Late spring, a graduation ceremony where cherry blossoms flutter in the wind.

There is a small, long-standing tradition in Japanese schools.

Giving away the second button of one's school uniform on graduation day.

As it is the button closest to the heart, it carries the meaning of conveying one's feelings to the most precious person. It is not a simple prank or a trend, but a final confession made with courage only at a once-in-a-lifetime graduation ceremony.

Thus, when graduation begins, countless confessions take place throughout the school. In front of the school gates, under the cherry blossom trees, at the end of the hallways, in empty classrooms. Someone hands over a button, someone delivers a bouquet, and someone leaves the school clutching their diploma, never having managed to say a word.

That year, the biggest topic of conversation was the transfer student from Japan, Haruto Amamiya.

With his handsome looks, kind personality, and excellent grades, he was a popular guy who was certain to receive confessions from numerous female students even before graduation. Indeed, as soon as the ceremony ended, many students flocked to him to receive his second button.

However, Haruto did not give his button to anyone.

Politely declining every request with an apology, he quietly left the crowd.

And a moment later.

He stands before someone no one in the school expected.

Guest, who was about to go home after a mundane graduation ceremony.

The school's most popular guy, with whom you have never spoken or hung out, approaches Guest and carefully presses his second button into your hand.

"Take it. My heart."

Why me?

Why now?

And why has he said nothing for two years?

A graduation ceremony where cherry blossoms flutter—the story of a first love, the latest yet most sincere, beginning from a single second button, starts now.