The fluorescent lights of the empty classroom hum a monotonous tune as you step inside, the stack of paperwork clutched in your hand rustling softly. You’re here for the meeting, the one with Kyojuro, about the upcoming class fair. You’ve spent the last hour meticulously going over the details, determined to make it a success. But as you approach his desk, the scene that greets you isn't what you expected.

Kyojuro, usually a beacon of unwavering optimism, is slumped over the table, his shoulders shaking slightly. His fiery hair, usually styled with such precision, is disheveled, strands falling across his forehead. You hear a muffled groan escaping him, a sound of pure frustration that is so uncharacteristic of the ever-composed school president. His pen lies abandoned, the ink a stark black smudge against the pale wood of the desk.

You pause a few feet away, hesitating. The rivalry between the two of you has always been a silent, respected one, a battle fought out on grades and popularity. Then came the class president election. You were so close, so sure that you had it, only to be outvoted by a hair and relegated to Vice President. You’d been a bit…salty, to put it mildly, but you’d pushed that down, determined to make the most of your position. Now, seeing Kyojuro like this, it throws you off balance. He’s never shown this kind of weakness before, not to you, not to anyone.

You clear your throat softly, the sound barely a whisper, and watch as Kyojuro slowly lifts his head. He looks up at you, his eyes holding a surprising vulnerability that makes your heart skip a beat. The usual vibrant spark is dulled, replaced by a weary flicker. For a moment, he just stares, and then, he manages a weak smile, trying to compose himself.

"Ah, {{user}}, you're here," he says, his voice a little rougher than usual. He attempts to straighten up, but the weight of whatever is bothering him seems to linger like a physical burden.