I Accidentally Built a Harem of Girls Who All Hate Each Other

The rest of my afternoon in the Student Council office was an exercise in meticulous, mind-numbing labor. I sorted, I filed, I cross-referenced. I became one with the paperwork. My bureaucratic fortress was impenetrable. I deflected two more students seeking the President's ear, politely directing them to the proper procedural forms. I was so efficient, so professional, so utterly and completely boring, that by the end of the day, I had actually made a significant dent in the mountain of reports.

Reina watched me the entire time. Her initial shock had subsided, replaced by a quiet, intense observation. It was a different kind of surveillance than before. She wasn't just watching a prisoner to make sure he didn't escape. She was studying a new, unexpected piece on the chessboard, trying to understand its moves, its purpose, its strategy. She knew the Kaito Tanaka who blundered into chaos, the Kaito Tanaka who was easily flustered. This new, professional automaton was a stranger to her, and she was deeply suspicious.

When the final bell chimed, signaling the end of club activities, she finally spoke.

"That is sufficient for today, Assistant Tanaka," she said, her voice cool and measured. "You have been... surprisingly productive."

"I aim to fulfill my official duties to the best of my ability, President Kujou," I replied, my voice a perfect, neutral monotone. I stood up and stretched, my back aching from hours of hunching over files.

"Indeed," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Pack your things. It is time to go home."

The dread returned. The walk home. The most dangerous part of my day. Before, it was a prisoner transfer. Now, it was a debriefing with the enemy commander, who was also my boss.

We walked out of the school together, side-by-side. The dynamic was still new, still unsettling. The few remaining students we passed stared openly. The rumors were clearly solidifying into accepted fact: Tanaka was Kujou's man.

The silence between us was different today. It wasn't the angry, punishing silence of my first detention. It was a heavy, analytical silence. I could feel her thinking, processing the day's events.

"Hamasaki-san seems to have... recovered from her emotional outburst yesterday," Reina commented, her voice casual, but her question sharp as a needle.

It was a test. A probe into my new relationship with Yui.

My Campaign Manager's voice echoed in my head. Be polite, efficient, and emotionally distant.

"Hamasaki-san is a resilient and supportive classmate," I said, my voice even. "I am glad she understands the importance of my new responsibilities to the council."

I had given her a bland, politically correct, and utterly useless answer. I had praised Yui while simultaneously reinforcing my own commitment to my "duties."

Reina glanced at me, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. "Her 'support' today came in the form of a rather large box of pastries designed to publicly disrupt an official meeting," she pointed out dryly.

"It was a kind, if perhaps ill-timed, gesture of encouragement," I replied, my face a mask of professional neutrality. "I am grateful for all my classmates' support." I had just "universalized" Yui's attack, reframing it as general support from the student body.

Reina fell silent again, a deep frown creasing her brow. She was playing chess, but I was no longer playing checkers. I was playing by a new rulebook, one she didn't have a copy of. And it was frustrating her.

As we turned onto my street, I braced myself for the next phase of the daily ritual: the potential appearance of my dad, or worse, a teacher making a house call. But the street was quiet. My house was quiet. Yui's house was quiet, her curtains drawn. It was an eerie, unsettling peace.

We stopped at my driveway.

"I will see you tomorrow, Assistant Tanaka," she said, her tone formal. "Be here five minutes before the first bell. We will walk to school together."

My heart sank. A new rule. A new level of control. The walk to school was now also part of my official duties.

"Understood, President Kujou," I said, my voice betraying none of my inner turmoil.

I expected her to turn and leave, her daily duty of "securing her asset" complete. But she didn't. She just stood there, her crimson eyes studying me with an unnerving intensity.

"You have changed, Tanaka-kun," she said finally, her voice losing its professional edge and becoming something more personal, more curious. "Yesterday, you were a flustered mess. Today... you are a wall."

"I am merely endeavoring to meet the high standards of your office, President," I recited, falling back on my bureaucratic script.

"No," she said, taking a small step closer. "This is not about standards. This is a strategy. Your sudden professionalism, your deft handling of Miyamoto-san, your polite but firm deflection of Akiyama-san... these were not the actions of a boy trying to do a good job. They were the coordinated moves of a political campaign. And you are not a skilled enough politician to have devised it yourself."

My blood ran cold. She knew. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew.

Her eyes narrowed, a brilliant, deductive light shining within them. "Hamasaki-san's sudden shift from emotional rival to polite supporter... your own shift from chaotic mess to efficient bureaucrat... It happened after you spoke with her on the rooftop at lunch. She is advising you. She is your strategist."

She had figured it all out. With nothing but a few behavioral shifts to go on, she had deduced the entire existence of my new campaign manager and the strategy we had just concocted. Her intelligence was terrifying.

I stood there, speechless, my fortress of professionalism crumbling under the force of her brilliant deduction.

But then she did something completely unexpected. She didn't get angry. She didn't threaten me.

She smiled. A genuine, sharp, and exhilaratingly competitive smile.

"This is... fascinating," she breathed, her eyes sparkling with a renewed fire. "I thought I was merely managing a chaotic asset. I did not realize I had entered into a political contest with a hidden opponent. This is far more stimulating than I could have imagined."

She looked at me, no longer as a prisoner or an assistant, but as the representative of a rival power. "Tell your 'campaign manager' that her opening moves have been noted," she said, her voice filled with a newfound energy. "The game is more interesting now. I look forward to her next play."

With a final, sharp nod, she turned and walked away, her posture more confident, more energized than I had ever seen it.

I stood in my driveway, completely stunned. I had been exposed. Our entire conspiracy had been laid bare.

But instead of crushing us, Reina was... thrilled.

She wasn't interested in a simple victory over a flustered boy anymore. She was engaged in a battle of wits with a worthy, hidden opponent—Yui. And I was the battlefield.

My phone buzzed. It was Yui.

Angel: She's gone. Debrief. Did the professionalism strategy work?

I looked at the retreating figure of Reina Kujou, a queen who had just found a game worthy of her intelligence. My fingers trembled as I typed my reply.

Noodle: It worked. A little too well. She knows. She knows you're advising me. She figured the whole thing out.

The three dots appeared instantly. Angel: ...What was her reaction?

Noodle: She's not angry. She's... excited. She said to tell you 'the game is more interesting now' and that she's 'looking forward to your next play'.

A long, tense pause followed. I could almost hear Yui's mind racing from across the hedge.

Angel: So that's how it is. She's not just trying to control you anymore. She's trying to out-strategize me. She's declared a proxy war.

Another message came through, her words carrying a new, steely resolve.

Angel: Message received, Warden. Challenge accepted. Campaign Phase Two begins tomorrow.

I looked at my phone, then at my quiet house. The war wasn't over. It had just been officially recognized by both sides. It was no longer a secret operation. It was a cold war, and the two superpowers had just acknowledged each other's existence. And I was Berlin.