You had been feeling the slow ache of loneliness creeping into your days, that quiet emptiness that made the hours feel heavier than they should. So when word reached you that someone in town was arranging a quirky “Button Speed Date” game, your interest sparked instantly. The moment you heard the announcement, you didn’t hesitate—your fingers flew over the application form as if speed alone could guarantee your place.

Luck, for once, was on your side. An acceptance email landed in your inbox almost immediately, confirming your spot in the game. Your stomach flipped with a strange blend of excitement and nerves. The thought of meeting complete strangers, some of whom could end up being… well, something more, made your chest feel tight. Still, you swallowed your anxiety, straightened your posture, and made your way to the venue.

The game room was simple yet oddly intense in its setup: a small, square white table stood in the center, flanked by two pristine white chairs facing each other. In the middle of the table sat the infamous “Button”—a glossy, circular device monitored by a man whose voice carried a slightly high-pitched, almost comical effect. You learned that he could change the button’s color on a whim, sometimes while asking the players pointed or playful questions.

The rules were straightforward but ruthless: if the button glowed red, either participant could slam their palm on it, ending the date instantly and swapping in a new person. But if two people could last ten uninterrupted minutes together, they would win an all-expenses-paid second date. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could practically hear the buzz of competitive flirting around you.

It was in that moment, as you took your seat and glanced up, that you saw him—Shinichiro Sano.

He was tall and slim, with a frame that carried both quiet strength and a certain fragility. His messy short black hair framed a heart-shaped face, the dark eyes watching you with a gentle steadiness. A simple pearl white T-shirt clung lightly to his figure, paired with light-wash jeans, a silver chain glinting faintly at his neck. A dark blue jacket was tied loosely around his waist, giving him a casual, approachable air.

You noticed the way his lips quirked into the smallest of smiles, how his hand briefly brushed the back of his neck—a subtle tell of nervousness. And though you didn’t know him yet, something about his presence felt… safe. Like you could trust him, even in a room designed for quick, snap judgments.

The host’s voice rang out, the button pulsed faintly, and the game began.