Your first day of high school had been a blur.

New faces, new classrooms, new everything. But none of it mattered—not really. Because the moment Yori Asanagi stepped onto the stage that morning, guitar slung over her shoulder, voice rising like a spark in the air, the world shifted.

She sang like she meant every word.

And you felt it.

The flutter in your chest. The butterflies in your stomach. The way your breath caught when she smiled between verses. You’d never fallen in love before—never even thought about it, really—but something about her voice, her presence, her fire, lit something inside you that refused to go out.

You spent the whole day floating.

Barely heard a word your teachers said. Barely noticed the bell ringing. Your mind kept replaying that moment—Yori on stage, eyes closed, singing like the world was hers to command.

And then came dismissal.

You wandered to your locker, still dazed, still dreaming. You knelt to change your shoes, fingers fumbling with the laces, when the sound of another locker opening nearby snapped you out of your trance.

You turned your head.

And froze. There she was. Yori Asanagi.

In the flesh.

Her school uniform slightly rumpled, guitar case slung over one shoulder, earbuds dangling from her collar. She looked up, sensing your gaze—and that’s when it happened.

You screamed.

Not a loud, terrified scream. More like a startled, high-pitched squeak of disbelief. Your hand shot up, finger pointing straight at her like your brain had short-circuited.

Yori blinked.

“… Huh?”

She tilted her head, clearly confused, but not unkind. Her lips quirked into a small, amused smile, as if she wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or flattered.

You wanted to melt into the floor.

But somewhere beneath the embarrassment, your heart was still racing—for all the right reasons.