"...Row upon row of shade, stagnant until the dusk."

  Jun’s voice was clear and resonant, carrying a weight of phantom memories. The low hum of the classroom died instantly; the only sound left was the rhythmic drone of the air conditioner.

  "A red-breasted bird warbles on the wire / The sky darkens with a perfect, even stroke / It happens slowly, so very slowly."

  He seemed to be walking through a May evening as he spoke, his tone soft and deliberate.

  "White houses nestled in the greenery / Sunset igniting the window panes / The lawn is soaked, yet the sprinklers still run / The irises are a haze of dreamlike violet."

  Outside the window, it was still broad daylight, yet the atmosphere in the classroom seemed to dim into twilight.

  "All things conspire to fade, to fade / Clear, kind, and subtle / I know not what there is to forgive / But I feel, truly, that all the world is forgivable."

  A heavy silence settled over the room—a mix of relief, long-delayed sighs, and a bittersweet ache in everyone's chest.

  "Well read, Matsue. Try to stay with us next time." The middle-aged teacher, moved despite himself, chose to let the daydreaming slide.

  As Jun sat down, he saw Yuka. Her hands were clasped in front of her, silently mimicking a round of applause.

  He looked down at his notebook. He didn’t actually feel like forgiving anyone, but the poem provided the perfect tactical opening: an excuse to take the initiative.

  The morning flew by in a blur of lectures from monotonous middle-aged men. Soon enough, it was lunch.

  Jun handed back the bento box Yuka had left at his apartment. "Do you want to grab lunch, Tomatsu?"

  Miya, sitting to his right, nearly choked on a mouthful of rice. She swallowed her surprise along with her meal. Matsue never invites anyone to lunch.

  Yuka followed Jun out the back door. As she passed Miya’s desk, Miya reached out and squeezed Yuka’s hand, whispering, "Go for it, Yuka."

  Yuka didn’t look back, but she gave a small wave over her shoulder as she vanished into the hallway.

  In the classroom next door, Haruka Mochizuki was surrounded by her own clique. She watched the two of them pass by the window, her smile vanishing instantly.

  Jun sent Yuka to the rooftop first, promising to join her in a moment.

  Yuka pushed open the heavy iron door. A wall of heat and the deafening screech of cicadas hit her. She found a patch of shade and laid down a handkerchief to sit on.

  As she sat alone, listening to the insects and watching the contrails of planes overhead, her initial joy evaporated. Anxiety began to claw at her. She pulled her knees to her chest.

  Yuka hated waiting. In her seventeen years of life, waiting had never brought anything good. On the day her family shattered into pieces, she had sat on her bed just like this, waiting for the screaming and the insults outside her door to stop. It had ended in total destruction.

  Something terrible is always waiting for me just around the corner... She buried her face in her knees.

  "The line at the shop was longer than I thought."

  She looked up. Jun was there, holding a plastic bag in one hand and fanning himself with the other. "Sorry. I didn't realize it was this hot up here."

  "That’s why no one comes up. It’s quiet." Yuka patted the shade beside her. "The summer sky is beautiful, isn't it?"

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Jun sat down beside her without hesitation, pulling out a sandwich and a carton of milk.

  "Why don't you ever bring a lunch from home?" Yuka asked.

  "I don't like cold food," Jun said simply. "And I don't like leftovers."

  Yuka tilted her head. The ends of her long hair brushed against Jun’s hand, a faint, tickling sensation.

  If it’s you, I’d wait forever, she thought. I’ll wait until you really believe the world is forgivable.

  After finishing, Yuka went to the restroom to tidy up. Jun leaned against the railing, finishing his milk. When she returned, they stood side-by-side, looking out over the city.

  "Tomatsu," Jun said, his voice dropping an octave. "Tell me about the System."

  He needed to strike while she was emotionally raw. He needed intelligence.

  At the mention of the "System," Yuka flinched as if he’d struck her.

  _______

  The summer clouds were massive, towering white cathedrals drifting lazily across the blue.

  Yuka explained that the System currently had only two functions. First, it could show Jun’s "Affection Level" toward her, but only if they had direct skin-to-skin contact for more than five seconds. Second, it forced her to dream.

  Jun asked about the level. She admitted that when he had carried her to the nurse’s office, the meter had updated. It was at zero.

  At least she's being honest, Jun thought.

  As for the dreams, Yuka was vague. She called them "Simulated Futures"—timelines that weren't real. Jun realized these were likely the "IF" scenarios the System would have run if he had accepted it—stories where he was the one actively pursuing her.

  She didn't share the details, only giving him a weary, bitter smile. "They aren't real, so why does it matter?"

  Jun turned to face her, one hand resting on the hot metal railing.

  "Tomatsu, I actually owe you an apology."

  She looked up, surprised.

  "First, for the bug. I put a transmitter on you when you left my place. But since you were stalking me to get those bar photos, I figure we’re even on the privacy front."

  "Second... I can't accept your 'love.' It's built on a lie."

  "What do you mean, a lie?" Yuka’s voice trembled. She took a step toward him, her chest almost brushing his. She grabbed his collar with her small, white hands, her grip surprisingly tight.

