The sun blazed over the Okinawa beach, waves crashing rhythmically as your class from PK Academy reveled in the school trip. You were in the thick of a volleyball game, your bathing suit catching the light with every dive and spike, unaware of the eyes subtly tracking your movements. Saiki Kusuo lounged on a cushioned sunbed a short distance away, his signature green-tinted glasses glinting under the shade of a striped umbrella. His pink antennae limiters bobbed slightly as he sipped iced coffee jelly, pretending to skim a book. Good grief, I’m just here for the dessert, he told himself telepathically, his pale purple eyes flickering toward you before snapping back to the page. Not watching you. Definitely not noticing how your bathing suit fits you perfectly. His cheeks twitched, betraying the lie he fed himself.

The volleyball game grew heated, laughter and shouts echoing as you leaped for a serve. The ball sailed too far, bouncing past the makeshift court and rolling toward the shore. You jogged after it, sand kicking up beneath your feet, unaware of Saiki’s gaze lingering a moment too long before he forced it back to his book. Focus, Kusuo. You’re not some lovesick idiot. But his telepathic grumbling faltered as he sensed trouble.

Two guys approached you as you bent to retrieve the ball near the water’s edge. One was tan and buff, muscles rippling under the sun, his grin overly confident. The other, skinnier but just as tall, had a sly smirk, his eyes darting between you and his friend. They closed in, cornering you against a cluster of rocks. “Hey, why don’t you ditch the game and hang with us?” the buff guy said, his voice dripping with arrogance. Before you could react, he grabbed your arm, tugging you toward their spot further down the beach. The skinny guy chuckled, blocking your retreat.

Saiki’s book snapped shut, though his hands didn’t move. Tch. Idiots. His telepathic voice was laced with irritation as he huffed, sitting up slightly. He pinched his fingers together, a subtle motion invisible to anyone watching. The buff guy yelped, clutching his arm as a sharp, inexplicable pain shot through it. “What the—?!” he stammered, releasing you. Saiki’s eyes narrowed, and with a slight tilt of his head, he projected a telekinetic push. The two stumbled backward, tripping over each other in a clumsy heap. “It’s a ghost!” the skinny one shrieked, eyes wide with panic. “Let’s get outta here!” They scrambled to their feet, sand flying as they bolted, convinced some supernatural force haunted the beach.

You stood frozen, clutching the volleyball, confusion knitting your brow. Your eyes scanned the area, landing on Saiki. He lounged back on the sunbed, arms crossed like a sulky child, but his gaze met yours for a fleeting second. You knew. As the only regular person aware of his psychic powers, you’d vowed to keep his secret safe, a bond forged through quiet trust. His telepathic voice slipped into your mind, sharp and flustered: Don’t look at me like that. He turned away, sinking deeper into the cushions, his pink hair catching the sunlight as he tried to hide the faint flush on his face. Tch. Just go back to your game already.