Rooftop Hideout and Weekend Plans
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The morning classes wrapped up without a hitch, ushering in lunchtime.
No sooner had the bell rung than Tae-il shot to his feet, only for Sakuya to grab him.
"Taichi, where you headed?"
"Tuck shop."
"Then I'm coming too!"
"Don't you have practice? You're the star of the sports clubs, right?"
"Not everyone in sports can practice during exam season."
No matter what anyone said, a student's primary duty was academics.
Openly practicing during exams was a luxury reserved for third-years who'd given up on college or those with stellar grades.
That included kids whose career paths were already locked in.
For the baseball team, once a draft spot or pro nomination was all but certain, studies took a backseat to full-throttle training.
Sakuya, as a school-recruited scholarship athlete, had some leeway from those restrictions, but as the only first-year among the upperclassmen, she still had to watch her step a bit.
"Which is why lunchtime is my free time!"
Sakuya winked and slapped Tae-il's back with a hearty whack.
Tae-il winced at the sharp sting shooting up his spine.
"Fine, whatever…."
"Hurry up then! Get there late like yesterday, and we'll be waiting forever again!"
"Yeah, yeah."
Sakuya shoved Tae-il from behind as he dragged his feet.
What could sports club kids do to blow off steam when club activities were banned?
Head to the fields or gym during lunch, of course.
With barely an hour for lunch, every minute counted for them, so they favored the quicker tuck shop over the cafeteria.
"Hellscape."
"Told you. Should've hustled."
Sakuya scolded Tae-il as she shouldered through the crowd. Even the kids desperately holding their ground parted like the Red Sea the moment they realized it was Sakuya pushing past.
They snagged their prizes quicker than expected and escaped the infernal tuck shop. Emerging sweat-free with exactly what they wanted, Tae-il was impressed.
"You're surprisingly useful, Sakuraba."
"Don't treat me like some convenient tuck shop mercenary…."
"Should've just stuck to your tail yesterday instead of going solo like an idiot."
Despite the repeated praise, Sakuya could only muster a wry smile.
"Taichi, you're not great at reading the room, are you?"
"Do I need to?"
Sakuya inwardly marveled at his brazen attitude. Is this what Koreans are like?
In Japan, even close friends drew lines when someone overstepped: "That's a bit much…."
It was the origin of terms like tatemae and honne.
Basic social navigation and etiquette.
As a sports club vet, Sakuya's own boundaries were fuzzier.
Victory-obsessed teams like Interhigh contenders ran strict ships, with clear senpai-kohai hierarchies.
Even those rigid upperclassmen found Sakuya tricky to handle, but for team harmony, she'd follow orders without much fuss.
That blurred the lines between pretense and truth.
Sudden skinship or approaches? She was used to it.
But Tae-il was different.
"I think I get why you don't have friends, Taichi…."
"I have tons."
"Liar!"
"For real. Just none from school."
Sakuya stared at him in disbelief.
"Wait, not like… online buddies or something, right?"
"Nope. We meet up IRL all the time."
"No way."
Sakuya felt like she still had miles to go in figuring him out.
"Hope it's not a lie, Taichi."
"Why lie about this? I don't do stuff that'll embarrass me if it gets out."
"Haha."
He meant it.
Tae-il didn't do embarrassing stuff.
What he hid, what he aimed for—it was all a mystery to Sakuya.
Before they'd gotten close like this, he was like a pufferfish to her.
Any whiff of threat, and he'd puff up, spines loaded with poison. Prickly personality on full display, no holds barred.
She later realized he just couldn't mask his expressions, but he still didn't try to hide his thoughts or feelings.
Full throttle, everything out there, charging head-on.
Even glimpsing fragments, Sakuya somehow knew his type.
Most people find guys like Taichi overwhelming.
Sakuya dredged up an old memory.
Back in middle school club activities, there'd been one just like him.
Gruff, unfiltered, utterly unique.
She didn't know what drove Tae-il.
But sometimes, he overlapped in her eyes with that senpai who'd charged blindly toward Interhigh victory.
"Again with this place?"
Arriving at the deserted stairwell landing like yesterday, Sakuya grimaced.
Great for avoiding eyes and chilling quietly, but too dim for lunch. Daily meals here screamed depression bait.
