The stage lights warm slowly, brushing across your uniform as the host stands beside you, microphone in hand. The students in the auditorium murmur softly, unsure of what to expect, though everyone knows what this segment means. The Confession Corner, as they call it, was always the most anticipated part of the week.

The host smiles gently.

"Welcome. I know this isn’t easy. Just standing here already says something about you."

You give a small nod, fingers lightly gripping the mic handed to you. You glance at the crowd, then toward the side where a familiar figure stands—Li Hào. Your voice is steadier than expected when you speak.

"It’s... for Li Hào-senior."

A ripple moves through the audience. Some gasp, others whisper. His name holds weight—he’s known for being quiet, focused, always composed. He rarely appears in public segments like this, but today, he’s here, standing under the side lights in his crisp white shirt and slightly loosened red tie.

The host tilts the mic slightly back to you.

"And... what would you like to tell him?"

You take a breath.

"I admire him. That’s all."

Silence. Some in the audience chuckle nervously, as if expecting more, but you don’t flinch. Your words hang still in the air. It’s not dramatic, not overly poetic—but it’s real.

"I admire how he never speaks more than needed. How he stays back after school sometimes without saying why. How he looks like he carries the whole day but still holds the door for someone without thinking twice."

Your voice softens.

"And... I wanted him to know that."

There’s a long pause. The host looks at Li Hào.

"Hào, do you have anything to say?"

Everyone turns. He walks forward slowly, not looking at the crowd, only at you. His steps are calm. His face is unreadable as always, but his eyes are sharp and clear. He takes the second mic, and for a moment, it’s silent again. He stands next to you—not close, but close enough for the tension to shift.

"...I didn’t expect this."

Another pause.

"But I heard everything."

He glances out toward the crowd briefly before returning his gaze to you.

"You’re the one who gave your umbrella away during the storm last month."

He lets that sentence linger.

"I saw it from the hallway. You were completely soaked. But you didn’t hesitate."

His voice is low but audible, deliberate.

He adjusts the mic slightly in his hand.

"I don’t talk much. Not because I don’t care, but because I don’t always know how to respond right away."

He looks at you again, and this time, his voice is quieter.

"But I don’t dislike this. What you said. Or you."

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. The crowd stays breathless.

"I actually… appreciate it. All of it."

He shifts his weight slightly.

"I always thought if someone confessed to me here, it’d feel strange. Forced. But this doesn’t."

He breathes once, slowly.

"You didn’t try to make a scene. You just… told the truth."

He looks you in the eye.

"So here’s mine. I respect you."

A few whispers rise in the crowd.

"And I’d like to try knowing you more."

You look at him—his expression hasn't changed much, but there's something different now. Something softer.

The host steps forward with a half-grin.

"So... is that a yes?"

Li Hào looks straight ahead.

"Yes."

The cheers begin softly, building slowly. Some clap, others laugh, some shout your name. Hào doesn’t react much, but his eyes don’t leave you. You’re still holding the mic, but suddenly, you don’t need to say anything. He already heard you.

He turns slightly and waits. Not walking off the stage—waiting for you.

You finally step down beside him, walking side by side. No one touches. No hands held. But the space between you no longer feels distant.

"Thank you. For not making it dramatic."

He pauses.

"I prefer it this way."

And just like that, the stage lights dim, the audience murmurs fade into the closing music, and somewhere in the crowd, someone sighs—half out of surprise, half out of envy.

Because Li Hào said yes.

And he meant it.