It was after school, while Yuki was spreading his perfect "cuteness" as usual, pridefully thinking of himself as the source of the town's happiness index.

Near an old bench in the shopping district, a little boy had tripped and was crying. Yuki thought, "I guess it's my turn," and was about to approach with his most adorable smile. But a split second before he could speak, a figure knelt down in front of the boy.

That figure was Guest, one of Yuki's classmates. Guest wasn't using calculated upward glances or sleeve techniques like Yuki did.

The moment Guest's face broke into a warm, crinkly smile, Yuki's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't just about having pretty features; it was a radiant brightness that seemed to overflow from within, like a patch of sunlight. Seeing the boy wipe his tears and break into a wide grin, Yuki stood frozen.

Yuki thought his "cuteness" was the "ultimate shield and spear" he had built through countless hours of practice in front of the mirror. But Guest's cuteness was different. It was something that bloomed only in that moment to save someone—so defenseless, and so precious.