...🌸...

Kamakura, Kanagawa Prefecture.

It was the kind of town where the mornings smelled like sea breeze and fresh mochi. Where cats sat like royalty on shrine steps, and bicycles clinked softly as they passed through narrow, stone-paved streets. It was the kind of town where everyone knew your name, your family, your favorite snack, and—unfortunately—your alleged love life.

Tsubasa Amakusa woke to the scent of anpan and the muffled whir of the bakery’s dough mixer downstairs. A warm beam of sunlight peeked through his slightly open curtains, accompanied by the distant chirping of sparrows. He stretched like a lazy cat, yawning loudly, his bedhead as wild as a bird’s nest.

“Ugh… Monday,” he groaned, rolling over.

Then came the knock.

“Oi, Tsubasa-kun! I can hear your alarm from my window!”

He blinked and sat up, eyes squinting toward the open window across from his. There, standing with her arms crossed and a practiced scowl on her face, was Misora Kisaragi, her long black hair tied up in a loose ribbon, and a thermos in one hand.

“Morning, Misora-chan,” he said, grinning like a kid who’d just found an extra slice of cake.

“You’re going to be late. Again.”

“I wouldn’t be if you stopped yelling and let me finish dreaming about being a professional soccer player-slash-master baker.”

Misora rolled her eyes. “You’re not even dressed yet.”

“Details, details.”

By the time the clock struck 6:45, the scent of freshly baked melonpan drifted out from Amakusa Bakery, nestled just off Komachi Street. The small, cozy shop had stood in the neighborhood for over two generations. Every morning, locals would stop by to grab their favorite pastries before the day began—students, joggers, salarymen, and of course, nosy aunties who lived for gossip.

Tsubasa, now sporting a hoodie over his school uniform and a pencil tucked behind one ear, carried a tray of warm anpan to the front display case.

From the other side of the glass counter, Aunt Mika narrowed her eyes at him. “Tsubasa-kun, where’s Misora-chan this morning? She’s usually here before you.”

“She’s late,” he said casually. “Probably polishing her shoes or rearranging her socks.”

“You’re cheeky,” Aunt Mika huffed. “You two are like an old married couple, you know that?”

Tsubasa chuckled as he rang up her purchase. “People say that a lot.”

She leaned in, raising a brow. “So? When’s the wedding?”

He laughed harder this time, scratching the back of his head. “She’d probably whack me with a rolling pin if I even brought it up.”

“Good,” a familiar voice said from behind him. “Because I’m right here.”

Tsubasa turned, startled. “Eh? Misora-chan? You weren’t late after all?”

She walked in, her expression unreadable, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“I’m never late. Unlike someone.”

Aunt Mika beamed. “See? Like a married couple.”

“Stop encouraging that nonsense,” Misora muttered, adjusting the strap of her school bag.

“You two even match today,” Aunt Mika added, eyeing their unintentionally coordinated uniforms and blue accents. “It’s fate.”

They walked to school side by side, as they always did. The Enoden train rattled by in the distance, the salty wind brushing past them as they crossed a narrow street shaded by cherry blossom trees just starting to bud.

“You forgot your water bottle again at our house,” Tsubasa said, handing it to her without looking.

“I noticed. You’re observant today.”

“I observe the important things.”

Misora raised an eyebrow. “Like how many custard buns you snuck this morning?”

He looked offended. “I’m hurt, Misora-chan. I’m a professional.”

“You’re a menace.”

They reached the turn toward Minamisawa High, their school perched on a low hill overlooking the bay. From there, the horizon spread out like a painting—gray-blue waters, the silhouette of Enoshima Island in the distance, and the morning sun shimmering off the surface like spilled gold.

Students were already gathered at the gates. Some waved. Some whispered.

“Good morning, Kisaragi-san! Amakusa-kun!” a bubbly second-year girl chirped. “Did you walk together again? So cute!”

