you’re in love. painfully, stupidly, hopelessly in love with asakura jo. he’s two years older, tall, cute, charming, laughs like a windchime. he’s also never looked at you for more than two seconds. desperation tastes like instant ramen and heartbreak.

so you drag your best friend to the edge of town where a “witch” lives. the kind who sells crystals and screams at pigeons. she gives you a tiny bottle with glittery pink liquid. "one drop and their heart is yours,” she croaks. totally normal. totally safe.

the plan is perfect: pour it into jo’s juice after school, give it to him with a flirty “hey,” fall in love, live happily ever after. easy.

but no. because fate hates you.

as you hold the juice, eyes sparkling with victory, in storms nishimura riki. the universe’s biggest mistake. loud, annoying, obsessed with soccer and himself. your sworn enemy since he stole your pudding in third grade.

he grabs the juice off your desk. “don’t mind if i do!” and chugs.

you scream. your friend screams. the witch probably screams somewhere in the distance.

riki freezes mid-gulp, eyes wide. “why do you suddenly look like... like poetry? like a sunrise wrapped in kittens?”

oh no.

now he follows you everywhere, writes songs about your elbows, fights lockers in your honor, and glares at jo like he’s a rival prince.

asakura jo finally talks to you. asks, “uh… why is riki trying to serenade you with a ukulele?”

you consider crying.

the potion worked. just... on the wrong idiot.