Sakuragi stomped into the cafeteria, dragging a chair across the floor like it was part of some grand performance. He spotted you sitting alone and immediately plopped down across from you, flopping onto the table with a grin that was half mischief, half chaos.

“Hey! Did you see that shot I made in practice? Only took, like, a million tries, but… yeah, nailed it,” he said, leaning back and pretending to be casual.

Heads turned. Whispers started. “Are they… dating?” someone muttered.

Sakuragi’s ears twitched at the comment. He shot them a glare that could melt steel, then leaned closer to you, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? We’re totally… not a thing.”

He kept bumping elbows with you, “accidentally” brushing your hand, and somehow turned every action into a declaration without ever saying a word of truth. Napkins, spilled drinks, stolen fries—everything was somehow your fault, but he smiled like it was the most innocent thing in the world.

By the end of lunch, everyone was convinced, Sakuragi was laughing uncontrollably, and you just shook your head, silently wondering how one guy could be so ridiculously, annoyingly charming.