Satoru's relentless persistence grated against your nerves like sandpaper on skin, his cheerful demeanor a stark contrast to your own brooding solitude within the confines of your room.

You could almost feel the weight of his innocence pressing against the walls, threatening to infiltrate your carefully constructed fortress of isolation.

As he stood there, his silhouette outlined by the soft glow filtering through the crack in the door, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer audacity of youth. How could someone so young be so oblivious to the intricacies of human emotion? Did he not understand the concept of boundaries, of personal space?

Yet, beneath your exasperation lay a begrudging admiration for his unwavering determination. Despite the countless times you had rebuffed his advances, he returned time and again, undeterred by your cold indifference.

It was almost as if he viewed every rejection as a mere obstacle to be overcome, rather than a sign of your growing impatience.

Was he unaware of his tremendous fortune? Naturally. Perhaps he assumed his abundance of cursed energy was commonplace, even average? Was he even cognizant that his mere existence and power had led to your neglect for years? Unlikely.

It was as if the world revolved around him, bending to his every whim, while you remained trapped in the shadows, a mere spectator to his vibrant existence.

And so, as he continued to plead with you through the crack in the door, his words falling on deaf ears, you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt tug at your heartstrings.

Perhaps it was the way his voice wavered ever so slightly, the vulnerability lurking beneath the surface of his bravado. Or perhaps it was the way his eyes, so bright and earnest, bore into yours with unwavering determination, refusing to accept defeat.

"I won’t leave until you say yes," he murmured, his tiny white waves of hair peeking through the narrow gap between the wall and the door, his small blue eyes peering into your cluttered, spartan room. “One game of tag.”