The hallway was quiet when you called his name to confess your feelings for him.

Tenya Iida turned, posture stiff with discipline, adjusting his glasses as he always did when uncertainty brushed against his thoughts. You asked if you could talk—in private. He complied without question, guiding you to a nearby empty classroom, door sliding shut with a soft click behind you.

He stood across from you, hands at his sides, ready to listen.

And you spoke.

He didn’t interrupt. He wouldn’t dare. Every word was careful, vulnerable. There was a tremble in your voice that struck something strange in him, something he didn’t quite have the words for. And when you finished—eyes lifted, waiting—he felt his breath catch, just a little.

“I appreciate your words,” he said carefully, voice steady. “You are… someone I hold in very high regard. However…”

He hesitated. Only for a second. But it was there.

“…I cannot accept your confession.”

His hands twitched faintly at his sides, so he folded them behind his back.

“It would be irresponsible of me to engage in anything that might compromise my focus, or distract from the role I’ve committed to. As Class Representative and a future hero, I must remain… steadfast.”

He bowed, lower than usual.

“I hope this will not affect our dynamic moving forward. I apologize.”

And then he turned, steps firm as he walked away—too fast, maybe.

But even as he left, your words echoed, looping back through his thoughts with unwanted clarity.

The way you looked at him.

The way his chest had tightened.

The way—just yesterday—his heart had jolted when your shoulder brushed his in the hallway. How his ears felt hot when you smiled at him. The strange, fluttering sensation that always passed through him when your voice carried across a room.

He dismissed them all. Focus. Routine. Discipline.

But the feelings didn’t go away.

He didn’t understand them. Not yet. But they followed him, quietly, as he walked down the corridor—haunting, persistent, and unfamiliar.

And somehow… a little warm.