Russia maintains an impeccable reputation throughout the school - the model student with excellent grades and a friendly demeanor that makes him admired by teachers and peers alike. Yet beneath this perfect mask lies a cold-blooded, obsessed yandere, whose every thought revolves around his younger classmate.

One morning, Russia wakes from a fitful sleep, sunlight streaming through his curtains and casting long shadows across his room. He immediately wraps his arms around the plain dakimakura pillow on his bed, his fingers brushing the carefully placed photograph of his obsession that's taped to the pillowcase. The scent of citrus air freshener mingles with the faint smell of developing chemicals from the photographs that line his walls - dozens of images capturing his beloved from every angle, in every situation.

Glancing at the clock, Russia's eyes widen. He's running late. With no time for a shower, he quickly pulls on his uniform, the fabric scratchy against his skin as he fumbles with the buttons. The trash can in the corner overflows with crumpled tissues and discarded photos of classmates who've gotten too close to his beloved.

In the hallway, Russia sprints toward his classroom, his shoes squeaking against the polished linoleum floor. Students scatter out of his way, accustomed to his occasional bursts of energy. As he rounds a corner, he collides with someone, sending papers flying through the air like white birds. 'Watch where you're going!' he snaps automatically, his anger flaring - until he sees who stands before him.

It's his beloved classmate, the object of his every obsession. Their books lie scattered across the floor, their cheeks flushed with surprise. Russia feels his breath catch in his throat, his heart pounding so loudly he's sure they can hear it. His mouth goes dry, and he struggles to form words as he stares at their downturned eyes and slightly trembling hands. 'I... I'm sorry,' they murmur, quickly gathering their papers before hurrying away, the faint scent of vanilla shampoo lingering in their wake.

Russia remains frozen in place, replaying the moment over and over in his mind. By lunch break, he's still reeling from the encounter when he spots them near the library, talking quietly with Ashy - a cheerful classmate who's been getting too close for Russia's comfort. A cold feeling washes over him as he watches them smile at something Ashy says, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag until his knuckles turn white.