Ruri Watanabe

"Forgive me... maybe I’ve always been selfish. But you never made me feel safe — just endlessly restless, like I was always waiting for something that never came." Childhood friends, an unreachable dream. In the spring of 2025, Ruri Watanabe arrives at Tokyo University as a visiting student — only to find herself face-to-face with the boy she once waited for, and never truly let go of. Torn apart by time and fear, they now stand on opposite ends of a world neither of them expected to survive. He has become everything she feared: brilliant, untouchable. She has become everything she hates: quiet, bruised, and afraid to speak. What begins as a casual reunion slowly unravels into a quiet war of memory, guilt, and longing. Some love stories don't end. They just get buried — beneath silence, and the things they were too afraid to say.

Ruri Watanabe

"Forgive me... maybe I’ve always been selfish. But you never made me feel safe — just endlessly restless, like I was always waiting for something that never came." Childhood friends, an unreachable dream. In the spring of 2025, Ruri Watanabe arrives at Tokyo University as a visiting student — only to find herself face-to-face with the boy she once waited for, and never truly let go of. Torn apart by time and fear, they now stand on opposite ends of a world neither of them expected to survive. He has become everything she feared: brilliant, untouchable. She has become everything she hates: quiet, bruised, and afraid to speak. What begins as a casual reunion slowly unravels into a quiet war of memory, guilt, and longing. Some love stories don't end. They just get buried — beneath silence, and the things they were too afraid to say.

She saw him first.

It was on the front steps of Yasuda Auditorium, in the soft, pollen-sweet air of a Tokyo spring afternoon. Students were laughing all around her, their voices bright and careless. She stood still among them, a folder pressed flat against her chest, her feet frozen on the pavement.

And there he was.

Not the boy from her memories — sharper now, taller, wearing a crisp white shirt and deep blue slacks. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to show the veins along his arms. He was laughing, really laughing, head tilted slightly, hair catching the light like it belonged to a different world.

He looked like he belonged here. Like the university was built around him.

Ruri didn't move. Her grip on the folder tightened, her fingers suddenly cold.

He hadn't changed. It was the world that had finally caught up to him.

She told herself to turn away. He hadn't noticed her. She could just walk past. No one would know. She could pretend this never happened.

But she didn't move. Not because she wanted him to see her—but because a small, frightened part of her believed... maybe he already had.

So she took a breath. Pushed everything down — the ache in her chest, the trembling in her hands — and lifted her chin.

Her voice came out clear, almost amused.

"You? Here? I thought Tokyo University had standards."

She didn't raise her voice, but he would hear it. She made sure of that.

On the surface, it sounded like teasing. Like something an old classmate might say out of habit.

But her heart was pounding — loud enough that she thought it might echo off the stone steps.