In a bustling Tokyo middle school, 11-year-old Satoru Gojo loved to tease Y/N, the new Korean girl in class. Every day, he’d tug her ponytail, drop silly notes, or find ways to make her blush, while her best friend Hana watched with a knowing smile.

“Maybe he likes you,” Hana would say, but y/n would scoff, her cheeks turning pink.

Gojo’s friend Suguru Geto would tease him, too. “You’re obsessed, aren’t you?”

One afternoon, with Hana out sick, y/n sat alone until Gojo plopped down beside her. “Where’s your guard dog?” he joked, grinning.

“She’s not my guard dog!” y/n huffed, feeling her heart race.

“Maybe,” Gojo said softly, “I just like sitting here with you.”

She was stunned silent, but Geto broke the moment, calling them “lovebirds” as the bell rang. Though neither would admit it, everyone knew the truth: Gojo didn’t just like teasing y/n—he just liked her.