“We live next door,” Misora replied flatly.

“Yeah,” Tsubasa added, “it’s just convenience.”

“Right, right,” the girl winked. “Totally convenient. Got it.”

They kept walking.

“You’d think they’d be tired of it by now,” Tsubasa said.

“They won’t be until one of us transfers schools or dies dramatically in a fire,” Misora muttered.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “don’t die. I kind of like having you around.”

She paused for half a second, then sighed. “You’re impossible.”

Homeroom began with a bang. Or rather, with Mr. Kaido’s dramatic entrance, cloak (yes, cloak) billowing behind him like he was on a stage instead of in front of a whiteboard.

“Good morning, my dear students! The winds of fate have blessed us with another day of youth and yearning!”

“Here we go again,” Misora whispered.

Mr. Kaido pushed up his glasses. “Before we begin roll call, I would like to remind our favorite couple— Amakusa-kun, Kisaragi-san— that public displays of domestic squabbles are technically not part of the curriculum.”

“We’re not a couple!” they said in unison.

The class roared with laughter.

“Then stop acting like one!” someone yelled.

Tsubasa grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “This again.”

Misora let her forehead fall gently to the desk.

By lunch, the rumor mill had already churned out a fresh batch of #TsubaSora photos. One was just them handing each other bread. Another was Misora adjusting Tsubasa’s collar without realizing. The most recent? A shot of them at the bakery that morning, captured by none other than Ayane Fujimoto, the class representative and part-time photographer of shipping dreams.

“It’s trending on our school board chat,” Nao Ranjishi said between bites of onigiri. “You two have a fan club now. Someone even drew fan art.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Misora said, face half-hidden behind her bento.

Tsubasa tilted his head at the sketch. “Wait… why do I have cat ears?”

“Artistic liberties,” Nao replied. “Anyway, I ship it.”

“Ship what?” Tsubasa asked, genuinely confused.

Nao stared at him. “How are you like this?”

After school, they stopped by Hasedera Temple, where Misora helped deliver seasonal sweets for a neighborhood order. While she handled the handoff, Tsubasa waited beneath the blooming plum trees, taking in the way the petals fluttered like soft snow.

When Misora returned, she stood beside him, quiet.

“…It feels different this year,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her. “Different how?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Just… different.”

They stood in silence.

“I guess,” he said eventually. “Maybe we’re growing up.”

“…Maybe.”

“Still, you’ll always be Misora-chan to me.”

She glanced at him, then quickly looked away. “Idiot.”

Evening in Kamakura cast long shadows over the rooftops. The shops began to close, the lanterns lit one by one along the streets, and the sea breeze grew colder.

At the gates of their adjoining houses, Tsubasa turned to her.

“Hey… thanks for always being around.”

She blinked, surprised. “What’s that about?”

“Dunno. Just felt like saying it.”

She looked at him a moment longer, then smiled faintly. “Same to you, Tsubasa-kun.”

He grinned. “See you tomorrow, wife—ACK!”

A notebook smacked him in the face.

“Idiot!”

From behind the curtains of the bakery’s second floor, Satsuki Amakusa watched the scene unfold with a cup of tea in hand.

“They’re still in denial, huh?”

Hinako popped a mochi into her mouth. “Yup. Lost cause.”

From the street, Old Man Hiro chuckled. “Give it a month.”

From the café next door, Aunt Kumi sighed dreamily. “They’re perfect.”

From her balcony, Misora’s mother shook her head fondly. “Those two…”

And so, in a small town called Maybe, where nothing extraordinary ever seemed to happen…

…two hearts beat in sync, unaware of just how much they’d already changed.

Love, after all, has a way of sneaking in quietly.

Just like a best friend next door.

...🩵...

...AerixielDaiminse...

...🩵...

In Kamakura, the mornings begin with the scent of the sea and sweet bread. It’s a peaceful town where the loudest things at sunrise are the cries of seagulls and the low rumble of the Enoden train sliding along its track.

