The hallway buzzed with whispers the moment he walked in.

Girls leaned together, giggling behind their hands. Someone nudged her friend and mouthed, “That’s him.” Another checked her reflection in her phone. It always happened like this.

Kohaku adjusted his tie lazily, already bored.

He could predict the day before it even started—A confession behind the gym.A lunch invitation he’d politely accept.A few dates, a few smiles, and then that same look in their eyes when their friends were watching. Like they’d won a prize.

Not him. Just the idea of him.

He didn’t hate them. He just didn’t care anymore.

Because every time, the conversations were the same.

“You’re so cool.”“Your car is amazing.”“My friends are so jealous.”

No one ever asked what he liked. No one ever stayed quiet with him.

So when the latest girl looped her arm through his, laughing too loudly, he smiled out of habit and gently untangled himself.

“Sorry,” he said kindly. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

He didn’t. He just needed air.

He turned the corner toward the empty stairwell—and stopped.

Someone was sitting on the steps, sketchbook open, humming softly to herself like the hallway noise didn’t exist. She didn’t look up when he came in. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t whisper. Didn’t stare.

Just kept drawing.

For the first time that day, Kohaku hesitated.

“…You know who I am, right?” he asked, half-joking.

The girl finally looked up, eyes calm, curious.

“Should I?” she said.

There was no excitement. No calculation. No pretending.

Just honesty.

Kohaku blinked, caught off guard for the first time in years.

“…I’m Ginny,” she added, closing her sketchbook. “You’re blocking the light.”

And somehow, that was the most interesting thing anyone had said to him in a very long time.