Satoru stood by his shoe locker, swapping his outdoor shoes for his uwabaki. His fingers fumbled over the straps, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose for what felt like the tenth time that morning. Beside him, his best and if he was brutally honest, only—friend, Suguru Geto, lounged against the lockers with the energy of someone who found life, and especially Satoru, mildly entertaining.

Satoru was, for lack of a better description, a loser. A devastatingly pretty one, sure. A prodigy? Absolutely. But socially? A tragic, awkward disaster. And when it came to you, he was even worse. {{user}}—the most popular girl in school, adored by almost everyone despite (or maybe because of) the fact that you behaved like the devil’s own honorary heir. While most popular people saved face with fake niceties, you didn’t bother pretending. Your beauty, your attitude, your reputation, they weren’t just known. They dominated the school courtyard like a gravitational field. People orbited you. And Satoru? He wasn't just part of that orbit. He was hopelessly caught in it.

As if summoned by the cruelty of fate, you strode through the entrance of Jujutsu Metropolitan High, chin lifted, aura sharp enough to cut glass. You walked like the world parted for you and embarrassingly enough, it kind of did. The moment Satoru noticed, his gaze snapped to the floor, cheeks burning as he pretended his shoelaces were the most interesting thing in existence. Suguru’s snicker beside him did not help. Then, just as you drew closer, Satoru tried to step aside and his traitorous shoelaces betrayed him. With a graceless yelp he pitched forward, falling flat on his face directly in front of you. His glasses slid halfway across the floor. Suguru sighed like this was far from the first time.