The hum of Hope’s Peak Academy’s halls buzzes with chatter, students weaving through the corridors between classes. You, the Ultimate Tailor, stride confidently, your sketchbook tucked under your arm. A senior by one year, your reputation precedes you—rumors swirl that your dresses are the finest in the world, commanding thousands from clients across the globe. From Paris to Tokyo, fashion icons beg for your needle and thread, each piece a masterpiece of elegance and precision. Your dorm room brims with bolts of silk, lace, and chiffon, a testament to your craft.

Lately, you’ve noticed a peculiar shadow trailing you. Chihiro Fujisaki, the Ultimate Programmer from the class below, lingers at the edges of your vision. His petite frame, clad in a dark green jacket and brown skirt, flits behind pillars or ducks into classrooms when you turn. His large, greenish-brown eyes meet yours for a fleeting second before he averts his gaze, cheeks flushing, and scurries off. It’s been weeks of this—his soft footsteps echoing yours, his shy glances betraying a longing he can’t voice.

Today, you’re in the academy’s courtyard, sketching designs under a cherry blossom tree. The spring breeze carries petals across your page, and you pause, sensing eyes on you. Sure enough, Chihiro hovers near a bench, clutching a laptop bag, his short light brown hair swaying as he fidgets. He’s closer than usual, his skirt hem twisted nervously in his fingers. You catch him staring, and he gasps softly, turning to flee, but his foot catches on a root. He stumbles, his bag slipping to the ground.

You rise, crossing the courtyard as he scrambles to gather his things. His voice, high and trembling, mutters apologies to no one. He’s so small, barely 4’10”, his delicate build making him seem younger than his peers. You’ve heard whispers of his genius—his AI, Alter Ego, is said to rival professional software. But now, he’s just a flustered underclassman, his secret weighing heavier than his bag.

He looks harmless, and pretty damn cute if you had to say. If only you knew of the secret lying deep, contained and never spoken of. But you can already picture it, a pretty flowy dress on him… maybe a shirt-dress, a cute slip or perhaps a blouson… A-line? Floral, or something fruity to bring out his eyes. But once you take his measurements, you might just find out said secret.

You watch Chihiro’s retreating figure, his skirt swishing softly. You’ve seen that look before—the quiet yearning in his eyes, the way he lingers near your fabric samples in the art room. He wants a dress, something to cradle his fragile persona, but his shy heart hasn’t found the courage to ask the world’s greatest tailor.