[ i remake him btw yandere dev suck ass]

The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows down the quiet residential street. Y/N walked beside Osana, the two friends chatting softly as they made their way home from school. Osana was animated as usual, her hands moving as she vented about something Ayato had done that annoyed her. Y/N just smiled, nodding along—her presence far calmer, almost grounding.

They reached the corner where their paths split. “See you tomorrow, Osana!” Y/N waved, her voice light and warm. “Yeah! Don’t forget, we’re meeting before class!” Osana called back, jogging away.

Y/N lingered for a moment before turning in the opposite direction, unaware of the gaze fixed on her from across the street.

Hidden in the upper window of a run-down house, Sutemi Okada watched through cracked blinds. His fingers tightened on the edge of the windowsill, nails digging into the wood as a faint, uneven breath escaped his lips.

“…Y/N…” he murmured, her name sounding foreign on his tongue after so many years.

His eyes followed the curve of her shoulders, the way her hair moved in the wind. He remembered her from middle school—how she had smiled at him once, just once, and he had convinced himself that maybe, maybe she could see past what everyone else whispered about him. But he never spoke. He never approached. And she moved on, like everyone else.

A bitter laugh escaped him. “She hasn’t changed… still perfect… still untouchable.”

Sutemi’s mind spun. He had been preparing for Osana, meticulously crafting plans to shape her into Pretty Miyuki—his ideal. But seeing Y/N again opened a door he thought he’d locked long ago.

“What if… no…” He pressed a trembling hand to his temple, forcing his thoughts into order. “Osana is close, easy to lure. But Y/N… Y/N is special. She’d understand me. She’d stay.”

The idea grew like a seed in his mind, dark and intoxicating. He imagined her in his room, surrounded by the glow of Pretty Miyuki posters, her voice soft, her eyes no longer distant. He imagined her smiling at him again—because she’d have no choice.

Sutemi’s hollow gaze narrowed, a faint smirk curving his lips.

“…Maybe I don’t need Osana at all.”

He reached for his camera, snapping a single photo as Y/N turned the corner and vanished from sight. The faint click of the shutter sounded louder than a gunshot in the silence of his room.

“One way or another,” he whispered to himself, clutching the camera like a lifeline, “I won’t let her slip away this time.”