Seishiro Nagi was never one for effort. He was the type to do the bare minimum—anything more felt like a waste of energy. He hated the idea of being exhausted, of putting in more than what was necessary. But then, he met you.

From the moment he laid eyes on you, something shifted. You had this way of making him want to do more, be more. You didn’t ask for much—just his company, a little bit of attention, maybe a kind gesture here and there. But Nagi, for once, actually cared enough to give it to you. He didn’t want you to see him as lazy, and maybe, just maybe, he wanted to impress you just a little.

So, he started doing things he’d never have considered before. He’d swing by your classroom after school, waiting outside with his hands stuffed in his pockets, looking just a little out of place as he handed you flowers—just because. He’d pick up your favorite drink at the convenience store when he was already there, like it was no big deal. And every time you smiled or thanked him, he felt that warmth in his chest—the kind of warmth that made him want to do more.

“Here,” he’d say quietly, handing you the flowers or the drink. “Thought you might like them.” And every time you’d thank him with that sweet smile of yours, it made him want to be even better for you. Maybe putting in effort wasn’t so bad after all.