At precisely 5:17 a.m., Tsubasa Amakusa cracked open one eye.

Then the other.

Then he groaned dramatically and rolled off his bed, hitting the floor with a practiced thud.

“Ugh. Why does morning exist?”

Downstairs, the familiar buzz of ovens and the clatter of mixing bowls echoed through the Amakusa Bakery. His older sister Satsuki was already in battle mode, hair tied up in a bandana, flour streaked across her cheek like war paint.

“You’ve got exactly seven minutes to wash your face and help knead dough or I’m renaming the bakery to ‘Satsuki’s House of Bread and Broken Promises,’” she called up the stairs.

Tsubasa grabbed his hoodie from the back of his chair, threw it over his school uniform shirt, and trudged downstairs with the soul of a man on his last journey.

“I was dreaming of a bread-shaped spaceship,” he mumbled.

“Dream faster next time, Nii,” her younger sister Hinako replied, handing him an apron and a bowl of filling for anpan.

As he rolled and shaped dough, Tsubasa’s mind wandered to less sticky things—like the history homework he maybe possibly didn’t finish… and the quiz Misora had warned him about.

“Ah,” he muttered. “I’m dead.”

“Again?” Satsuki raised an eyebrow. “You know, for someone who calls himself a genius, you sure forget a lot of genius-y stuff.”

“I am a genius,” he said, dramatically pressing red bean paste into the dough. “A creative one.”

“You mean lazy.”

“Semantics.”

At 6:14 a.m., like clockwork, Misora Kisaragi appeared at the side door, clutching a bamboo thermos with steam wafting from the lid. Her long black hair was tied back in a braid, and she wore the calm expression of someone who’d already polished the glass at her family’s tea shop and reorganized the spice rack alphabetically—again.

“I brought genmaicha,” she announced.

Tsubasa looked up from the oven. “My savior!”

Misora set the thermos down, poured him a small cup, then one for herself. “Your sisters said you slept through two alarms again.”

“That’s slander,” he said, sipping dramatically. “I was meditating in bed.”

She gave him a long look. “With drool on your chin?”

“…Deep meditation.”

“Sure.”

Hinako snorted peeking at the two. “See? Married.”

Both teenagers froze.

“Stop saying that,” Misora muttered.

“We’re not married,” Tsubasa added with a grin.

“Not yet,” Hinako teased.

Misora looked at the oven like she was imagining someone inside it.

They left the bakery at 7:02 a.m., lunchboxes packed, shoes squeaking slightly on the tiled floor. The streets of Kamakura were still shaking off the morning haze. Shopkeepers were setting out signs, temple bells chimed faintly in the background, and the sky was painted soft orange.

As always, they walked side by side. It wasn’t even a decision—it was just what they did.

“Did you finish the essay for modern lit?” Misora asked, flipping through her notebook.

“I wrote a haiku,” Tsubasa said confidently.

“We were supposed to write a comparative analysis.”

“My haiku compares my feelings about writing essays to the crushing weight of gravity.”

Misora stopped walking. “You’re going to fail.”

“I’ll charm my way through.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you bring me tea every morning.”

“I bring tea, not miracles.”

They were halfway to school when Ayane Fujimoto popped out from behind a vending machine like a ninja wielding a phone.

“Say cheese, #TsubaSora!”

“Eh—wait—AYANE!” Misora shouted, shielding her face.

“Got it! Perfectly candid. That angle is golden!”

Tsubasa blinked. “What just happened?”

Ayane winked, already uploading the photo to the school’s unofficial “romance radar” chat. “You’ll thank me when the fan club reaches 100 members!”

“We have a fan club?” Tsubasa asked.

Misora groaned. “No. We have Ayane. And that’s dangerous enough.”

Ayane’s phone dinged. “Ooh! Already six likes and two comments. One says, ‘They’re even matching! Married couple aesthetic, 10/10!’”