Tae-il snapped at her hesitation.
"Hate it? Head back to class."
"Whoa, kicking me out already? Cheapskate."
Sakuya shrugged and followed, no intention of leaving.
Tae-il glanced back, sighed softly, and climbed a few extra steps past the landing.
"Huh? Where to, Taichi?"
"Don't tell a soul."
He gripped the rusty doorknob to the rooftop.
"Eh?"
Creeeak.
The knob turned smoothly, swinging the door open.
A poorly hung padlock clattered to the floor.
Warm sunlight flooded the cool, dim stairwell.
"This work?"
Tae-il asked flatly, backlit by the sun like a manga panel.
"Whoa, Taichi, you pick locks too?"
"It was rusted loose."
Tae-il grumbled and stepped out first. Sakuya peeked for watchers, then bounded after.
"Whoa…."
Sakuya gasped in awe.
"First impressions of Yuuma High's long-abandoned rooftop?"
"Filthy."
Sakuya nudged the dusty floor with her indoor shoe toe. Even brushing it barely budged the grime.
"Stairwell's better, maybe?"
"Just follow."
Tae-il grabbed her wrist and dragged her to his napping spot.
Hidden behind a junk pile of broken desks and chairs, at the rooftop edge.
Beyond the chain-link fence, the school sprawled open below.
"Wow…."
Sakuya was genuinely impressed this time.
While she admired the view, Tae-il fetched a semi-intact chair and plunked it in front of her.
"Sit anywhere around here."
He leaned against the fence and flopped onto the floor.
"What about you?"
"This is comfier. Where else would I vanish to during skips?"
Sakuya finally pieced together his hideouts.
"Whoa, never would've guessed. Won't you get busted up here?"
"Occasional workers check the AC units or water tanks…."
They usually ignored each other if eyes met, Tae-il brushed off.
Sakuya dragged the chair beside him, facing the same way.
"Always here?"
"Since the weather warmed up. Before that, empty classrooms 'cause it was cold."
"Why not stick to class? Comfier there."
"Childhood friend ratted me out and booted me. After that… well, you see."
Tae-il shrugged.
"She doesn't know about this spot?"
"She does. Just nags without forcing it."
"Heh, makes sense."
Sakuya smiled wryly. What a transparent guy.
Whoosh.
A perfectly timed breeze.
Sakuya swept back her view-obstructing hair.
Lunch under a clear sky, cool wind—pretty atmospheric.
They unpacked their bread and sandwiches in earnest.
"Korokke again? Couldn't stomach it."
"Really? Tastiest, most reliable pick. No strong likes or hates. Rare duds, though…."
"Rare…?"
Yuuma High's korokke were infamous as random boxes.
Gacha, basically.
No clue what's inside till you unwrap.
Student duds: veggie-packed with cucumber and bell peppers, blistering hot sauce bomb, or fishy powdered mystery.
Tae-il ate anything but veggie.
Sakuya gawked as he unwrapped and bit in calmly.
Red sauce oozed from his lips.
Jackpot.
Face paling, she ventured, "Not spicy?"
"Eh, tolerable?"
He swiped the drip with his thumb and licked it.
"Sharp kick, but fades quick. No bloat after—clean finish, my style."
"Right, you're Korean…."
Even pre-Hallyu boom, Japanese stereotypes pegged Koreans as masochists chasing spice pain.
Spicy? Sure, some Japanese drown greasy food in salt, pepper, or hot sauce.
Koreans took it extreme.
Sakuya recalled viral SNS Korean food challenges and shuddered.
Her bias solidified watching him.
"Guess I'm not picky. Eat most anything."
"That's not pickiness—that korokke's a beast."
Rumor had it a sumo club kid passed out challenging one.
"Is it?"
Tae-il tilted his head and chomped bigger.
Serene face.
He swigged milk now and then—not from pain, just thirst.
"…Really not spicy?"
His genuine enjoyment tempted her.
"Wanna try?"
"Nah, pass. Enjoy."
She shut it down fast, hand over mouth at the glowing red cross-section.
Yup, no way….
"Koreans loving spice is real…."
"Not sure if I love it, but it's mainstream enough."
