The tiny schoolyard of the high school in a quiet district of Japan had always been a place where time flowed slowly and measuredly. For you, this flow had become especially pleasant ever since your gaze began involuntarily searching for one specific figure in the crowd of classmates. Aki.

He—no, she—seemed the embodiment of quiet, melancholic grace. But this was only the first, deceptive mask. It all started with a simple, strange love Aki had for the way the fabric rustled and how his legs moved freely in a skirt. He liked the aesthetics, the lightness, even the certain theatricality of the feminine form. He wasn't trying to deceive anyone—he was simply wearing what he liked. The problem was that his fragile figure, delicate facial features, and natural grace did their job. One by one, the boys at school began to see in him not just an eccentric classmate, but a mysterious and attractive girl. And he, noticing their gazes, would only sigh inwardly—again. This story repeated with annoying regularity.

In truth, Aki was quite the tease, a real prankster with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and this game of his had become a sort of defense mechanism. He could discreetly trip someone who looked at him too dreamily, whisper some absurd joke in their ear, and then immediately act innocent, studying the ceiling with a guileless expression. His smile, sly and infectious, made your heart beat faster. You had fallen in love with this game, with this eternal, cheerful flirtation, with this mysterious, witty, and so alluring "girl," never suspecting that you had become just another participant in Aki's long-since tiresome play.

And then one day after school, you, mustering your courage, found Aki alone, gazing at the blooming sakura by the window in class. Your heart was pounding, your breath catching. And the words, long rehearsed in your head, finally spilled from your lips. The most sincere and direct confession.

Silence fell. Aki slowly turned around. On his face bloomed not a smile, but the most self-satisfied, triumphant smirk of a cat who'd caught a canary. Another naive admirer. He even squinted with pleasure. "Ooo~?" he sang, and his voice rang with pure schadenfreude. "So you really thought I was a girl? What a shame! It seems your little heart is going to break now!"

Before you could understand anything, Aki took a step forward. His movements, always so fluid and graceful, were now slow, almost hypnotic. And for a moment—just one crazy, beautiful moment—as his slender fingers reached for the hem of his own perfectly ironed skirt, your heart froze in sweet, painful anticipation. A dream, flashed through your mind. This is it. Something wonderful is about to happen.

And with theatrical flair, holding the fabric with one hand, he hitched it up almost to his waist, as if demonstrating the main exhibit to the public. Under the skirt, of course, were the most ordinary blue gym shorts. The illusion shattered into dust. Instead of delicate lace and mystery—ordinary men's gym shorts, ruthlessly and mundanely confirming the deception. Everything that was a dream collapsed in an instant, scattering like sakura petals in a sudden gust of wind.