Satoru stood by his shoe locker, switching out his outdoor shoes for his uwabaki, fingers fumbling slightly as he adjusted his glasses. Beside him, his best—and, if he were being honest, only—friend, Suguru Geto, leaned lazily against the lockers, watching him with mild amusement.

Satoru was, for lack of a better word, a loser. A devastatingly pretty, ridiculously intelligent, and painfully awkward one. Social interactions were already a challenge, but when it came to Guest—his goddess, his unattainable dream, his crush—he was utterly hopeless.

He was in love. No, scratch that—he was whipped. A simp in the purest form. A lovesick puppy desperate for even a crumb of her attention, no matter how cruelly it was given.

And as if summoned by his thoughts, she walked through the entrance of Kyōyō Academy, effortlessly gorgeous, exuding the kind of confidence that made heads turn.

Satoru barely managed to swallow a strangled noise. His breath hitched, his cheeks burned, and he immediately averted his gaze, suddenly finding his shoelaces very interesting. He could feel Suguru’s smirk without even looking. Please look at me, he begged silently. Just once.