Tsubasa glanced down. He was wearing navy blue. Misora had a blue ribbon. It was completely coincidental.

…Wasn’t it?

By the time they reached Minamisawa High, whispers followed them like leaves in the wind.

“There they are!”

“#TsubaSora, back at it again.”

“Did you see this morning’s photo? She brought him tea!”

“That’s basically a love confession.”

“They’re obviously together.”

Tsubasa waved good-naturedly. “Morning, everyone!”

Misora walked faster. “Why are you encouraging them?”

“I’m not! I’m just being friendly!”

“They think we’re dating!”

“People think a lot of things. Some people think cats are aliens.”

“That doesn’t even make—! Ugh!”

Their classroom was already buzzing when they entered. Nao Tachibana waved them over. “Sit, sit! Tsubasa-kun, you’re trending again.”

He slid a tablet toward them. On screen was Ayane’s photo, with the now-infamous hashtag #TsubaSora plastered in bold text across the top.

Misora’s expression twisted into a deadpan scowl.

“Look, someone even made a poll,” Nao said. “Will they confess this semester? A) Yes, B) Definitely yes, C) Just kiss already.”

Tsubasa tilted his head. “Where’s the ‘We’re just friends’ option?”

Everyone stared.

“…What?” he asked.

Nao laughed. “Oh, you’re really in it, huh?”

Misora pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are not dating. We’re just neighbors. We walk together. That’s it.”

“Right,” Nao said, still smirking. “And you didn’t personally customize his thermos with his name last month?”

“That was so he wouldn’t mix it up with yours!”

“Sure it was.”

Homeroom started with Mr. Kaido dramatically adjusting his glasses like an anime villain.

“I see our favorite duo has graced us with their presence once again,” he said, arms wide. “Misora-san, are you ready to lead us into another day of scholastic excellence?”

“Yes, sensei,” Misora said without missing a beat.

“And Tsubasa-kun, have you finished the report I asked for last week?”

Tsubasa blinked. “There was a report?”

Laughter erupted again.

Mr. Kaido sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Give me a passing grade and a bakery sponsorship?”

“Tempting.”

Lunch break came, and the #TsubaSora movement only grew stronger.

By then, the school chat was flooded with memes, doodles, and one surprisingly well-done anime-style illustration of Tsubasa and Misora holding hands under falling sakura petals.

“Who draws this fast?” Misora muttered, stabbing her rice.

Tsubasa peeked over her shoulder. “Hey, that kind of looks like us.”

“It is us.”

“Ohhh.”

“You’re useless.”

They sat under their usual tree behind the school building, away from the crowd and the fandom. For now.

A breeze rustled the leaves. The warmth of the sun filtered through the branches.

“…Do you think they’ll ever stop?” Misora asked quietly.

“The school?”

“The shipping.”

Tsubasa took a thoughtful bite of his melonpan. “Probably not.”

Misora sighed. “It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?”

“Most likely.”

They sat in silence for a while, birds chirping in the distance.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, “you’re not actually mad, right?”

She looked at him, then away. “No. It’s just… annoying. Like a joke that won’t die.”

He nodded. “You know they only think that because we’re always together, right?”

“…I guess.”

“Maybe we should hang out less?”

Misora’s gaze snapped to him, surprised.

“…Do you want to hang out less?”

Tsubasa looked confused. “What? No! That’d be super boring.”

“…Idiot.”

He grinned. “So we keep walking together?”

“Obviously.”

“And morning tea?”

“I’m not letting you start your day uncaffeinated.”

Tsubasa stretched his legs and leaned back on the grass. “Then let them ship whatever they want. We know the truth.”

Misora rolled her eyes.

They did know the truth.

Right?

Right.

From behind the bushes, Ayane watched through her camera lens.

“…It’s happening,” she whispered.

Nao nodded. “Slow burn in real-time.”

A third-year behind them clutched her chest. “They even argue like a married couple.”

