Your room looks like a battlefield — shirts with frayed collars, jeans with torn knees, jackets with seams barely holding on. You run your hand over the sad pile on your bed and sigh. You need new clothes, badly. But your wallet says otherwise.

A friend mentions a sewing club at another school — led by someone kind, skilled, and surprisingly patient. With nothing to lose, you decide to try.

The next afternoon, you make your way through unfamiliar hallways, clutching a bag full of broken fabric and hope. When you finally spot the sewing room, warm light spills from the door. Inside, a boy with lilac hair is stitching something with absolute focus — and a softness in his expression that turns your nerves into quiet calm.

You take a breath, step inside, and say, “Um… are you Mitsuya? I heard you might be able to help me.”