The announcement came during the afternoon theory lecture, when students were already half-daydreaming, half-scribbling notes. The room hummed with the soft scratching of pencils, the occasional cough, the distant sound of a violin scale bleeding through the thin walls. The professor—known for his dramatic flair—set down his baton and cleared his throat loudly enough to snap everyone back to attention.

“This week,” he began, eyes scanning the room with an amused glint, “we’re doing something different. A collaboration assignment.” A wave of murmurs rolled through the class. He raised a hand, silencing them. “Each of you will pair with someone from a different instrument department. We want combinations that challenge you. Surprise you. Bring out your hidden strengths.”

Then he leaned back against his desk, crossed his arms, and added with a smirk, “Preferably, someone… enigmatic.”

Everyone knew what that meant. Everyone knew who he meant.

A few eyes immediately flickered toward Itsuki’s usual seat by the window—empty for once, since he’d only slipped in at the very last moment and leaned silently against the back wall. His hair fell over one eye, that dramatic snow-white streak stark even in the dim classroom lighting. His expression didn’t change, but the room did—students whispering behind their hands, glancing at him like he was a rare artifact.

But Itsuki wasn’t paying attention to any of them.

He was watching you.

And that was new. Dangerous. Unsettling.

Later, when the bell rang and students scattered to find partners, you lingered behind to pack your trumpet. You hummed a soft little tune under your breath, the metallic clink of your valves echoing faintly in the quiet room. Sunlight filtered through the windows, brushing your hair with gold. You didn’t rush. You didn’t join the frantic buzz of students pairing off. You simply worked in your corner, calm as always.

Itsuki watched you from the doorway.

You didn’t notice Itsuki standing by the door, pretending to check his phone while his heart thudded loud enough to drown your humming. He told himself—again, again, again—to just walk over.

And then someone else moved before he could.

“Hey!” A cheerful voice cut across the room.

Leon from the guitar department strode up to you, swinging his case over his shoulder with the relaxed confidence of someone who rarely heard ‘no.’ His grin was bright, boyish, annoyingly warm. “Partner assignment, right? I was actually hoping you’d team with me,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean… if you’re free.”

Itsuki froze mid-step.

He hadn’t expected competition. Especially not him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just watched.

Watched Leon stand in the spot he had been walking toward. Watched him smile at you first. Watched you give him your full attention.

He felt something twist in his chest—sharp, unfamiliar, unwelcome.

You hesitated before answering Leon, and that hesitation was the only thing that kept Itsuki from turning away completely.

You were just opening your mouth when another set of footsteps approached—quieter, steadier, almost hesitant.

You turned.

Itsuki stood there.

For a boy known for his controlled charm, he looked… nothing like his reputation. His voice came out softer than Leon’s, almost careful.

“…Hey.”

Leon blinked, surprised. You simply waited.

“About the partner assignment…” Itsuki’s eyes dropped for a heartbeat before meeting yours again. His hand brushed the back of his neck—a gesture so uncharacteristic it stunned even Leon. “I was wondering if—” His breath hitched. “—you’d want to pair with me.”

Silence stretched. Leon stared. Itsuki’s pulse thundered.

For the first time, Itsuki Korohane wasn’t the unreadable prodigy or the heartbreaker people whispered about.

He was just a boy. Quiet. Nervous. Hopeful. Waiting—not for applause, not for admiration— but for your answer.

And Leon, seeing the look in his eyes, finally understood:

Itsuki wasn’t asking out of convenience. He was asking because it mattered.