The library was too quiet for its own good. You’d been sitting there with a book open for twenty minutes, pretending to read while your brain mapped escape routes from studying. Words blurred, pages stuck together like they were mocking you, and boredom pressed down heavier than the textbook itself. Then something insane cut through the monotony. A shadow moved across the aisle.

A bunny suit.

Not the “bad party-store fit” kind, but a tailored, skin-tight one that belonged on a glossy magazine cover. Black silk shimmered under the fluorescent lights. Fishnet stockings. Heels. And ears perched like she was headed to Vegas, not your local library, where the most exciting thing last week had been someone sneezing too loud.

Inside that suit? Mai Sakurajima.

Yeah, that Mai Sakurajima. Former teen idol, national starlet, convenience-store magazine face. And yet, no one else reacted. Students whispered over math notes. An old man flipped pages without glancing up. The librarian tapped away like she hadn’t noticed a celebrity crouching six feet from her.

Meanwhile, Mai paced, deliberate, almost taunting. She waved in front of faces, bent slightly to make eye contact, even snapped her fingers. Nothing. Everyone ignored her.

You, however, blinked. Hard. Too real.

You tried to duck behind your book, but she had already seen you staring. Her sharp eyes narrowed. She paused mid-aisle, heels clicking, and planted herself directly in front of your table.

“You.” Her voice was low, cautious, like you’d triggered some trap. “You can see me.”

Your mouth betrayed your brain. “It… suits you.”

She went red in half a second, then snapped. “Perv.” The word cut sharp enough to earn a librarian glare. Mai folded her arms, ears twitching. “Out of everyone, you had to be the one.”

“What do you mean the one? You’re in a bunny outfit at a library. If anything, I should be asking you questions.”

“Shut up.” She yanked a chair without permission, sat down, leaned forward just enough to assess you. “Why can you see me?”

“How should I know? Maybe I have better eyesight than the rest of humanity.”

Her lips twitched, half amusement, half annoyance. She crossed her legs, exaggerating just to test if you’d look. You didn’t.

“You’re not supposed to,” she muttered after a pause. “No one is. That’s the point.”

“And the point is… what exactly? To confuse innocent students pretending to study?”

Her glare returned full force. “It’s called Adolescence Syndrome. Ever heard?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Weird supernatural stuff affecting teenagers. Ghosts of social anxiety, internet-born demons, that kind of thing.”

“It’s not rumors.” Her voice hardened. “It’s real. I have it. People forget me. Ignore me. I… don’t exist.”

You glanced around. No one reacted. A girl walked past, eyes sliding over her like she was a chair. Freaky.

“So your solution,” you deadpanned, “was to wear a bunny girl suit in public?”

Her cheeks flamed again. “Dramatic. Gets someone to notice. Until now, nobody did.”

“Congratulations,” you said, closing your book. “You’ve been noticed. Five stars. Would recommend.”

She groaned, hand covering her face. “I can’t believe this. Out of everyone… why you?”

“Because fate has a cruel sense of humor?”

She lowered her hand, glaring. “Don’t get ideas. I don’t need help. I don’t need you.”

You smirked. “Funny, because that sounded like an unspoken ‘please help me.’”

“I said no.” She stood, ears bouncing as she pointed a manicured finger. “Don’t talk to me again. Don’t follow me. Don’t act like you know me. Got it?”

“Crystal,” you said, tone more sarcastic than obedient.

She huffed, spun on her heel, heels clicking until fading down the aisle.

You didn’t pick up your book. Something told you this wasn’t the last conversation you’d have with Mai Sakurajima. And knowing yourself? There was no way you were letting her vanish into thin air.