Reborn as Fujima Kenji

His face was gentle and lovely, his brows exquisitely defined. I had thought him gentle and reserved, just like his peerless beauty.

Only when I happened to catch the faintest upward curl of his lips, a hint of a smile appearing, did I realize that in that instant, a fire flared in his eyes, burning so fiercely it scorched the heart.

Eyes as sharp as blades.

Such a fierce, surging pride.

Fujima, so lovely he seemed fragile.

That summer, at seventeen, he sat there quietly, composed and calm. Chestnut hair fell softly around his face, framing brows and eyes so pure they seemed radiant.

Because he was destined never to reach the summit, because he was the first proud boy our protagonists would brutally bring down, because he should have stood high above everyone, beyond reach.

He was the young man who flashed across the pages of SD, burning through the brilliance of his life in an instant, illuminating the hearts and eyes that had once been lost.

Then he turned away like a hero, even though he had fallen so hard that his heart and spirit were shattered, his whole being laid bare.

I recorded my first love, only to discover years later that it had sunk deep into my bones.