. "but you'll understand someday."

There was no logical reason to agree. I barely knew her. But as much as I wanted to dismiss the whole thing, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she was right.

"What if I said no?" I asked, my voice colder than I intended.

She didn't hesitate. "You wouldn't. Not after what happened. You're too broken to turn down something that's at least straightforward."

"Ha ha ha..."

Her words hit harder than I expected. I was still reeling from the rejection of that day, the humiliation of being the laughingstock of the entire class after Orimoto's words. I had no energy left to fight against something like this.

I winced, processing her words again. I didn't expect her to be so blunt, but she was right. I hated the manipulation, and yet here I was, standing in front of someone who made sure to avoid any pretense. She wasn't offering me a chance to decline, just making it clear that I didn't have any good reason to refuse.

I hadn't said no. I truly am pathetic.

And that, somehow, felt like the biggest mistake of all.

That's how I met an Evil God.

ㅤ

ᛚᛟᚾᛖᛚᚤᚲᚤᚾᛁᚲᚨᛚᛋᛟᚢᛚ

ㅤ

My first date with Evil God was as bad as I expected.

No, Evil God isn't some ironic nickname I gave her. I'm not a chuunibyou, nor do I spend my time dabbling in occultism between watching romcoms that make me want to throw myself into traffic. Not at all. Evil God is simply... her.

She did tell me her real name but I could never quite remember it.

Honestly, if I did, I'd probably get some line like, "Names are but shackles imposed by lesser beings," and then I'd have to live with the fact that I willingly opened that can of cringe.

The real problem with that date isn't the fact that Evil God gives off the vibe of someone who wouldn't blink if the world exploded.

Fortunately, I didn't have to suffer through Evil God attending the same high school as me. She chose a different one.

Thank the gods... or whatever cosmic forces were feeling generous that day. The thought of sharing a classroom with Evil God was enough to send a chill down my spine. It wasn't the staring that got to me or even the unsettling way she seemed to predict everything I was about to say. No, the real issue was that having her in the same school would guarantee my already pathetic social life would spiral further into the abyss.

I'm not antisocial, but I prefer my personal brand of solitude—the kind that doesn't involve being labeled as the weird loner with an Evil God following him around.

At least now, I could enjoy the quiet misery of high school without her shadow looming over my shoulder. Small blessings, I guess.

ㅤ

ᛚᛟᚾᛖᛚᚤᚲᚤᚾᛁᚲᚨᛚᛋᛟᚢᛚ

ㅤ

I somehow got guilt-tripped into writing an essay by Hiratsuka-sensei again. And, naturally, I decided to tell her about that—because who wouldn't want to hear about the thrilling exploits of my existence?

"Honestly, this whole situation was doomed from the start. I didn't even want to go, but she made that creepy stare at me until I folded like an old piece of paper. And now I'm here, writing about it, questioning my life choices."

"So, you're telling me that you... agreed to go out with an Evil God?" Hiratsuka-sensei's voice was flat, her eyes narrowing like she was questioning the very meaning of my existence.

I chuckled bitterly.

I crossed my arms. "It's not like I wanted to. She asked I said no, and she stared at me for two minutes without blinking. I broke. It was a battle of wills. I lost."

"Obviously."

I shrugged. "I mean, what's the worst that could happen? Worst-case scenario, she sacrifices me to an elder being if she isn't one already."

"Is that really the worst case?"

I thought about it. "...She could make me do karaoke."

"What the hell?"

"Hey, language," I chastised Hiratsuka.

There was a long pause as she just stared at me, her expression unreadable.

"You know," Hiratsuka-sensei said, tapping her pen against the table. "I really don't understand you sometimes."

"Yeah, I've been told that before," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.

"By me." She sighed.

Hiratsuka-sensei gave me a pointed look. "No, I mean—why don't you just... not go? I'm pretty sure Evil God can handle rejection. She's not a delicate flower."

"I'm aware." I sighed. "But there's something about that look. It's like she knows I'll break if I don't say yes. It's not even about her anymore; it's about me losing that internal war."

"You sound like you're describing a cult leader, not a date."

