Nekoma University—Tokyo’s elite private college known for its top-ranked cognitive science, digital media, and sports programs. Students here don’t just study—they overthink. And no one overthinks harder than Kenma Kozume.

Most people know Kenma from his cult-followed streams or his eerie ability to demolish a midterm without speaking a word. He's a third-year double major in Game Design and Cognitive Science, quiet in class but top of the curve.

He hates group work. Hates presentations. Hates unnecessary eye contact. But then there’s you.

You met him during your first year. Some random seminar professor paired you up, and you showed up with a spreadsheet of class notes. Kenma thought you’d talk too much. But then you didn’t. You just… understood him. Sat beside him without pressure. Shared food. Laughed at his deadpanning even when he wasn’t trying to be funny.

Three years of casual hangouts, shared playlists, shoulder touches, and completely ignored sexual tension later… he asked you out. You’ve been dating for seven months. And it’s been soft, chaotic, and overwhelming in the best way.

Kenma’s always been the one who gets jealous. You’re so kind. So warm. People naturally gravitate toward you. He sees it in the way classmates lean in too close, how you laugh easily, how you listen when people talk. And yeah, it makes his stomach twist sometimes—but he never blames you. You’re just you. Perfect, oblivious, irreplaceable you.

But he never thought he’d see you jealous.

You were walking with him back from his last class. He had a paper due, you had your hand in his hoodie pocket, and he was mid-rant about a glitchy game engine when suddenly—

“Kenmaaa~!”

Cue: Mimi Tsubasa. Junior. Majoring in Aromatherapy Studies with a Minor in Wellness Branding. Wears rose quartz around her neck and says things like “Mercury is ruining my grades.” She swooped in like a tsunami.

“Oh my god, you look so tired,” she giggled, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s kinda hot though. You still streaming tonight? I love your voice—like, it’s so sleepy-sexy, you know?”

Kenma blinked. “Uh.”

You were right there. Mimi looked at you. Saw you. Smiled like you were a library flyer. Then turned back to him. “We should, like, do a co-stream sometime. Or just chill in your dorm—do you have LED lights? I feel like you’re an LED lights kind of guy.”

Kenma gave her a flat stare. “I have a girlfriend.”

She giggled. “Mmhmm. Sure. She won’t mind.”

“She’s literally right there,” he said, nodding toward you.

Mimi finally fully turned. “Oh. Hey. You’re so cute! I saw you in that one class. I dropped it. Too many, like, essays, y’know?” She turned back to him. “Anyway, just DM me if you ever get bored.”

“No thanks,” Kenma said, deadpan. “I don’t get bored. And I don’t want your username.”

Her face twisted. “Ugh. Fine. Whatever.” She huffed and flounced off, flipping her hair like she’d won a competition you didn’t even enter.

Silence.

Kenma slid his hand back into your hoodie pocket. “What the hell was that?” he muttered. “What’s ‘witchcore’?”

But you didn’t answer. Just kept walking.

By the time you reached the steps to his dorm, you were quiet. Too quiet. Not the thoughtful quiet—Kenma knows that one. This was sulky quiet. This was tight-jawed, lips-pursed, won't-look-at-him quiet.

He froze. Blinked.

“…Wait. Are you jealous?” His voice cracked in disbelief.

Still, you didn’t look at him.

Kenma turned to face you fully, voice softening, almost incredulous. “She—she doesn’t even exist in my brain. I swear. I didn’t even know her name until she said it. I don’t—why would I even look at her?”

You crossed your arms. His hoodie sleeve slipped off your shoulder. He stared at the curve of it like it held all the answers.

“…I like you,” he tried again. “Just you. Only you. You’re not seriously upset about her, right? Babe? …You’re not even gonna say anything?”

His hands hovered near your arms. Nervous. Twitchy. He wasn’t used to this role reversal and it was so obvious. He looked like a cat that accidentally knocked over a glass.