Ayane grinned. “This is going to be the greatest school year ever.”

And so, in Kamakura—the town of waves, wind, and wandering hearts—two oblivious teenagers carried on as always, unaware that the entire school had unofficially declared them soulmates.

And somewhere, deep down, where friendship turns soft and shapeless and maybe a little bit magical… something had already begun.

Something more than just maybe.

...🩵...

...AerixielDaiminse...

...🩵 ...

In Kamakura, spring doesn’t whisper its arrival—it marches in with a fanfare of sakura blossoms, buzzing cicadas, and local festivals announcing themselves through handwritten posters and students frantically shouting over decorations.

At Minamisawa High, it started with a dramatic slam of the announcement board.

Student Council President Reina Hanabusa, tall, dignified, and terrifying when armed with a clipboard, stood at the front of the morning assembly, flanked by fluttering cherry blossoms and the school vice president frantically fixing the fallen corner of a banner that read:

🌸 Minamisawa High Spring Festival: A Blooming Love Story! 🌸

“Let it be known,” Reina began, voice echoing through the gymnasium like a war general, “that our annual Spring Festival will commence in exactly three weeks. Each class must submit a project proposal within 48 hours. Creativity and thematic flair will be rewarded. Failure will be... penalized.”

Someone in the crowd gasped. Someone else fainted.

Reina’s glasses glinted ominously.

“Also,” she added, “extra points will be awarded to themes that embody the spirit of romance, youth, and new beginnings.”

Tsubasa turned to Misora, whispering, “Romance, huh?”

Misora narrowed her eyes. “Why do I feel like this is going to be bad for us?”

“You’re just being dramatic.”

Spoiler alert: She was not.

Later that day in Class 2-B, the chaos officially began.

“Alright!” Ayane Fujimoto stood on a chair with the confidence of someone who wielded gossip like a sword. “Class project vote, let’s go! I’ve narrowed it down to the top five based on class suggestions and vibes!”

Nao leaned against the whiteboard, tally sheet in hand. “Vibes are a legitimate rubric now?”

“Always have been,” Ayane said, ticking her pen like a wand.

Misora crossed her arms at her seat. “This better not be one of those days.”

Tsubasa, who was balancing a pencil on his nose, muttered, “Define those…”

Ayane clapped twice. “Here are the top five options for our class booth at the Spring Festival:”

Haunted House

Fortune-Telling Tent

Maid Café

Takoyaki Stand

Love Café: Matchmaking Edition

A hush fell over the classroom.

Misora’s chair creaked as she sat up straighter. “Excuse me?”

Tsubasa’s pencil fell off his face. “Did you say ‘Matchmaking Edition’?”

Ayane nodded brightly. “Think about it! Every table will be a mini ‘love booth’ where students and guests can go on ‘practice dates!’ We can make cute menus, mood lighting, have handwritten love fortunes, a photo corner—and each table will have a different theme of love.”

Misora deadpanned, “That sounds like a walking HR disaster.”

Nao added, “Is it legal to do speed-dating in a school setting?”

Ayane waved them off. “Don’t worry, it’ll be PG! No touching, just vibes!”

“Again with the vibes,” Misora muttered.

Ayane beamed. “And the centerpiece table—the main table—will be hosted by our head couple! It’ll be the main attraction! The heart of the café! The ultimate love aura!”

Tsubasa leaned forward, a rare hint of suspicion in his eyes. “Wait… who’s the head couple?”

The class answered in unison, like a choir possessed by mischief:

“Amakusa-kun and Kisaragi-san.”

Silence.

Then—

“WHAAAAAAT?!” both of them shouted, springing from their chairs like synchronized fireworks.

Misora pointed accusingly. “We never volunteered for this!”

Ayane fluttered her eyes. “You didn’t need to. You’re already the embodiment of romantic chemistry. This is just… channeling it.”

