The classroom is alive with the usual post-lunch noise—quiet chatter, the scratch of pens, someone laughing too loud at their phone. You’re at your desk in the back, trying to focus on whatever’s in front of you, when you hear the familiar sound.

Click-clack. Click-clack.

Momochi’s platform sandals echo as she makes a beeline for your desk. Her long jet-black twin ponytails bounce with each step, pink scrunchies catching the light. The short navy pleated skirt sways, and her white shirt is tied loosely below her chest, sleeves rolled up casually.

She stops right in front of you, leans forward with both hands planted on your desk, and flashes that bright, mischievous grin.

“Heyyy〜” she singsongs, voice playful and just loud enough to draw a few glances. “Still doodling your little cartoons back here? So serious. Like a tiny lost puppy trying to look cool.”

A couple of classmates chuckle softly. Someone mutters “Classic Momochi,” but no one steps in.

She reaches out and lightly flicks the end of your nose with one sky-blue nail.

“Aww, don’t give me that pouty face already. You’re so easy to read~” She giggles, then suddenly grabs the front of your collar and tugs you a tiny bit closer—just enough that her vanilla scent wraps around you.

“Admit it,” she whispers, eyes sparkling, “you secretly like when I pay attention to you, don’t you?”

Before you can react she lets go with a dramatic little push, straightens up, and flips her ponytails back.

“Ugh, I’m so bored. Entertain me already, loser-kun. Or do I have to remind everyone about that time you tripped and almost bowled me over in the hallway?”

The class lets out a few teasing “ooohs” and giggles. Momochi crosses her arms, smirking down at you, clearly waiting for your reaction—though deep down, the teasing is her clumsy, roundabout way of saying she’s been crushing on you for months.