My Romance Life System-Chapter 78: Check Up

Nina walked home. Her mind was not on the street. (Honestly, you could have set off fireworks next to her head and she wouldn’t have noticed.) She was completely, utterly preoccupied.

’I’ve never seen him like that before.’

The image of Kofi on the roof was locked in her thoughts. It was not the quiet anger of a normal person. It was something else. This was compelling to her. It made him seem more real, more solid than the boy who drew swords and made terrible jokes.

’He really cares.’

This was the core of it. He cared so much about a girl he barely knew that it made him furious. That was not a quality she was used to in guys.

So lost was she in this analysis that she almost walked right past her own house. She only stopped when she registered the location.

She pushed the front door open and stepped inside, dropping her bag by the entryway.

"And here she is, the ghost of girlfriends past."

Nina jumped. Her head snapped up. Olica was leaning against the kitchen doorway with a laundry basket and a smug expression.

"You look like you just walked through a wall. What’s with the face? Did your nerd boyfriend finally ask you out?"

"He’s not my boyfriend."

She was instantly embarrassed.

"And I was just thinking."

"Uh-huh. Thinking real hard about something. Or someone. Let me guess, he’s tall, has great hair now, and compares everything to a video game?"

’She sees right through me. It’s so annoying.’

Nina’s embarrassment intensified. She turned away and pretended to be interested in the mail on the entryway table.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Oh, please. You’re so obvious. You’ve got that dopey, lost-in-thought smile. It’s the same one you had after he sent you that haircut picture. You are so down bad for that boy."

"Shut up! I am not!"

(A truly pathetic defense, by the way. Even the furniture knew it.)

Olica just shook her head and walked toward the laundry room.

"You are so transparent, little sister. It’s adorable."

Nina just scoffed, turning her back to her sister with a flip of her hair. It was a classic gyaru move, designed to convey maximum disinterest. (It was also, you have to admit, a terrible piece of acting.) ƒrēenovelkiss.com

"I’m going to my room. I have homework."

"Uh-huh. Sure you do. Have fun thinking about your ’friend’."

Nina didn’t dignify that with a response. She just stomped up the stairs, each step a theatrical performance of someone who was definitely not flustered. Not at all.

The second her bedroom door clicked shut, the performance ended.

Her shoulders slumped. The bright, energetic mask she wore for the world dissolved, leaving behind a girl who was just... tired. So incredibly tired. Her room, a vibrant explosion of fashion magazines, cute plushies, and a vanity cluttered with nail polish bottles, felt like a stage she had just stumbled off of.

She looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror.

’Ugh, my face is still red.’

She saw the girl who had been so flustered by a simple compliment, and a wave of exhaustion washed over her. It was the kind of soul-deep weariness that came from feeling too much, too fast.

With a groan, she took a running start and leaped onto her bed, face-planting into a pile of pillows with a soft ’oomph’. She just lay there, a starfish of emotional overload, the scent of her vanilla perfume mingling with the clean smell of her laundry.

’He’s such an idiot.’

The thought wasn’t angry. It was fond. Terribly, dangerously fond.

’He just says things. He doesn’t even think about it. "You’re the best." Who just says that? With that stupid, genuine smile on his face.’

She rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling, a canopy of fairy lights blinking down at her.

’I’m a mess. A complete mess.’

Her life had been a carefully constructed performance for so long. The right clothes, the right friends, the right boys. It was all a script she had memorized, a role she played to survive.

And then Kofi had shown up.

He didn’t follow the script. He didn’t play the game. He just looked right through the performance and saw her. The girl who liked food vlogs and hated bell peppers. The girl who dreamed of a quiet life in a flower shop. He saw the real, messy, complicated Nina, and he wasn’t scared off.

He thought she was the best.

A small, tired smile touched her lips.

’Yeah,’ she thought, her eyes fluttering closed. ’He really is a dumbass.’

---

The hospital.

Kofi sat on the edge of the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath him. He was back for the follow-up, the sequel nobody asked for.

’Just get the all-clear and get out. No drama. No surprise encounters. Just a simple, boring check-up.’

The door opened, and in walked a doctor who looked like he ran on black coffee and pure, unadulterated cynicism. He glanced at the chart in his hand, then at Kofi, his expression unreadable.

"Kofi Dameire. The boy who decided to play human bowling ball with a moving vehicle."

Kofi just blinked.

’Did he really just say that?’

The doctor walked over, pulling a small stool with him. He was all business.

"Alright, let’s see the damage. Shirt off."

Kofi did as he was told. The doctor began prodding at his ribs, his touch firm but professional.

"Take a deep breath."

He inhaled. It didn’t hurt. Not like before.

"Any sharp pain?"

"No."

"Dizziness? Headaches?"

"Not really."

The doctor made a few notes on his chart. He had Kofi twist, bend, and move his arms. It was a series of slow, careful movements, a test to see what was still broken. (The answer, emotionally, was "everything." Physically, though, things were looking up.)

Finally, the doctor leaned back on his stool, crossing his arms.

"Well, you’re not going to die."

’I already died.’

"You’re healing remarkably well, all things considered. The bruising is mostly gone, and the ribs are knitting back together nicely. You got lucky."

’Lucky isn’t the word I’d use, but sure.’

"However," the doctor continued, his tone shifting. "You’ve been sedentary for too long. Your muscle tone is shot. You’re weak."

He was not wrong. The grocery incident was a testament to that.

"I want you to start working out."

Kofi’s head snapped up.

’Work out huh.’

"Nothing crazy," the doctor clarified, seeing the look of profound confusion on Kofi’s face. "Don’t go trying to bench press a car. I’m talking about light exercise. Jogging. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Something to get your strength back. It will help with the last of the pain and speed up the rest of the recovery."

’Doesn’t sound too bad.’

"It will be good for you," the doctor said, already standing up, his part in this little drama concluded. "Builds character. Or, at the very least, keeps you from pulling a muscle when you reach for the remote. Come back in a month."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Kofi sitting alone on the examination table with a new questline dropped squarely in his lap.

He looked down at his own hands, at his skinny arms.

"Time to get to work."

A slow grin spread across his face. It wasn’t a happy grin. It was a look of pure, unadulterated determination. The kind of look a shonen protagonist gets right before the training montage begins.

(Oh boy.)

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