If I smile the right way, they stop asking questions.
If I laugh at the right time, they stop looking deeper.
That's the secret to being Souta Ren.
Every day, I wake up before 6, not because I want to, but because I can't sleep in a house that doesn't know what peace feels like. My father talks like he's in a meeting even when he's home, and my mother asks how I'm doing like she's reading off a script. Our house is big, clean, full of expensive things and empty. Always empty.
I'm the golden boy.
The "prince."
Top grades. Good looks. Good at sports. Teachers love me. Girls stare.
It's all true. And none of it matters.
Because I know most of them only like me for what I give them status. Reputation. A seat near the spotlight.
Like Itsuki and Yuto.
They're always around, always talking, always dragging me into shallow conversations about who's hot, who's weak, who's worth knowing. They laugh loud, but never with meaning. I've caught them trash talking to me more than once. But I let it go.
Because it's easier to pretend I don't notice than to face the silence that would replace them.
The only time I feel like a person not a product is at Café Soleil.
It's a quiet little shop with creaky chairs and warm light. The owner, Miss Aya, doesn't care about my name or my grades. She just hands me the apron and trusts me not to mess up the espresso machine.
I like that.
I like the way the café smells. I like how no one stares at me like I'm a trophy here. I like how my real self doesn't feel so wrong when the world slows down behind a coffee counter.
But I didn't expect to see her walk in.
Sayuri Misaki.
She looked out of place like someone who wandered into the wrong story and didn't know how to leave. But she didn't flinch when our eyes met. She didn't squeal or gasp or ask for my number.
She looked tired. Like someone who's been invisible for too long.
I knew her name already. Not because of gossip, but because I always noticed her. She sat two rows ahead of me in math. Always quiet. Always sharp. Never laughed when people made fun of her. Never looked like she cared about being seen.
But I saw her.
"S-Sayuri… Misaki, right?" I asked.
She looked surprised. Like she didn't expect anyone to know her name.
Especially not me.
She nodded softly. Her voice was low when she ordered. Like she was scared her words might crack the air too loudly.
I wanted to ask if she was okay.
Instead, I made her a latte. Added a little caramel drizzle. Just because.
When I brought it over, her fingers brushed mine, and something small and warm lit up in my chest.
I walked away before I said something stupid.
I like her.
I've liked her for months.
But I've never told anyone. Not Itsuki. Not Yuto. Not even myself, not until now.
Because liking Sayuri Misaki isn't easy. Not if you're me.
She's everything real. And I'm everything fake.
She doesn't try to impress anyone. She doesn't hide her sadness behind plastic smiles. She just... exists, quietly, like the truth everyone else ignores.
And I don't want to ruin her.
Later that night, I sat in my room and opened the notebook I never showed anyone. Notebooks are safe. Paper doesn't judge.
I wrote one line:
"I hope she comes back."
Not because I need her to like me back.
But because when she's there, I feel like maybe I can stop pretending for five minutes.
Maybe I don't have to be the prince everyone wants me to be.
Maybe I can just be Souta.