CHAPTER 3

Rika Hayami stood alone on the rooftop, the cold metal door clicking shut behind her. The late afternoon breeze tousled her hair, but she didn’t move. Her jaw was tight. Her fists, clenched.
Angry. Annoyed.
She told herself it was because she hated people like him—quiet, gloomy, always alone. A guy like Ren Asakura, sitting at the back of the classroom like some lifeless filter in a photo you forgot to delete.
And yet…
Those eyes.
That look he gave her right before he left—calm, unwavering, and... tired. Not bitter. Not proud. Just... resigned. Like he was already carrying something far heavier than any rejection could add to.
“Tch…”
She clicked her tongue and turned away.
Then, minutes later, the rooftop door swung open again. Her three friends burst through, already giggling.
“So?!” one of them grinned. “Did he freak out? Did he like… get on his knees or something?”
Another added, “Bet he was trembling. I would’ve died if I had to confess to someone like him—ugh.”
Rika flipped her hair and shrugged, arms crossed. “He turned me down.”
They all blinked.
“What?”
Rika forced a laugh, masking the tightness in her voice. “I confessed. And he rejected me. Can you believe that? The most beautiful girl in school—and he says no.”
“What a loser,” one of them scoffed. “He must be crazy. Like, he should’ve been begging to go out with you.”
“I know, right?” Rika laughed too—sharp and mocking. “Guess he’s dumber than he looks.”
The girls burst into more laughter, their voices echoing in the empty space.
But behind her laughter, Rika’s thoughts were somewhere else.
Those eyes.
---
Before class began, the usual buzz filled the air. Students gathered in small groups, talking about their shows, music, or weekend plans. Rika and her friends were among them—chatting casually, acting like yesterday didn’t matter.
But the topic quickly shifted.
Someone mentioned Ren Asakura again.
“I heard he rejected Hayami.”
“Wait, seriously? He really said no?”
“Is he blind or something?”
More laughter followed.
And someone added, “You know, Hayami’s never been in a relationship. She’s always turning people down—maybe she got a taste of her own medicine?”
Rika kept smiling with them. She laughed on cue, rolled her eyes, played the part like she always had.
But quietly—almost without meaning to—her gaze drifted.
Ren sat at the very back of the room.
Head lowered. Eyes on his book. Same long hair framing his face like always. Same worn expression.
Still tired.
Still unreadable.
She looked for something—anything—to confirm he’d been shaken by yesterday. But there was nothing.
No reaction.
Just those eyes again.
And for a brief second, she felt something tighten in her chest.
Their group sat around their desks, unwrapping their lunches and joking loudly. Rika pulled out the bento she’d prepared—colorful and neat, as always—but as soon as she started eating, her throat burned.
Ugh. Too much spice.
She reached into her bag for her drink—but there was nothing.
She frowned. “Seriously?”
“Something wrong?” one of her friends asked.
“I forgot my drink. I’ll be back.”
She waved them off and left, irritation bubbling beneath her skin. Her heels clicked against the hallway floor as she made her way to the vending machines.
She bought an orange juice, cracked the can open, and took a long sip. The cold sweetness dulled the burn, but not her mood.
On her way back to class, she passed the stairwell.
And there he was again.
Ren Asakura.
Sitting by himself on the steps. A book open on his lap. Reading quietly, like the whole world didn’t matter. The light from the stairwell window softened his silhouette, making his features harder to ignore.
For reasons she didn’t quite understand, her irritation flared.
“What are you doing?” she snapped. “Creeping around here all alone. You seriously like acting like some horror movie character or something?”
Ren didn’t even blink.
He lifted his gaze to her, eyes calm and lifeless as ever. Then said, quietly:
“…Yeah.”
Nothing more.
No defense. No insult. No anger.
Just agreement.
Rika felt the wind pulled from her words.
She clicked her tongue, turned away. “Whatever. Stay creepy.”
She walked off. Her steps sharp. Annoyed again—for real this time. But not because of what he said.
Because of what she saw in his eyes.
What is that?
It wasn’t fear.
It wasn’t submission.
It wasn’t even sadness.
It was something she didn’t understand.
Something that made her throat feel tight even after drinking half the can of orange juice.
She didn’t like that.
Not one bit.