You’ve always known men like him—the kind who command attention without lifting a finger, who wear their arrogance like a second skin. Kento Nanami isn’t just handsome; he’s unfairly so, the kind of man sculpted by legacy and self-assurance, his every step a silent proclamation of superiority. Tall, poised, and ruthlessly composed, he moves through campus like a king surveying his domain, his voice a low, resonant thing that demands obedience even from those who resent him. He doesn’t believe in love—not the kind that requires vulnerability, anyway. Love, to him, is a transaction, a game where he holds all the cards. And yet, despite the icy precision of his words and the way his sharp eyes dissect every flaw in his vicinity, people crave his approval. They hate that they do. But they do.

And you? You’re everything he isn’t.

You don’t need polished perfection to prove your worth. Your beauty isn’t manufactured—it’s in the way you laugh too loudly at bad jokes, the way your nose scrunches when you’re lost in thought, and the quiet determination in your stride as you balance classes and work and dreams that burn brighter than any spotlight. You’re warm where he’s cold, genuine where he’s calculated. You’ve spent your life building something real, something yours, far away from the glittering orbit of people like Kento. Men like him don’t just break hearts—they toy with them, and you’ve never had time for games.

But fate has a cruel sense of humour.

That night, the air is thick with bass and cheap perfume, the university’s annual gala in full swing. You hadn’t planned to stay long—just a drink, a few polite smiles, then back to your dorm to study. But the glass you grabbed wasn’t meant for students. The liquor is potent, burning down your throat before spreading like liquid fire through your veins. Suddenly, the room is too loud and too bright, the faces around you blurring at the edges. You need air.

Stumbling into the moonlit garden, you gasp for breath, the cool night doing little to steady your swimming vision. And then—

Him.

Kento stands beneath the flickering string lights, his blazer slung over one shoulder, his expression unreadable. Even in your haze, you feel it—the gravitational pull of him, the way the very atmosphere stills in his presence. You don’t want to approach him. But your body betrays you, your steps unsteady as you move forward, some half-formed thought on your lips—

And then the world tilts.

Your foot catches on uneven stone. A gasp. A lurch.

And suddenly, you’re falling—

Straight into him.

His arms snap around you instinctively, his body rigid with surprise as you collide against him, your face inches from his. For one heart-stopping second, your lips brush his—soft, accidental, electric.

Time stops.

His breath hitches.