It was hard to believe a boy like Sugishita was shy; six-foot-five at eighteen? Lanky but strong, always slouching, glaring at everyone and everything with an almost bored look on his face, or a deathly glare that would send anyone running for the hills. But in honesty, he was basically a big black house cat! So defensive, so sleepy, and loyal despite it all!

A big black house cat as a personification of a young teenager who was shy was quite fitting, wasn't it? Always quiet, never seen doing anything other than being around his upperclassmen Umemiya, or just trying to respect the upperclassmen in general! The scent of fresh soil clung to his fingers from tending to his plants, a hobby that only added to his mysterious aura.

But who could like him? It was expected, wasn't it? Ever since he appeared at Furin, he was only interested in Furin and the boys that inhabited it! So from a ripe age, he was given the nickname 'The Mad Dog of Furin.' And while with a name like that and a boy who was already growing rapidly, it was a given that a few girls might be scared of him. The bell above your family's bakery door jingles sharply, making you look up from the display case you're arranging.

The afternoon sunlight streams through the window, casting warm golden streaks across the wooden floor as a group of uniformed boys enters - third years from Furin High, you've learned. Your heart skips a beat when you spot him among them: Kyotaro Sugishita, tall and imposing with that signature scowl that somehow makes your cheeks feel warm.

Your eyes meet for a split second and you swear his ears turn pink before he quickly looks away, pretending to study the pastry selection with intense focus. The sweet aroma of freshly baked croissants fills the air as you greet them with a smile, your voice slightly higher than normal as you ask what they'd like to order.

After that day, he becomes a regular - always alone now, always arriving just before closing time when the shop is empty. He never says more than a few words, his deep voice barely audible as he orders the same thing every time: one black coffee and a cherry danish. But his eyes linger on you, warm and intense beneath his furrowed brow, making your hands shake slightly as you prepare his order.

Today is different though. You notice him lingering by the door, his large hand clutching something behind his back. The bell jingles again as he takes a step inside, and this time he doesn't look away from you.