"Same thing, really. Different methods of manipulation."

Hiratsuka-sensei's eyes narrowed slightly. "So, what's your plan? Are you just going to keep going on these 'dates' with her?"

I shrugged again. "I don't know. At this point, what else am I supposed to do? Get involved in something even more troublesome? I did that for a couple of months already."

"Isn't that the story of your life?"

"Touché."

Hiratsuka-sensei leaned back in her chair, looking more like a disappointed older sibling than a teacher. Well, sorry to disappoint you but I have Komachi. "Well, just don't get yourself killed, okay? Or end up doing something ridiculous. If you have to do karaoke, at least make sure I'm not around to witness it."

"I'll do my best," I said dryly.

"And stop this creepy smile, Hikigaya."

ㅤ

ᛚᛟᚾᛖᛚᚤᚲᚤᚾᛁᚲᚨᛚᛋᛟᚢᛚ

ㅤ

The café we chose was quiet. Of course, it was. You'd expect nothing less from someone who probably considers human interaction a low-level form of torture.

It's me.

Evil God sat across from me, stirring her coffee in slow, deliberate circles. She wasn't drinking it. Just... staring into the cup like it held the secrets of the universe.

"You know, if you're going to sacrifice me, doing it somewhere with better lighting might make for a more dramatic scene," I said, breaking the silence.

Her golden eyes flicked up to meet mine, expression flat. "I prefer quiet places. Less... distractions."

"I can see that. The ambiance here screams 'quiet existential crisis.'"

She tilted her head slightly. "That's exactly why I like it."

Figures. I should've known that someone who looks like they philosophize for fun would enjoy a café that smells like aged wood and regret.

I sipped my drink – black coffee because ordering anything else felt like giving her ammunition to question my masculinity. She probably would've commented if I got something sweet. Something about unnecessary indulgences.

After a minute, I put the cup down. "So... why did you call me here again?"

Her gaze lingered on me for a beat too long. "I was curious to see how long you'd last today."

"...In what, exactly? This date or life in general?"

"Yes."

Great. I'm on a date with Evil God who treats conversations like a psychological experiment. I could practically feel my sanity eroding.

I shifted in my seat, trying to find something, anything, to steer the conversation. "You know, most people would try small talk by now."

She blinked. "Small talk is efficient."

"That's the point. Efficiency is the enemy of dates." I gestured vaguely at the atmosphere around us. "If people were efficient, no one would bother with overpriced drinks and social anxiety in public."

"I see. You believe inefficient bonding builds character. I should have done more research on the internet."

What the

No, it's Evil God, so I expected this kind of answer. Of course, someone like her would consult modern technology to understand human interaction. I can almost picture her now, sitting in front of a screen, typing "how to date humans" into a search bar without even blinking.

Honestly, that thought alone might be the scariest part of this entire date.

"No. I believe it wastes time," I replied, leaning back in my chair. "But if I'm going to waste time, I'd rather do it in ways that don't make me question the fragility of my existence."

She nodded thoughtfully as if I'd just confirmed some deep philosophical truth. "I see. So wasting time is valuable, as long as it creates a distraction from existential dread."

"Exactly. I'd rather be bored than enlightened sometimes."

She stirred her coffee again, this time with just a little more intent. For a second, I thought maybe I'd scored a point in this strange mental chess game.

"I'll keep that in mind for the next time."

"Next time?" As expected of an Evil God.

"I want to learn more about how people spend time with friends."

That phrasing made me wonder whether Evil God had gotten her information from an online guide that made "human interaction" sound like a process you could learn through tutorials. It felt too clinical, too analytical, but knowing her, she'd probably found some research paper or forum that could teach her how to 'bond' with others in the most efficient way possible.

"That's comforting. It's nice to know I fall into the same category as pet goldfish."

Her lips twitched, like—seriously twitched—almost like she was about to smile. Almost. I had never seen her do that. Not once.

I leaned forward slightly, trying to process what I was seeing. "Did... did you just almost smile?"

"No," she said with that usual, emotionless tone. "I simply had an involuntary muscle reaction."

Ah. Of course.