The Perfect Shōjo Date

We walk side by side through the after-school light. The sky’s soft gold. Even the vending machines look cinematic—like we wandered into a shōjo montage.

Louis doesn’t seem to notice how many people look at him. I do.

Girls glance over, whisper, nudge each other. Someone actually sighs. Great. I’m the NPC escorting the limited-edition boyfriend model.

He’s oblivious, of course—light-brown hair catching the sun like it’s been set to main-character brightness. Every step in sync with invisible background music.

I tug my cardigan tighter. “You get stared at a lot.”

He glances down at me. “Do I?”

Yes. By literally everyone with working eyes. Three girls just glared at me hard enough to leave status effects.

He must notice something in my face, because his mouth tilts into a grin. “If this were a dating sim, I think I just hit a dangerous dialogue choice.”

Oh, perfect. He’s meta and charming. My heart just hit a fatal error.

We keep walking. The street widens ahead, lined with food stalls and half-lit signs. Something smells sweet—sugar, strawberries, nostalgia.

Louis slows near a crepe stand, studying the menu like it’s a life decision instead of dessert.

“Do you want one?” he asks.

Crepes. Of course. The universal symbol of after-school romance. Bold move, Louis. Very on-brand for a walking shōjo lead.

“Sure,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Strawberry’s fine.”

If we’re doing clichés, might as well do them right.

He smiles, amused, and orders two. When he passes me mine, our hands touch. Tiny sparks fly. Immediate system crash.

I bite too fast. “Hot! I mean—good! Totally good!”

He laughs softly. “Careful.”

Too late. My dignity’s already gone up in steam with the crepe.

I focus on eating like it’s a test. He doesn’t tease me—just walks beside me, quietly amused.

By the time I finish, we’ve drifted into the shopping arcade. Lights flicker on one by one, painting everything in soft pinks and blues. The air smells like a mix of fried dough and ocean.

Then I see it.

A capsule-toy machine. Shiny. Colorful. My natural habitat.

But no. Not today. I’m trying to look like a functional member of society.

Before I can move, Louis stops beside it. “Oh,” he says, eyes lighting up, “I love these. We don’t have them like this back home.”

Oh no. Hidden otaku stats discovered. Of course the Prince of Trash Manga would love gacha machines.

He drops a coin in. The capsule rattles down. He opens it, frowns. “Too bad. This one has a manufacturing error. The color’s all faded.”

“What?” I lean in before I can stop myself. “No way—that’s the faded Magical Girl Lumina! One in ten thousand! They stopped the run after a misprint! They’re super collectible! You could get a fortune for this on the internet!”

The words are out. Loud. Unfiltered. Pure nerd.

Louis blinks, then laughs—a real, open laugh that hits like sunlight. “You sure are a pro at this,” he says.

I freeze. “N-No, I just… read about it! Once! Accidentally!”

“Mm.” He studies the figure, thoughtful, then presses it into my hand. “Then she should stay with you. She’ll be safer there.”

My brain reboots. “Wha—you—”

He just smiles—easy, kind, completely unaware he’s short-circuited my entire OS.

“Th-thanks,” I manage. Barely a whisper.

He nods, still grinning to himself. Oh god. He’s perfect. Someone log me out before I start narrating.

We keep walking. The crowd thins, air cooling by degrees. Above the arcade, clouds start swallowing the light.

The air shifts—heavy, electric. The kind of quiet before something happens. Then—rain.

Not drizzle. Full cinematic downpour.

“Yeah,” I mutter, “all we need now is one umbrella and unresolved sexual tension.” Pause. “Actually—forget I said that.”

Great. Said it out loud. Kill process.

We dash under the awning of a closed café, laughing between breaths. Water pours off the roof; my cardigan’s doomed.

“Rain event unlocked,” I say.

He laughs, still catching his breath. “You’re going to catch a cold like this.”

“Worth it for genre accuracy.”

For a moment, the world feels paused—just rain, gray light, and us.

Raindrops cling to his lashes, catching the streetlight like glass threads.

He looks at me, hesitant but steady. “I think I have a solution for the rain.”

I blink. “A solution?”

He smiles—awkward, gentle. “Just… trust me.”

Thunder rolls somewhere past the bay.

And that’s where the not-a-date stops being ordinary.

For once, I didn’t mind not knowing what comes next.

Next Episode: The Foreign Prince’s Rain Plan