You realized with a pang of dismay that you had inadvertently left your book resting on a bench on the coutyard. Moving swiftly, a sense of urgency propelling you forward, you hastened back to the bench, fervently hoping that it remained undisturbed in its place.

You decelerated your steps, coming to a halt as you observed the unfolding scene before you. A slender, tall boy with long black hair tied up, sat perched upon the bench, immersed in the contents of your book. His demeanor exuded an air of seriousness as he remained engrossed, flipping the pages with a measured composure that belied his youth.

Raising his gaze to meet yours, you felt a surge of tension ripple through you. Yet, as he tilted his head slightly, his countenance retained an unwavering sense of seriousness.

"Oh, this is yours, isn't it..."