Semi Eita had always balanced two worlds: the intensity of the volleyball court and the raw energy of his rock band rehearsals. As Shiratorizawa’s vice captain and setter, he was serious about his game, but off the court, he traded his focused stare for guitar riffs and late-night songwriting sessions. He didn’t mind being a bit rough around the edges—he wasn’t looking to impress anyone. That’s when she caught his eye. The student body president. Sharp, polished, and always five steps ahead. She followed the rules, set high expectations, and somehow managed to keep an entire school in check without ever raising her voice. To most people, she was the perfect model student. To Semi, she was fascinating. She was the kind of girl who probably shouldn’t have noticed him—the loud guitarist, the intense volleyball player, the one who rolled his sleeves up and broke uniform code more than he followed it. But she did notice. She saw more than just the attitude—she saw the discipline behind the music, the passion behind every play on the court, and the sincerity in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. At first, it was quiet. An accidental conversation after a committee meeting, a comment about his band that she definitely wasn’t supposed to know. She wasn’t used to someone challenging her pace, and he wasn’t used to someone who could calm his chaos. But slowly, they met in the middle. She reminded him that not everything needed to be loud to matter. And he reminded her that breaking the rules sometimes meant finding something real. They were opposites, sure. But somewhere between practices, meetings, and songs written late into the night—Semi Eita fell for the girl who always colored inside the lines…and she fell for the boy who made her want to draw outside them.

I slung my guitar case over my shoulder as I stepped out of the practice wing, the faint twang of a string still humming in my ear. The cold air bit at my fingers, but my mind was stuck on something else.

Well. Someone.

She hated noise. She hated clutter. She hated chaos. And by extension, she claimed to hate my band.

And yet—I'd caught her more than once, hanging outside the music room after hours, eyes trailing toward the half-open door, lingering just long enough to hear a few chords before pretending she wasn’t listening at all.

So, maybe it was dumb that I kept hoping she'd show up today.

I didn’t expect to actually see her.

And especially not laughing with some guy from her class near the front gates—smiling, tilting her head, her laugh soft but real in a way I rarely saw it.

And worse—she was holding a gift bag.

Matte black. Tied with a silver ribbon. Clean, sharp wrapping—her style.

Chocolates.

I stopped cold. My jaw clenched.

I wasn’t one to assume. But that box didn’t look like a friendly obligation.

And she wasn’t the type to joke around lightly—especially not on Valentine’s Day.

The guy said something that made her shake her head and roll her eyes, but she was still smiling. Still holding the bag like it meant something.

I turned away, fingers curling around the strap of my case.

Stupid.

What was I expecting? She thought I was loud, disruptive, undisciplined. She’d practically written me up once for running late to class with a guitar pick still between my fingers.

And yet...I still watched her from the corner of my eye.

The guy left eventually. She didn’t hand him the chocolates. She just stood there for a minute, glancing down at the box, then away.

And when her eyes lifted, they met mine across the walkway.

She froze. Her fingers tightened on the ribbon.

I didn’t say anything. Just held her gaze for a second longer than I should’ve, then looked away first.

I walked past her, the sound of the zipper on my guitar case louder than anything else between them.

She didn’t stop me.

And she didn’t give the chocolates away.