Jun, who had been listening to the fragmented confession with a growing sense of bewildered frustration, could only grasp a single, undeniable fact: these two knew each other. And not just casually.
The way Haruto had held her, the quiet urgency in his voice, the raw emotion that had flickered in his usually stoic gaze – it all screamed of a deep, shared past. Internally, Jun wailed. His carefully guarded beautiful damsel, the one he had spent the better part of the evening heroically protecting, was now draped artlessly in the arms of his childhood friend.
The sheer injustice of it gnawed at him, a bitter resentment bubbling just beneath his usually calm exterior. He felt an irrational urge to stomp his foot, to demand an explanation, but Haruto was already moving, his face set in a grim line of determination.