“We’re not even dating!” Misora growled.

“Exactly!” Ayane chirped. “Which makes it even better! The tension! The denial! It’s cinematic!”

Tsubasa raised a hand. “Objection. I can’t act romantic. I’m too awkward to be convincing.”

“You’re awkward all the time,” Nao said helpfully.

“That’s not helping.”

Ayane handed them a paper. “We even wrote your couple description already!”

Tsubasa read aloud. “Table of Blossoming Bonds: Hosted by ‘the childhood friends who don’t realize they’re in love yet.’”

Misora yanked the paper. “Did you just write fanfiction about us?!”

“Short-form bio, technically,” Ayane said.

They tried to protest.

They really did.

Misora gave a five-minute impassioned speech about boundaries, logic, and how love-themed cafés promoted unrealistic relationship expectations.

Tsubasa suggested doing a science experiment booth instead, complete with a baking soda volcano.

No one listened.

The class voted.

Love Café: Matchmaking Edition won by a landslide.

Tsubasa and Misora were appointed “Honorary Head Couple.”

There were cheers. Applause. Even confetti—where had the confetti come from?!

Tsubasa stared blankly at the sparkling air.

Misora dropped her forehead to the desk.

“Shipping season,” she muttered, “has started early.”

The days that followed were filled with forced “couple training.”

Which, in this case, meant:

Practicing mock menu presentations where Tsubasa forgot his lines and tried to ad-lib (“We serve… uhh… ‘emotionally charged coffee with a side of fate’?”)

Posing for marketing posters with props like roses and heart-shaped straws

Being given matching aprons with Mr. Maybe and Miss Maybe stitched on the front

Misora nearly combusted.

“Why are we called Mr. and Miss Maybe?”

Ayane winked. “It’s your brand now. You’re the face of More than Just Maybe.”

Misora grabbed the nearest cushion and screamed into it.

Tsubasa was too busy trying to tie his apron backward.

One afternoon, after a particularly stressful planning session, Misora dragged Tsubasa to the rooftop for a breather.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered, leaning against the railing. “We’re going to be the center of attention for an entire school-wide love event.”

Tsubasa sipped the milk tea she’d brought. “At least there’s food?”

She glared at him. “That’s your takeaway?”

He shrugged. “You said yourself—denying it just makes people louder.”

“That’s not permission to encourage them!”

“We tried to stop it. They outvoted us.”

Misora huffed. “This is Ayane’s fault.”

“She’s passionate.”

“She’s evil.”

Tsubasa chuckled softly. “It’ll be fine. We’ll smile, serve tea, pretend to be a couple for one day, and then forget it ever happened.”

Misora was quiet.

Then she said, “What if they don’t forget?”

Tsubasa looked at her, blinking. “What do you mean?”

She crossed her arms. “What if this whole couple thing sticks even more? What if everyone thinks it’s real after the festival?”

There was a pause.

Tsubasa scratched his cheek. “Would… would that bother you?”

Misora’s eyes flicked toward him. “Wouldn’t it bother you?”

He paused, stared out over the schoolyard.

“…I guess not. Not really.”

The silence hung, longer this time.

Then Misora muttered, “You’re an idiot.”

Tsubasa grinned. “You keep saying that lately.”

“Because it keeps being true.”

But she didn’t push him away when he walked closer to the railing beside her. Didn’t move when their elbows brushed.

Didn’t say anything when the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting gold on the rooftop, softening the world.

Somewhere below, Ayane was already printing flyers.

Nao was designing themed drinks with names like “Tsundere Latte” and “Cinnamon Crush.”

The hashtag #TsubaSora was trending again in the class chat.

And in the middle of it all, two oblivious teenagers stood side by side, staring at the town they’d always known—

Wondering, without saying it, why it suddenly felt like everything was shifting.

Not drastically.

Just a little.

Just enough.

Just maybe.

...🩵 ...

...AerixielDaiminse...