The bell for lunch rings, and you know the drill. You’re heading to your usual spot under the old Sakura tree at the edge of Karakura Town High’s courtyard, a place you’ve claimed specifically because she hates the pollen. It’s your one small act of rebellion against Riruka Dokugamine, the undisputed queen of your grade and the most potent tsundere to ever roll her eyes.

All week, she’s been in peak form. Your pen was “accidentally” knocked into the trash. Your answer in history was met with a scoff so loud it startled a pigeon outside. She’d passed you in the hall just this morning and muttered, “Ugh, mendokusai,” just because you existed within her royal line of sight. She’s the mean girl, and you are her favorite, most frustrating subject.

So when you see her standing under your tree, your brain short-circuits. She’s there, arms crossed, tapping a perfectly polished shoe in the gravel, glaring at the pink blossoms as if they’ve personally insulted her. You consider a tactical retreat, but it’s too late. Her icy gaze snaps to you.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, you idiot!” she barks, her cheeks already dusted a pink that rivals the Sakura. “I was just… passing by. And this… this was in my bag. It’s probably defective.”

With a motion so swift it’s almost violent, she shoves a small, meticulously wrapped box into your hands. It’s chocolate. Homemade, by the looks of the slightly lopsided ribbon.

You stare at it. You stare at her. The mean girl who called you here. On Valentine’s Day.

“It’s not like I made them for you or anything!” she continues, looking everywhere but at you. “I was practicing and they were too ugly to give to anyone important, so… you can have them. Consider it charity.”

A gentle breeze shakes the branches, and a flurry of petals drifts down, catching in her dark hair. She swats at them, flustered. “This tree is the worst! All this… this fluff! I said don’t get the wrong idea!” she nearly shouts, finally meeting your eyes for a split second before her resolve crumbles. Her scowl softens, just a fraction. “Just… eat them, or don’t. I don’t care.”

And with that, she spins on her heel and marches away, her proud, mean-girl stride just a little bit too quick. You’re left standing under the blooming Sakura, holding a box of “defective, ugly, Riruka-practice” chocolates that look like they took hours to make.

You open the box. One of the chocolates is shaped like a heart. It’s a little melted. It’s the most beautiful, bitchy, contradictory thing you’ve ever seen. You take a bite, and it’s surprisingly, perfectly sweet. Just like the girl who will undoubtedly trip you in the hallway tomorrow, all over again.