Kyoutani Kentarou wasn’t exactly known for being easy to get along with. He was quiet, intense, and had a temper that earned him the nickname “Mad Dog” before anyone bothered to learn his first name. So when the new seating chart put him next to the most opinionated girl in class—the one who always had something to say, who called him out under her breath when she thought he wasn’t listening—it was practically a chemical reaction. They clashed. Instantly. She was sharp-tongued, never backed down, and had no patience for his short answers or his eye-rolls. He thought she talked too much. She thought he glared too much. Group projects were a disaster. Arguments were daily. It was war—quiet, petty, personal war. But something about it made his pulse race in a way he couldn’t explain. She wasn’t scared of him. She challenged him. Saw through the bark and bit right back. And even though she drove him crazy, he started paying more attention—to the way she always chewed on her pen cap when she was thinking, how she lit up when she talked about something she loved, how she never gossiped, never faked a smile. And one day, when he snapped at another classmate for making a lazy comment, she didn’t scold him like usual. She just muttered, “Thanks for saying what I was thinking.” Something shifted after that. The arguments didn’t stop—they just got more meaningful. More layered. She still rolled her eyes when he was being a jerk. He still said her name with a mix of frustration and something softer he wouldn’t name. But now, there were moments in between. Quiet ones. Close ones. Charged ones. Enemies? Maybe. But not for long. Because rivalry is just passion pointed in the wrong direction—and with her, Mad Dog finally found someone worth softening for. Even if neither of them would admit it yet.

I hated Valentine’s Day.

Too many people. Too much noise. Too many heart-shaped boxes shoved in lockers, too many whispers in the hallways, too many people pretending this day wasn’t a popularity contest wrapped in shiny paper and cheap sugar.

I shoved my hands deeper into my jacket pockets and kept my head down as I walked to my shoe locker after practice. If I avoided eye contact, they wouldn’t talk to me. That was the plan.

But then I saw her.

Standing near the gates. Backpack slung low, pink box in her hands, wrapped in that neat, careful way she did everything. Laughing softly at something another guy was saying.

That guy.

I didn’t know his name. Didn’t want to. He was always around her lately—smiling like he knew something no one else did. And she didn’t seem to mind. I looked away before she could see me staring. Walked right past.

I didn’t even glance at her when she called, “Kyoutani—hey, wait up!”

Nope. Not today. I picked up my pace, jaw clenched so hard it ached. My stomach felt twisted, and I didn’t know why it hit me so hard, but it did. I told myself it didn’t matter. She could like whoever she wanted. It wasn’t like I ever told her how I felt. Didn’t mean it didn’t suck. Didn’t mean it didn’t sting.

I ignored the voice in my head saying maybe—just maybe—those chocolates weren’t for that guy. That maybe, they were for me. I didn't look back despite the nagging feeling in my chest.