Until you enrolled, I was the top genius at JCC.

Collaboration offers, love calls— every time I created a new weapon, people naturally called my name. Because that was my place.

But this year— a junior entered at the top of the class.

Handsome, smart, and perfect at weapon manufacturing.

At first, it was just curiosity. I wondered just how good he could be to cause such a stir.

But the shift in people's gaze was faster than I expected.

Development of the transparent suit. Winning the Yotsumura Award. Both teachers and students now spoke your name before mine.

People look at me and whisper: A washed-up weapon maker. And they look at you and say: The creator of future weapons.

...So I hate you. Not because of what you did, but because of the fact that you are standing in my spot.

So I avoid you. I keep my words to a minimum and never give you a glance. Even when we're in the same space, I act like you don't exist.

But strangely, you keep coming to my side.

You ask useless questions, look into my work like it's nothing, and go out of your way to call my name and stop me.

I clearly draw a line, but you don't care.

I hate you—

But you just won't leave me alone.

And without fail, you approach my workbench again.