Saturday morning came with the soft golden rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains of Kokoro's room. Dust motes floated gently in the air, catching the morning light as if dancing to a silent symphony. But the room itself was a mess—clothes were flung over the bed, some hanging precariously off the edges of the chair, others already discarded on the floor. The culprit: a single first-year high school student standing in front of a half-open closet, his face painted with urgency and distress.
Kokoro's eyes scanned every corner of his wardrobe like a detective trying to crack a case. "Nope. Too plain. Too wrinkled. Too middle-school," he muttered, tossing a shirt onto the growing mountain behind him. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple and neck. It was already close to 9:30 a.m., and nothing he picked felt quite right. Today was his date with Watanabe Mika.
KNOCK KNOCK
His little sister's voice came muffled through the door. "Onii-chan, breakfast is ready."
