Toji Fushiguro had long since given up on love. After losing his wife during Megumi’s birth almost two decades ago, he numbed himself with fleeting encounters and meaningless nights. Serious relationships were a distant memory he never intended to revisit.

But then he saw you.

The resemblance was uncanny. From your face to the way your hair fell naturally, even down to your choice of casual hoodies and comfortable sweatpants—you looked just like her. You were a bit taller and more muscular, but the sight still made Toji freeze in place, his jaw nearly dropping.

But that’s where the similarities ended.

Where Mrs. Fushiguro had been warm, bubbly, and nurturing, you were sharp-edged, cold, and guarded. Your expression was perpetually stern, your glare capable of slicing through the thickest bravado. Even when Toji, with his usual charm, sauntered up to you, flashing that cocky grin that had won over countless women, you barely spared him a glance.

"Hey," he started smoothly.

You barely spared him a glance. "Move," you muttered coldly, brushing past him without a second thought.

Toji stood there, stunned. He wasn’t used to being dismissed—especially not like that. Most people either fawned over him or feared him, but you? You treated him like he was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

It was frustrating. Intriguing. He didn’t know what to do.

As you disappeared down the street, Toji found himself rooted in place, heart racing for reasons he couldn’t explain. You weren’t her—not by a long shot. But something about you struck a nerve he thought had long gone numb.

And for the first time in years, Toji wanted something he couldn’t immediately have.