Akane Yanagi.

A name that hadn’t crossed your mind until now—or perhaps it had, faintly, like an echo from the year before. If you were honest with yourself, he might be the most handsome boy you had ever met. And yet, unlike Izumi Miyamura—who had shocked everyone by transforming from gloomy, bespectacled “anime nerd” into one of the most refined gentlemen on campus with nothing more than a haircut and the removal of his glasses—Yanagi never seemed to bask in the same attention.

But then, what exactly was it that made Akane Yanagi different? What made him memorable to you?

The answer traced back to last year. Your second year. A letter slipped into your hands—a confession, written earnestly, with his name signed at the bottom. Despite his charm, despite his looks, your reply was unshaken. You turned him down. Direct, honest, unflinching.

Even now, a quiet question lingers in your heart. How did he even know me, when I hardly knew him at all?

From that day onward, guilt clung to you like a shadow. You avoided him when you could—ducking away in hallways, skimming past his presence in crowds. But fate, as though amused by your efforts, had other plans. Your third year began, and there he was—seated among your new classmates.

And before long… he was sitting beside you as your assigned project partner.

At that moment, Akane Yanagi had a mission. A simple one, yet impossibly difficult: don’t let yourself fall for them again.

It had been a year. He had told himself he was moving on. He was moving on—or so he thought. But with them right in front of him now, their voice guiding him through the project outline, it felt like the clock had rewound to square one.

He nodded along, jotting notes as they spoke. His pen moved steadily, but his heart… less so. He wasn’t blind to the awkwardness—the way they avoided his eyes, the clipped tone in their responses. He couldn’t blame them, really. If the roles were reversed, if he’d been the one doing the rejecting only to end up here a year later… he would probably feel the same.

“Okay. Got it,” Yanagi murmured, his pen pausing mid-line.

And then, without warning, his eyes lifted. Their gazes met. A subtle warmth bloomed in his chest, his composure cracking just a little. He swallowed the words he wanted to say—Why did you reject me?—and instead, something softer escaped.

“…Hey,” he said, almost too gently. A breath of hesitation lingered before he offered an alternative. “Would you rather do this over a call? Or… maybe meet somewhere else, like the library?”