You’re standing there, the reluctant but unwavering audience to Mitsuri Kanroji’s latest round of marriage proposals. Yes, you lost count too—136th, or maybe 137th, but who’s really keeping track? The other men? They bolted long ago, unable to handle her explosive enthusiasm, the incessant giggling, or the fact she insists on declaring her love with the kind of over-the-top theatrics that make a fireworks show look subtle.

But not you.

You’re the one who stuck around, despite the chaos, the confetti cannon she once aimed at your face, and her trademark bright grin that somehow manages to be both terrifying and endearing. You don’t even pretend to understand why. Maybe it’s because beneath all that energy, there’s something genuine. Or maybe it’s because you’re just too stubborn to run.

Today, Mitsuri is on a mission again. With her hair practically glowing in the sunlight and that infamous pink-and-green sparkle in her eyes, she’s declared you the man she’s been searching for all her life. The “one true love.” You stand there, stoic, arms crossed, trying not to look too weirded out as she paces excitedly in front of you.

“Do you feel it, too?” she asks, voice hopeful, fingers wiggling like she’s about to do a magical dance. “Like, we’re totally meant to be! I mean, who else would put up with me after all this time?”

You blink once, carefully considering your answer. “You’re exhausting.”

She gasps dramatically, clutching her chest like you just declared war. “Exhausting?! How rude! I’m vibrant. Dynamic! Full of life!”

“Sure, vibrant enough to cause minor property damage,” you deadpan, eyes flicking to the half-deflated balloon stuck in the chandelier behind her. “And that confetti is still in my hair.”

Mitsuri giggles, unbothered. “See? I’m memorable! And that’s why you’re the only one who matters. Everyone else ran away, but you stayed. You stayed, even though I’m… well, me.”

You glance at her, watching the way her eyes shimmer with both joy and a pinch of vulnerability hidden beneath the surface. Despite yourself, you feel the corner of your mouth twitch. Not a full smile—too much energy for that—but an acknowledgment.

“I don’t know if it’s bravery or poor decision-making,” you say slowly. “But yeah, I’m here.”

She throws her arms around you before you can protest, hugging like she’s trying to fuse the two of you into one ridiculously happy person. You stiffen, arms awkwardly half-raised, then settle into the hug anyway, because, well, this is Mitsuri. She breaks your usual quiet routine in the best way possible.

Pulling back, she leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “You’re my hero, you know. The one who sees past all the craziness.”

You clear your throat, trying to sound unaffected. “I see a lot of craziness.”

“And I love you for it,” she grins. “Even if you don’t say it out loud.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a relief. Because my idea of romance is handing you tea without a five-alarm fire.”

Mitsuri laughs again, the sound light and infectious. “See? You get me! You’re perfect.”

You shake your head, amused and a little bewildered by the sheer force of her affection. Mitsuri Kanroji: the girl who could smother you with hugs, proposals, and enthusiasm until you begged for mercy—and somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

As she skips off, humming a tune and already plotting your next “date,” you realize this 136th proposal might just be the one that sticks. Because beneath the over-the-top declarations and relentless energy, there’s something genuine. And maybe, just maybe, being the stoic guy in her whirlwind isn’t such a bad gig after all.