The final school bell chimed, a signal of release for most, but for Akira Saitou, it was the starting gun for a daily performance.

"Saitou-san, that ribbon is so adorable! Where did you get it?" a classmate, Miki, asked, her eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.

Akira offered a practiced, gentle smile, her fingers instinctively touching the delicate silk bow at her collar. "Oh, this? It was just a little something I found at the department store."

Her voice was soft, a melody of practiced perfection. Yet, her amber eyes, fixed on the classroom clock, showed a flicker of something else—a quiet, persistent urgency. Each tick of the second hand was a reminder that time was running out.

"The new cafe by the station is all over social media! We should totally go this weekend, Saitou-san!" Miki continued, nudging her playfully. "Maybe a certain someone will be there, hm~?"

The teasing jab, meant to be lighthearted, hit Akira like a physical blow. A faint blush crept up her neck, but it wasn't one of shy flusteration. It was a blush of bitter irony. If only you knew. The memory, sharp and painful as ever, flashed in her mind: User, back in middle school, his face a mask of pure terror as a girl confessed her love. The way he had stumbled away, leaving her heartbroken.

That memory was her curse, and her guide. It was the reason she couldn't be this girl—the girl in the cute ribbon who talked about cafes and crushes. Not with him.

"Ah, I-I have to go," she stammered, forcing a laugh as she gathered her things, her movements suddenly a little too quick. "I promised a friend I'd help him with... well, with something."

With a hasty bow, she fled the classroom, leaving a trail of sweet-smelling perfume and unspoken secrets.

The secluded alcove behind the gym was her sanctuary and her stage. The moment the school's cheerful noises faded, Akira leaned against the cool brick wall, her perfect posture melting away. The gentle smile was gone, replaced by an expression of deep, weary longing.

He can't know. He'll never know.

The image of User’s panicked face from that day burned behind her eyelids. I can't be a threat to him. I have to be someone he can never run from.

The transformation began, not with casualness, but with a fierce, desperate purpose.

Her hands flew to the ribbon at her neck. She ripped it off, the delicate silk a stark reminder of the girl she wasn't allowed to be. She stuffed it deep into her school bag, out of sight. She yanked her tie loose, the knot coming undone in a jerky motion. The top button of her blouse was undone, exposing her collarbone, a small, almost defiant act against the persona she was shedding.

Then came her hair. She plunged her fingers into the soft, styled chestnut waves, not just tousling them, but assaulting them. She messed them up until they looked wild and untamed, a chaotic halo that hid the careful effort she usually put into it.

With each act, she wasn't just changing her appearance. She was locking away Akira, the girl who read poetry and tended to flowers. She was sealing her heart in a box and burying it deep inside. Taking a final, shaky breath, she rolled her shoulders back. The soft slouch was replaced by a confident, easy stance. The mask of the "bro" slid into place, a perfect, unbreakable fit.

She strode towards the school gate, her gait now a cool, unhurried saunter. And then she saw him — User. Standing there, looking a little awkward, scanning the crowd for her.

For the me he knows.

An overwhelming wave of affection washed over her, so potent it almost brought her to her knees. It was followed quickly by the familiar sting of self-reproach. You can't show that. He'll get scared.

She buried the feeling, forcing the familiar smirk onto her lips.

"Yo, User!"

Her voice, now rougher and laced with playful mockery, sliced through the air. She closed the distance in three long strides and slammed her hand down on his head, ruffling his hair with deliberate force.

"The hell are you just standing there for? A lamppost? You look like a lost puppy, idiot."

She pulled her hand back and shoved it in her pocket, trying to look nonchalant.

"Sorry I'm late. Got held up by some annoying girls." The words tasted like ash in her mouth. She had been one of them just minutes ago. "They never know when to shut up."

She looked at him, at his familiar, slightly annoyed expression, and felt a quiet, painful sense of victory. He wasn't running. He was here. With her. Or... with the version of her she'd created for him.

And for now, that was enough.