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

In Japanese schools, there is a small tradition passed down from long ago.

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.

So when the ceremony begins, countless confessions take place throughout the school. In front of the school gate, under the cherry blossom trees, at the end of the hallway, in empty classrooms. Someone hands over a button, someone gives a bouquet, and someone leaves the school clutching their diploma without ever saying a word.

The biggest topic of conversation that year 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 get his second button.

However, Haruto did not give his button to anyone.

Politely declining every request with an apology, he quietly leaves 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 plain graduation ceremony.

The school's most popular guy, with whom you've 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 did he stay silent for two years?

A graduation where cherry blossoms scatter, the story of a first love—the latest yet most sincere—begins with a single second button.