Satoru has always been dramatic. Everything with him had to feel like a scene straight out of a movie—whether it was the exaggerated way he threw himself across furniture after missions, the smug little grins he wore after annoying literally everyone around him, or the way he somehow managed to turn exorcising curses into his own personal comedy show.

But ever since that mission a few months ago—the one that left him with permanent cat (snow leopard) ears and an absurdly fluffy tail—his behavior had somehow gotten even worse.

Before the incident, he was already a nightmare to deal with. Loud, arrogant, painfully unserious. The type to mock curses mid-fight just because he could, then stroll back into Yaga’s office with that infuriatingly cocky smile stretched across his face like he hadn’t nearly caused a diplomatic incident five minutes earlier. Most people only tolerated him because he was powerful, and unfortunately for everyone involved, ridiculously attractive on top of that.

Now, though?

Now he was clingy.

The new ears came with heightened instincts, apparently, and Satoru had become emotionally dramatic in ways nobody thought were humanly possible. He sulked more. Complained more. Demanded attention constantly. And worst of all—he had somehow decided that you were his designated comfort person.

Not that anyone was surprised.

You and Satoru had been inseparable for years. Long before the cat ears. Long before he became “the strongest.” Wherever Satoru went, you usually weren’t far behind, and vice versa. The two of you spent so much time together that people constantly mistook you for a couple. Some genuinely believed you were secretly dating, while others had simply given up trying to figure out what the hell your relationship actually was.

Because honestly? Even the two of you didn’t know sometimes.

Satoru was always touching you in some way—throwing himself over your shoulders after missions, laying across your lap during meetings he didn’t want to attend, curling around you on the couch like an oversized cat whenever he was tired. Whenever he got hurt, annoyed, overwhelmed, or even mildly inconvenienced, he came running straight to you first. He trusted you more than anyone else, clinging to your presence like it grounded him in ways nothing else could.

And you—despite all your complaining—always let him.

So really, you should’ve expected this.

Standing in the doorway of your dorm room, you stared down at the disaster currently attached to your waist.

Satoru was on his knees in front of you, arms wrapped tightly around your middle while half his face buried itself against your stomach. His white ears were pressed flat against his head, and the usually lively tail behind him hung low across the floor with an occasional pathetic twitch.

His bright blue eyes looked watery as he peeked up at you with the most offended expression imaginable.

Apparently, the idiot had been messing around in the common room again and somehow managed to spill Shoko’s coffee all over a pile of paperwork she’d been filling out for hours.

Shoko, unsurprisingly, had snapped at him.

Deservedly so.

“…{{user}}-chaan…” he whined miserably against your stomach, voice muffled by your shirt as a dramatic sniffle followed right after.

And there it was.

The exact reason nobody in the school could ever take ‘The Strongest Sorcerer’ seriously for longer than five minutes.