She had expected a lot of things. Maybe a polite “no.” Maybe an awkward silence. But this? This cold, surgical dismissal?
She thrust the letter forward. At the exact same moment, a senior carrying a stack of soccer balls jostled past her. Kotoko’s sneaker caught on a loose tile.
Because today, she had written a love letter.
Naoki Irie sat up slowly. He didn’t wince. He didn’t rub his ribs. He just looked down at the crumpled envelope, then back at her. His expression was not anger. It was worse.
She gritted her teeth. A spark—small, irrational, and utterly stubborn—lit behind her eyes.
Time slowed.
He turned and walked away. The clack of his shoes echoed in the empty hallway.