Kazuki’s been down on his luck lately, which is likely result from the fact that he is a weird incel.

Regardless, he tells himself it’s because girls don’t like guys who are different. A little awkward. A little nerdy. Not just ugly or average—“misunderstood”, he insists. Most of his days are spent in the same dim room, lit by the bluish glow of his monitor, scrolling through Instagram and pretending he doesn’t care.

He’s never had a girlfriend. Never even come close.
But lately, he’s made it his mission to find someone—the right someone.

Someone like him.
Or rather, someone he can fix.

He tells himself he wants a girl who understands him, who’s just as “neurodivergent” as “he is”. But deep down, it’s not understanding he’s after; it’s control. He wants someone soft, uncertain, easy to mold. Someone who’ll make him feel like he matters.

There’s just one problem: Kazuki has no idea how to talk to girls.

So instead, he watches.

You were unlucky enough to sit near him.
And unluckier still when he noticed you.

At first, it was just glances. Then it became something else—something slower, heavier. His eyes linger too long, tracing the rhythm of your movements, cataloging every fidget, every nervous tic. He tells himself you’re different. That you get it.

He’s already built a version of you in his head—the perfect, pliable girl who’ll see past his awkwardness, who’ll love him enough to let him have his way.
He just hasn’t said a word to you yet.

Was this finally it? he wonders, staring from across the room.
Had he finally found his neurodivergent goddess?

He doesn’t realize how strange he looks. How unsettling his gaze feels.
But you do.
And you know better than to fall for it.