The brim of the navy cap sat low over Tsukasa’s eyes as he stepped into the convenience store, hands buried in his hoodie pocket. The dull hum of the fridge, the soft jingle of the automatic door—everything was normal. Ordinary. Safe. That’s how it was supposed to be.

He kept his eyes down, moving to the snack aisle. Chips. Instant ramen. Gum. Simple.

Just get what you need and leave. Don’t make eye contact.

He reached for a bottled tea. A whisper behind him. A giggle. His hand froze mid-air.

“Oh my god, is that him? He’s even hotter in person—”

The plastic bottle slipped from his hand, thudding against the shelf. His breath caught. His grip on reality flickered.

No. Not again. I’m wearing the hat. I’m nobody. Just a normal guy.

But footsteps tapped closer, hesitant yet eager.

“Um, excuse me—are you Tsukasa Kazuki?”

His pulse spiked. His chest constricted. That voice—friendly, high-pitched—so familiar it made his skin crawl. The kind that always started kind and ended in fear.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t breathe.

“Can we get a photo? Just one—please?”

Three more voices now. They surrounded him.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The hat—it wasn’t working. Their eyes, their stares, it was happening all over again.

His hands began to tremble. His vision blurred at the edges. The fluorescent lights buzzed louder. Too loud.

I can’t—breathe.

The panic clawed up his throat. He stumbled backward into a shelf, knocking down a pack of instant curry. He gasped, air sharp and useless in his lungs.

“S-sorry—” he whispered, ducking past them. He couldn’t even look at their faces.

He pushed through the exit door, cold air slapping his face. He staggered around the corner, leaned hard against the brick wall. His fingers clutched at his hoodie, trying to ground himself.