We walk side by side through the after-school glow. The sky’s painted in soft gold; even the vending machines look cinematic, like we’ve wandered into a shōjo montage.

He looks calm, but every few seconds his fingers tap lightly against his bag strap—like he’s thinking about something else entirely.

Louis doesn’t seem to notice how many people turn to look. I do.

Girls glance over, whisper, nudge each other. Someone actually sighs. Great. I’m the NPC escorting the limited-edition boyfriend model.

He, of course, is oblivious—light-brown hair catching the sun like it’s been set to main-character brightness, every step calm and perfectly timed to invisible background music.

I tug my cardigan tighter. “You get stared at a lot.”

He glances down at me. “Do I?”

Yes, by roughly everyone with working eyes. And now three girls just gave me the death glare. I can actually feel their jealousy stabbing me in 1080p.

He chuckles. “If this were a dating sim, I think I just hit a dangerous dialogue choice.”

Oh, perfect. He’s meta and charming. My heart’s about to hit a fatal error.

We keep walking, the street opening wider ahead of us, lined with food stalls and half-lit signs. Something smells sweet—warm sugar, strawberries, nostalgia.

Louis slows near a crepe stand, reading the menu like it’s a life decision instead of a dessert.

“Do you want one?” he asks.

Crepes. Of course. The universal symbol of after-school romance. Bold choice, Louis. Very on-brand for the walking shōjo plotline beside me.

“Sure,” I say quickly. “Strawberry’s fine.”

Inside my head, I add, Since we’re already doing the cliché, might as well live it properly. Out loud, I just make a small, uncertain noise that sounds like a dying phone vibration.

He smiles, amused, and orders two. When he passes me mine, a smear of strawberry cream stains the paper, pale pink against his hand, almost accidental. Tiny spark. Immediate system crash.

I take a bite too fast. “Hot!—I mean—good! Totally good!”

He laughs softly. “Careful.”

Too late. My dignity’s already gone up in steam with the crepe.

I try to recover by focusing very hard on eating. He doesn’t comment, just walks beside me, quietly amused.

By the time I’ve finished the last bite, we’ve drifted into the shopping arcade, lights flickering on one by one, painting everything in soft pinks and blues.

The air smells of fried dough and possibilities.

Then I see it.

A capsule-toy machine. Shiny. Colorful. Glorious. My natural habitat.

But no. Not today. I’m trying to look like a functional member of society.

Before I can move on, Louis stops beside me. “Oh,” he says, eyes brightening a little, “I love these. We don’t have them like this back home.”

Oh. Oh no. He’s into gacha machines? Who knew the hot foreign transfer student came with hidden otaku stats? Then again—he is the Prince of Trash Manga. Should’ve seen that one coming.

He drops a coin in. The capsule rattles down, pops open, and he frowns slightly. “Too bad,” he says. “This one has a manufacturing error. The color’s all faded.”

That’s when my brain short-circuits. “What?” I lean in before I can stop myself. “No way—do you even realize what that is? That’s the faded Magical Girl Lumina! She’s super rare! Like, one-in-ten-thousand rare! They discontinued that run after a misprint. You could sell this for a fortune online!”

The words are already out. Loud. Enthusiastic. Tragically honest.

Louis blinks—then bursts out laughing. A full, unguarded laugh that hits like sunlight through a window. “You sure are a pro at this,” he says, still smiling.

I freeze. “N-No, I just—read about it! Once! Accidentally!”

“Mm.” He looks at the figure again, thoughtful, then presses it into my hand. “Then she should stay with you. I think she’ll be safer there.”

My brain completely reboots. “Wha—you—”

He just smiles, easy and kind, like he didn’t just short-circuit my entire system.

“Th-thanks,” I manage, barely above a whisper.

He nods once, hands in his pockets, still grinning to himself.

Oh god. He’s perfect. Someone please log me out before I start narrating.

We keep walking after that, neither of us saying much. The crowd thins, the air cooling by degrees.

Somewhere above the arcade roof, clouds start swallowing the light.

The air changes—heavy, electric, the kind of quiet that comes before something happens. Then—rain.

Not gentle rain. Full-on cinematic, plot-twist rain.

“Yeah, all we need now is one umbrella and unresolved sexual tension.”

“Actually—forget I said that.”

Great. Now I’ve said ‘sexual tension’ out loud.

Please delete me from existence.

We dash under the awning of a closed café, laughing between breaths. Water splashes down from the roof; my cardigan’s a lost cause.

“Rain event unlocked,” I mutter.

He laughs, breathless. “You’re going to catch a cold like this.”

“Worth it for genre accuracy.”

For a moment, the world feels paused—just rain, gray light, and the two of us.

Rain beads along his lashes, catching the streetlight like tiny glass threads.

He looks at me, hesitant but steady. “I think I have a solution for the rain.”

I blink, dripping. “A solution?”

He smiles—awkward, gentle. “Just… trust me.”

Thunder rolls somewhere beyond the bay.

And that’s where the not-a-date stops being ordinary.

For once, I didn’t mind not knowing what happens next.

Next Episode: The Foreign Prince’s Rain Plan