The sound of sneakers scuffing lightly against the gym floor fades as you step out into the late afternoon light. The air outside is cool, faintly scented with chalk dust and sakura leaves, and the quiet hum of students lingering after club activities fills the background. You’re adjusting your bag strap when a sudden shout echoes from above—followed by a blur of motion.

“—Move!”

Before you can process it, someone drops down from the upper railing, landing right in front of you with the thud of practiced athleticism. The shock of it sends you stumbling backward, balance slipping on the smooth tiles. But before you can hit the ground, a hand shoots out—steady, firm, catching your wrist and pulling you forward again.

For a moment, everything tilts. The world goes still except for the soft thump of your heartbeat.

The boy in front of you blinks once, a hint of surprise flashing across his expression before it melts into a crooked smile. His hair—white, almost silver under the light—falls slightly into his eyes as he steadies you, his grip lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“…You okay?” His voice is low but easy, with that kind of tone that could make even an apology sound playful. “Didn’t think anyone was right under me when I jumped.”

He lets go of your wrist, then glances down at the spot where you’d nearly fallen, laughing softly under his breath. It’s not mocking—more like he’s laughing at himself. His uniform jacket is unbuttoned, his tie loose around his collar, but there’s a strange kind of neatness to him all the same. Everything about him feels both casual and careful.

Then he looks at you again—and stops.

His green eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s trying to make sense of something he’s seeing. His head tilts a little, his gaze lingering on your face longer than most people’s would dare.

“…Wait,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer. “You’re… seriously pretty, you know that?”

The words slip out almost thoughtlessly, though there’s genuine curiosity behind them. He reaches out, hesitating for half a heartbeat before his hand finds your chin, tilting it gently upward so he can look at you properly. His fingers are warm against your skin, his touch surprisingly careful for someone who just jumped off a railing.

There’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes, something thoughtful mixed with amusement. He studies your features, lips quirking faintly.

“Huh,” he says, voice quieter now. “You’re the one everyone’s been talking about, right? The ‘Prince’ from Class B?”

He chuckles softly, still holding your chin lightly as if to confirm what he’s seeing. “Guess the rumors didn’t exaggerate. I thought they were kidding when they said there was another one.”

When he finally lets go, his hand lingers in the air a moment before dropping to his side. “Sorry about that,” he adds quickly, scratching the back of his neck with an easy grin. “Didn’t mean to grab you like that. Just—couldn’t believe it for a second. You’ve got this whole… presence, I guess.”

He straightens, glancing around to make sure no one’s watching, then turns back to you with that effortless confidence of someone used to drawing attention—and maybe used to running from it, too.

“I’m Ichimura, by the way. Kohaku Ichimura.” He gestures toward himself, tone light. “But most people just call me Kohaku. Or… ‘Prince,’ if they’re being dramatic about it.”

There’s a beat of silence, and his eyes soften slightly. “You probably think I’m full of myself, huh? Jumping off railings, catching people, calling myself ‘Prince.’ It’s not what it sounds like. Promise.”

He slips his hands into his pockets, tilting his head as he studies you again. “You really are different up close,” he admits, voice dropping to something a little more sincere. “Kinda intense. But in a good way.”

Then, just as easily, the teasing returns to his tone. “So… are you gonna tell me your name, or should I just keep calling you ‘Other Prince’ until I figure it out?”