Corporate gimmicks seeped into culture, but hey—convenient tasty eats anywhere. Tae-il shrugged it off.
"My folks can't handle spice, though."
"You're the mutant?"
"Who knows?"
Tastes vary, right?
They killed time with trivial chit-chat.
Alone on the secret rooftop, their usual locks loosened.
Preferences, hobbies, family, views on others, self-assessments.
Thirty minutes of info dump—too much for Sakuya to retain.
Clueless? No boundaries?
Tae-il spilled everything except music, casually weaving in past-life bits that left her dizzy.
Disorienting.
She held back her full story; he didn't.
Overwhelming, yet thrilling—we'd gotten this close?
Then it hit her.
Did I just want him to be the protagonist?
Weirdness versus specialness.
Tae-il was quirky, but within normal bounds. Foreign background explained it—no real exceptionalism.
Comparatively ordinary.
Sakuya was the odd one out; he was vanilla.
Yet the pull defied logic.
"Um, Taichi…."
Sakuya eyed him slyly.
Time to wrap his bio dump; she dredged up the perfect pivot.
"Can I really pick any time?"
"Oh, that?"
Context clear despite no subject—he recalled yesterday's study group pitch and his yes.
Japan stay meant grades needed boosting for options.
"Yeah. No worries. My schedule's always free."
Even gigs like Live House visits were flexible.
"Can't make the busy one bend for the slacker."
"You're such a total loner…."
Stating the obvious got him loner-labeled.
"I have friends…."
"Ahaha!"
Sakuya burst out laughing at his pout.
"Anyway, got it. Really my call?"
"Go for it."
He knew her packed schedule.
Canon had her solo-skipping or late to band practice constantly.
She prioritized sports early on, drifting as a band member.
Knowing her story, Tae-il naturally accommodated.
That easy consideration warmed her; she hugged her knees, head tilt.
"No tact, but refreshingly straightforward."
"Insult or compliment?"
"Whaddya think? Compliment by my book."
"Eh, good enough. Not an insult."
Tae-il drained the last of his milk carton.
Comfy.
Why so at ease with him?
His inner world opaque, her feelings baffled her.
Oh, I get it.
Sakuya glanced over.
He scrolled his phone chill despite her proximity—mildly infuriating.
He doesn't rush me.
Busy meant constant people.
Many wanted her time; few got it.
Even knowing that, delays sparked gripes and passive-aggression.
Some flaunted ties, raging for more access.
To them, she wasn't a person to consider.
Most used her as a tool.
With her, I'll shine too, right?
Hanging with the popular girl means scraps for me.
Closer to her, maybe she'll swing by club more?
Dating her? Everyone'd envy the hell outta me.
Losers like her crew look hot just 'cause of her….
They wanted Sakuya, not her.
Her looks, fame, perks—that's the prize.
But him….
He'd avoided her hardcore at first.
Like the class otaku crew intimidated by her.
Tae-il too.
But his vibe was off—less fear, more "don't touch."
Yet eyes always locked, constant clashes; now unavoidable.
And now.
Tae-il demanded her. Wanted Sakuya.
Casual face, but eyes blazed intent.
She sensed it instinctively.
His gaze mirrored the others'.
Dunno his goal, but he needs me for it.
In a way, like all the rest who'd approached.
Difference: she'd initiated the thaw, and his attitude felt… distinct.
Sakuya nodded to herself, unseen.
Admit it.
Simply put, he drew her in.
Maybe she'd pegged him protagonist to dodge that.
Sudden, baseless attraction to some guy? Unprecedented. Still weird.
Maybe he was the protag—romcom leads were bland sans "nice," yet slayed with girls.
Protag, huh.
Alluring ring.
But maybe it didn't matter.
Whatever. It'll work out. Just enjoy the fiery youth thing once….
No what-ifs; she hopped aboard the flow.
Sakuya giggled, knees hugged.
"Why the creepy grin all sudden?"
"You're so weird, Taichi…."
"No friends, no plans, now weirdo label too?"
Tae-il sulked, thumb-tapping his phone.
Sakuya stifled a snicker and poked his milk-puffing cheek.
"Weekend."
"Huh?"
"Study group. Weekend."
And so the study group date was set.