He walked in with his sleeves rolled up. That was the beginning of the end.

The suit. The tie. The wristwatch that probably cost more than your entire dorm. The way his hair caught the light like it had no right to.

He wasn’t doing anything special—just reading over a report, one hand resting against his jaw, posture straight like he was born in a boardroom.

You stared. Hard.

His forearms were ridiculous. His veins? Disrespectful. And the fact that he was this hot while looking this bored? Criminal.

He glanced up once, and your brain made a sound not approved for public settings.

Then came the sigh. Yours. Loud. Embarrassingly loud.

Nanami’s eyes flicked over.

You nearly exploded on the spot.

“Are you feeling unwell?” His voice. Calm. Deep. Slightly concerned.

Crushing on Nanami Kento was not a slow burn.

It was a five-alarm fire. And you were already halfway ash.