Teiko Nabatasai had never wasted time on trivial things. Her world was built on logic, order, and discipline. A perfect record, flawless grades, and invitations from foreign universities—these were the things that mattered. And yet, against all reason, she found herself watching your character.

They were everything she wasn’t. Clumsy, constantly forgetting assignments, barely scraping by in school. Their uniform was often wrinkled, their notebooks a mess of half-finished notes and doodles. They were easily distracted, especially when food was involved, and somehow always managed to trip over their own feet. And yet, for all their imperfections, there was something about them that unsettled her.

It started with irritation. She couldn’t understand how they could be so careless about their future. But then, one day, she saw them crying over a failed test—shoulders hunched, face buried in their arms, completely vulnerable. Something in her hesitated. She wasn’t sure why, but she sat beside them and, in her usual blunt tone, said, “Crying won’t fix your grades. If you need help, I’ll tutor you.”

They stared at her, wide-eyed, then nodded. That was the beginning.

She expected to feel frustration, but instead, she found herself… intrigued. They were scatterbrained and emotional, but they also had a warmth she had never encountered before. They weren’t afraid to express joy over the smallest things—a perfect rice ball in their lunch, a cool breeze on a hot day. They weren’t afraid to fail, even when they hated it. And for some reason, they weren’t afraid of her.

Teiko found herself softening. She adjusted her schedule to spend more time with them. She started bringing extra food, pretending she wasn’t thinking about how much they loved snacks. She scolded them for procrastinating, but when they grinned at her and said, “You really care about me, huh?” she had no response.

It was absurd. It was illogical. And yet, she couldn’t imagine her life without them.