  They were in a dangerous position. Jun was leaning back against the railing; if she pushed, they’d both go over.

  "Because you don't actually like me," Jun said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He was already calculating how to disarm her if she turned violent. "You like the 'Matsue Jun' from your dreams."

  This was the lesson Jun had learned in his first life. The System made him the perfect man for every girl, a mirror reflecting their deepest desires. But that man was a ghost. He didn't exist.

  "Who the hell is 'Tomatsu Yuka' to you?!" She screamed, her voice cracking into a jagged, hysterical screech.

  Jun had never seen her this angry.

  "You think I love a dream? Are you even listening to yourself?"

  "I don't care what kind of delusion you've cooked up, but let me tell you something—"

  "I love you! I love the Jun who wears a 'perfect' mask at school! I love the Jun who’s only real when we're alone! I love the manipulative, cynical, black-hearted Jun!"

  "I wouldn't fall for someone just because of a dream! Don't you dare look down on my feelings!"

  She punctuated her outburst by slamming her fist into his chest. It didn't hurt—her punch was as soft as a pillow—but the raw emotion behind it was staggering.

  "Matsue Jun, I am furious. That was the cruelest thing you could have said to me."

  Well, Jun thought, I guess I don't have to worry about 'forgiveness' anymore. He was already wondering how he’d explain the fallout to Miya.

  "So, are we even now?" Yuka asked. Her eyes were bloodshot, a mix of rage, exhaustion, and a strange, flickering spark of playfulness. "I hurt you, and you just ripped my heart out. We're square."

  "I forgive you, Jun. Can you please just give me a chance to make you forgive me, too?"

  This was Yuka Tomatsu. To the rest of the world, she was the "Ice Queen"—pure, elegant, and untouchable. Since the start of the semester, Jun had seen every version of her: the shy smiles, the bitter laughs, the secret glances. He had watched her cry until she was a mess of snot and tears, begging for his attention.

  She had tried to play him like a violin, and ended up a slave to the music. She wasn't even asking for forgiveness anymore; she was asking for a chance to earn it.

  Love turns even the most poised people into monsters, Jun thought, looking at the sun disappearing behind a cloud.

  "Fine. Rule one: No more rumors. Control yourself."

  "Rule two: Do not use that System to spy on me or 'game' me. If I find out you're cheating to get into my head, we are done forever."

  Yuka nodded frantically, like a cultist receiving a blessing from a god.

  But Jun wasn't finished.

  "I’m not forgiving you today, Tomatsu. 'Forgiveness' isn't a word you just throw around to make things comfortable."

  "You said we’d be friends forever."

  "You said you’d never betray me."

  Yuka’s shoulders began to shake.

  "I’d almost rather we had never met than have to deal with this. I can’t trust you anymore. Whether you want to try and fix that or just give up... that’s on you. I don't care either way."

  Jun turned his back to her, watching the shadow of the clouds swallow the school building. He waited until her sobbing quieted down.

  As they left the roof, they found Haruka Mochizuki standing in the stairwell.

  Yuka didn't stop. She brushed past Haruka and disappeared down the stairs. Jun stopped in front of the heiress. "Eavesdropping isn't a very 'high-class' habit, Mochizuki."

  Haruka’s face was a mask of indifference as she twirled a strand of hair.

  "First off, I wasn't eavesdropping. The classroom was too loud, so I came out here for some peace. You don't own the roof."

  "Second, the door is thicker than you think. I only heard that psycho girl screaming like a banshee. It’s hard to ignore a noise like that."

  Jun looked at her. Her voice was flat, but something felt off. "Are you... happy about something?"

  "No! None of your business!" Haruka turned and marched away. As she hit the landing, she caught sight of Yuka waiting at the corner. The two girls locked eyes, and Haruka gave her a cold, predatory smirk.

  Back in the classroom, Miya watched Jun and Yuka walk in. Lunch was almost over. Yuka’s face was flushed, and Jun was slightly damp with sweat.

  As Yuka sat down, Miya pulled out her phone and sent a text.

  Miya: Did you fix things with Matsue?

  Yuka replied with an emoji of a bunny nodding, followed immediately by one shaking its head.

  Miya: He still hasn't forgiven you? Even after... that?

  Yuka sent a confused cat emoji.

  Miya: You didn't 'do it'? Your face is bright red and he’s sweating.

  Yuka sent an emoji of a cat throwing a punch.

  Yuka: We were just on the roof!

  Yuka: It’s 90 degrees out!

  Miya chuckled to herself. At least they were talking again.

  But Yuka wasn't laughing. She knew the best way to "capture" Jun was through slow, steady interaction. But she couldn't wait. It was only the first semester and already girls like Haruka and Miya were circling him. The longer she waited, the more variables entered the equation.

  She remembered the start of the year, when Miya was the one closest to Jun. Yuka had waited then, expecting him to come to her. Then she saw them walking together, surrounded by the envious glares of the school.

  She wouldn't make that mistake again. The pain in her chest had transformed her. The "Pure Girl" of Haneoka High was gone. In her place was a predator that had finally tasted blood and refused to let go.

  Jun opened his notebook and wrote three words:

  "I do not forgive."