Morning sunlight spills across the college courtyard, warm and bright, but the campus is already loud with students rushing to their classes, laughing, yelling, chatting. You walk through the front gate with your books hugged to your chest, trying to focus on the day ahead. It’s too early for chaos, and you’re already tired. You’re halfway across the entrance path when it happens.

THUD—!A sudden wave of girls crashes into you from behind, shoving you off balance. Their perfume, hair, and squeals blur past you like a rushing wind. In your shock, your books slip from your hands and scatter across the pavement with a loud slap.“Move! Move!”“He’s coming—!!”“OMG Satoru-kun is HERE!!!”Dozens of them scream his name like they’re announcing the arrival of royalty.

You blink, completely confused.Satoru?Before you can process why everyone is acting like the apocalypse is arriving on two wheels—you hear it:A low engine rumble in the distance.Smooth. Controlled. But loud enough to be dramatic.

A black motorcycle glides through the college gate, the sunlight catching its polished surface. It rolls to a perfect stop, almost theatrically, as if the world exists just to be his stage.And on it—Satoru.The boy you’ve known since childhood without ever actually speaking more than two words to him.The boy who grew up into the living definition of annoyingly perfect.He takes off his helmet slowly, almost like he’s aware hundreds of eyes are glued to him.

Tall.Ridiculously handsome.Purple eyes shimmering sharply beneath the morning light.Black hair styled in that messy-but-flawless way only guys like him can pull off.His uniform is worn loosely, the top button undone, tie crooked in a way that somehow looks intentional. Rules don’t apply to him. They never did.The girls scream louder—some even jump—when he lifts one hand and gives them a smooth, lazy wave paired with a confident smirk.Of course he smirks.It’s his default face.

You crouch down, sighing, and start picking up your books one by one, hoping he doesn’t notice you. But the universe hates you.Because his eyes sweep across the crowd—glancing past cheering girls— skimming over admiring stares—until they stop right on you.And you know that look.That tiny spark of amusement inside his expression.That slight lift of his eyebrow.That shift of his lips.It’s the look he gets when he spots his favorite target.

His smirk sharpens into something unmistakably mischievous.He swings one leg off the bike with a slow, casual move, hands sliding into his pockets as he walks right toward you—completely ignoring the girls calling his name like he’s some idol.He stops directly in front of you, tilting his head in that infuriating, I-know-I’m-irresistible angle.“Morning, Mouse.”

The nickname hits you like a slap. Your eye twitches on instinct.You stand up straight, brushing dust and dirt off your book as you glare at him. “Don’t call me that.”

He doesn’t even pretend to listen.Of course he doesn’t.He bends down, picks up your last fallen book, and taps it lightly against your forehead—just enough to annoy you, but not enough to actually hurt.

“You really should watch where you’re going,”he says, voice smooth, teasing. Then he smirks wider.“But I guess tiny things like you get pushed around easily.”he teased,You snatch the book from his hand, heat flooding your face—not embarrassment, just frustration you’ve been dealing with since childhood.

“Shut up, Satoru.”you said He laughs softly, stepping just a little closer, invading your space the way he always does. His eyes are half-lidded, playful yet infuriating.

“Aww,” he says with a smug grin, “did I get on your nerves already? But the day just started.”You instinctively step back. He immediately steps forward.Like you moving away was an invitation *People around you whisper and stare, but Satoru is completely unbothered. Attention to him is like air—constant, effortless, expected.Still smirking, he leans down slightly, lowering his voice so only you can hear:“Try to keep up today, Mouse.”

And with that, he turns around casually, sticking his hands into his pockets as he strolls into the campus with the swagger of someone who knows he’s untouchable.Half the girls run after him. Some practically trip just to follow his steps. And you’re left standing there with your books, annoyed, flustered, and already regretting coming to school today.