"We're here," Kotonoha said 

"But we've only been walking for a few m--," I said before taking the sight of the apartment building looming over me.

I almost didn't see the red and white apartment beneath the planted row of Japanese Oak trees, which stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the street lamp posts, but all it took was a slight tilt to see the overwhelming presence of the building in its entirety. I knew that she just lived there and didn't  own the whole damn building, but witnessing the residence made me feel like there was a massive divide between us. I could only stand with my mouth agape.

"Oh yeah. My mom said you'd react this way. We're pretty well off, by the way," Kotonoha said.

"What do your parents do to live here?"

She hummed as she stroked her fingers through her chin.

"My father is a ghost writer and my mother owns her own personal clinic."

So her father was in a creative field like hers. Her family's career arrangement makes some sense now, I suppose. Her father was really lucky to bump into someone practical like Kotonoha's mother.

"Oh, so the usual arrangement then? Well, I guess I'll follow your lead then," I said, stepping aside to gesture towards the automatic sliding door.

I followed close behind her, taking note of the vast open space in the lobby.

We stopped at the reception desk. The receptionist gave a cheery smile.

"Hello, Fumiko," she said.

"Hello, I came with someone from class. I assure you he is a model citizen," Kotonoha said.

It's okay, Fumiko, really. You don't  have to justify letting every one of your guest's in," the receptionist said with a deflated laugh.

"Oh, okay. Then I guess we'll go through then," she said, grabbing thr cuff of my blazer.

"Enjoy your stay, sir," the receptionist said, pressing the square terminal in front of her.

I heard the click of a door unlocking. Kotonoha pulled the door open and walked inside with my wrist in tow.

She didn't  let go of the cuff of my uniform until we reached the first elevator. We walked twenty seconds tops for the elevator to open. We promptly entered after we heard the ding that always came with the opening double-doors.

The elevator opened to what appeared to be the fourteenth floor, noted by the elevator car indicator displayed by a white backlight. We continued until we reached the room at the end of the hall that was located to the left of the elevator.

She took out a small short-toothed key from her keychain and unlocked the door.

We walked past the minimalist decor that lined the living room and made a beeline for her room.

Once she opened the door I was greeted by a wall of merchandise from Super Ranger Ravagers displayed on a bookcase. Two of the shelves held all the characters, from the reluctant members of the Ravager heroes, the insidious alien generals they fought, to the ancillary characters like the heart-shaped red bat mascot. The middle two shelves held volumes of the light novel adaptation of the early 2000s series.

I didn't  have much time to absorb the other details of her room, because I was led again by the cuff of my uniform to a wooden desk supported by several black metal bars. On the top right corner was a physical stack of paper I presumed was one of Kotonoha's failed previous contest attempts.

A laptop sat closed in the middle of the modest desk.

"This is where the romantic does her work," Kotonoha said, gesturing towards the minimal desk space.

"The Power of Love Didn't Work, So I Had to Become the Hero and Save My True Love," I read aloud, gleaning the title of the manuscript on her desk.

"I wanted to write a story that wasn't a rejection of love, but one that redefined what love was," she said.

As she did a flourish with her fingers with one hand and a flip of her hair with the other, I, uninitiated to the whims of a writer, could only muster a glazed-over expression. I made a lazy exclamation with droopy eyelids and slightly parted lips.

"Oh, so you wanted to write a different love story," I said.

"Well, when you put it that way--yes."

Kotonoha opened her lips, caught on what word she wanted to say next. It reminded me of something that lingered at the back of my mind. The small shelf next to her work space reminded me of what Mister Morio recently told us. Ten Journals sat in a neat row of ten, all with titles scrawled in black marker. We both had narratives we wanted to change, I was at least certain of that. But it's only recently that I've begun to understand the narrative Kotonoha wanted to change.

"You've figured something out, haven't you Kotonoha-san," I said, dropping my backpack without warning.

Kotonoha rushed to her work space and grabbed a few of her Experience Journals from the shelf. She took one of the notebooks and began to scribble a title for a new chapter on a blank page.

"Whose journal is that," I asked.

"Yours."

"I'm afraid I'm gonna need more information than that. I'm kinda lost right now," I said, incredulously spectating as she wrote away on the fresh pages in the journal.

"This is how we change the narrative and turn the tables. Every date I've had ended unceremoniously after one date, but what if they all were given more time? If we do this correctly, it can help both of us tell the story the way we want it."

"More time? What do you mean," I asked.

"If we can have a longer relationship than the one date exhibitions I've had in the past, than the label of the callous Terminator I've had in the past can finally be put to rest," she said.

She pressed my Experience Journal to my face to further emphasize her point.

"But in order for this to work, you'll have to go on a series of dates with me. Everyone only needs to be believe we're in a happy relationship."

The title of her next entry caused me to raise a brow.

"The Rare Second Date?"