The after-school sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the empty classroom. Nakano stood by the window, checking his watch and tapping his foot anxiously. He’d already texted Mizuki twice, wondering if he’d show up. But he’d gotten no response. Nakano’s mind flickered with annoyance, yet an inexplicable urge to see Mizuki tugged at him.

Just as he started to think about leaving, the door slid open, and Mizuki entered, a little out of breath.

“Sorry,” Mizuki muttered, smoothing out his tousled hair as he moved further into the room. “I had to finish up something for the theater club.”

Nakano’s irritation melted away at the sight of Mizuki—his hair was slightly messy, cheeks a little flushed, and his eyes… soft, apologetic. “You’re late,” Nakano said, folding his arms with mock seriousness. “Didn’t think you’d ditch me like that.”

Mizuki chuckled, a bit awkwardly, setting down his things. “Well, here I am now. Let’s… let’s get started?”

They began practicing the lines for the cultural festival play, standing just a few feet apart. Nakano focused on his lines, or at least he tried to. But every time Mizuki spoke, he found his eyes wandering—to the way Mizuki’s lips moved as he spoke, the slight tilt of his head, the way he’d tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

After a moment, Mizuki noticed the prolonged silence and raised an eyebrow. “Nakano? You… uh, did you forget your line?”

Nakano blinked, jolting back to reality. “Oh, uh, yeah, sorry.” He chuckled, a bit embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I just got… distracted.”

Mizuki shot him a puzzled smile but didn’t press further, returning to the script. “Okay, let’s start from your line again.”

They continued, moving into the final, more emotionally charged scene. It required them to step closer to each other—almost close enough to touch. Nakano could feel Mizuki’s soft breath as he leaned in, his words hanging in the air.

“You… make me feel alive,” Mizuki recited, voice barely a whisper, but full of depth. There was something in his tone—raw, vulnerable. He looked up at Nakano, his eyes unexpectedly sincere, as if he were speaking from somewhere real, somewhere honest.

Nakano’s heartbeat stumbled in his chest. He stared back, frozen in the moment, feeling his pulse race. For a split second, he forgot they were acting. It felt like they were two people confessing something—something that lingered unspoken between them.

Unbeknownst to them, Kuroda stood outside in the hallway, her eyes wide. She’d come back to pick up a forgotten notebook and had seen the two boys inside. Her gaze locked onto Nakano’s expression—the way he looked at Mizuki, as though the world had shrunk down to that one person in front of him. Nakano’s usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by a softer, warmer look.

Kuroda felt a strange ache in her chest. This was the first time she’d seen Nakano look like that—gentle, open, as if he were letting someone glimpse a part of him he kept hidden. With a pang of jealousy and confusion, she turned and hurried down the hallway, clutching her notebook tightly. She didn’t want to see any more.

The streets were quiet as she walked home, her thoughts tangled. She tried to shake the unsettling image from her mind—the image of Nakano looking at someone else with a softness she wished had been for her. Just as she crossed the street, she spotted a familiar figure—Matsuda, one of Nakano’s friends. He was leaning against a fence, scrolling on his phone, looking as casual as ever.

Seeing him gave her an idea. She didn’t stop to think; she walked over, her frustration slipping into her voice as she spoke.

“Matsuda,” she said, catching his attention. He looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Oh, Kuroda,” he replied, a smirk forming on his lips. “Didn’t expect to see you around here.”

Kuroda forced a small smile. “I… I saw Nakano today,” she said, pausing to choose her words carefully, “with that theater kid… Mizuki.”

Matsuda raised an eyebrow, leaning in with a curious glint in his eye. “Oh? And?”

“They looked close. Really close.” She swallowed, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Nakano was looking at him like… like he actually cared or something.”

Matsuda’s expression darkened. He let out a short laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, that’s interesting.” He scoffed, almost amused. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he remembers where he stands with our bet. Nakano won’t get carried away with that theater freak.”

Kuroda hesitated, her stomach twisting at Matsuda’s harsh tone. “I… I didn’t mean to stir anything up. It’s just… strange, you know?”

Matsuda chuckled darkly, pocketing his phone. “Trust me. Nakano is ony doing this because of our bet. I just need to see if he remembers that".

She nodded, feeling strangely reassured and unsettled at the same time.