Chapter Text
The entire country had collectively lost its mind over an app.
Not a game. Not a dating platform. Not even a viral dance challenge that would fade in two weeks. No—this was something far more invasive, far more personal.
“Love Alarm,” Bachira Meguru announced with the theatrical flair of a street performer unveiling a miracle cure, shoving his phone screen so close to Isagi Yoichi’s face that the blue light momentarily blinded him during lunch break.
Isagi leaned back in his plastic cafeteria chair, nearly toppling backward. “You sound like an advertisement.”
“Because it is revolutionary!” Bachira declared, undeterred. His wild hair bounced with every exaggerated gesture. “It’s like… the universe finally gave us a cheat code for feelings. Sync your heartbeat once, and boom—your phone tells you when someone nearby actually likes you. Romantic feelings only. No spam, no bots, just pure heart data.”
Around them, the bustling school cafeteria hummed with the same conversation it had echoed for the past three weeks since the app’s nationwide launch. Clusters of students hunched over their phones, comparing notification counts like trading cards. Who rang whose notification. Who got rejected after their app stopped ringing. Who cried in the bathroom because nobody’s Love Alarm reacted to them.
Love Alarm had rewritten teenage social rules overnight. Confessions felt outdated and risky; why say the words when the app could confirm interest anonymously? Relationships blossomed or withered based on fluctuating numbers. Heartbreak had a new soundtrack: silence where rings used to be.
Isagi stabbed at his katsudon with his chopsticks, unimpressed. “It’s creepy. What if someone’s stalking you? Or what if the feelings are one-sided and weird? And why does everyone need an app to tell them what they already feel?”
At the next table, a first-year girl suddenly burst into quiet tears, her friends clustering around her with comforting murmurs and tissues. “It stopped ringing for him…” she sniffled. The scene drew sympathetic glances but also knowing nods—another casualty of the app’s brutal honesty.
“See?” Isagi pointed with his chopsticks. “That. That’s exactly why I’m not downloading it. Emotions aren’t supposed to come with push notifications.”
Across from him, Mikage Reo stirred his iced coffee with lazy elegance, the ice cubes clinking softly. As the son of a prominent businessman, Reo carried an effortless aura of someone who observed trends rather than chased them. “You say that now,” he drawled, a small smirk playing on his lips, “but the second someone’s alarm reacts to you, curiosity wins. Human nature, Isagi.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“You absolutely would,” Chigiri Hyoma said flatly, not even bothering to look up from his own phone. His long hair was tied back neatly, and his posture remained impeccable even in the noisy cafeteria. Chigiri had a way of cutting through nonsense with surgical precision.
Isagi frowned, glancing around his three friends. “Why is nobody on my side here?”
“Because you’re wrong,” Bachira replied instantly, flashing that signature wide grin. It was the kind of grin that promised chaos—equal parts endearing and terrifying.
Isagi narrowed his eyes. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!”
“You’re about to do something annoying.”
“I already downloaded it onto your phone.”
A beat of stunned silence fell over the table.
Isagi stared. Reo choked mid-sip, coughing into his fist. Chigiri slowly lowered his phone, one elegant eyebrow arched.
“You what?” Isagi demanded.
Bachira proudly held up Isagi’s unlocked phone like a championship trophy. “Face ID while you were napping in math class. Easy peasy.”
“You committed a crime.”
“A small, friendly crime,” Bachira corrected cheerfully. “Like borrowing a pencil without asking.”
“A privacy violation!”
“A friendship activity,” Bachira insisted, undeterred. “Now we get to watch your tragic—or maybe not so tragic—love life unfold gloriously in real time. Think of the entertainment value!”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t mean that.” Bachira’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
Unfortunately, Isagi didn’t. Which made resisting impossible.
By the end of lunch, Love Alarm sat innocently on Isagi’s home screen, its icon a simple pink heart overlaid with a notification bell. He poked at it warily, as if it might bite.
He still didn't understand why people were so obsessed with it.
The app’s concept was deceptively simple: sync your heartbeat through the phone’s sensors, and it would alert you—anonymous, no names, no faces—whenever someone within ten meters harbored romantic feelings toward you. Just a number. Just a ring.
To Isagi, it sounded less like romance and more like emotional landmines. What happened when feelings changed? What if the “one person” was someone you’d rather not know about? Society’s obsession already felt suffocating; he’d seen classmates refreshing the app like stock traders during market hours.
“You’re overthinking it,” Bachira said later as the group walked across the crowded school courtyard. The afternoon sun filtered through thinning autumn leaves, casting dappled shadows on the paved paths. A cool breeze rustled the trees lining the walkways, carrying faint echoes of sports clubs practicing in the distance—shouts from the soccer field, the rhythmic thud of volleyballs.
“I’m thinking the correct amount,” Isagi muttered, hands shoved deep into his uniform pockets. The blazer felt slightly too warm in the shifting seasons.
“You’re thinking like a divorced forty-year-old salaryman who’s given up on love,” Bachira teased.
“I’m seventeen.”
“Mentally? Forty-two.” Bachira skipped ahead a few steps, spinning to face them backward.
Reo snorted, adjusting the strap of his designer bag. Chigiri sighed, the sound heavy with secondhand embarrassment, as if being associated with this group in public was a daily trial.
Isagi tried to ignore the buzz of conversations around them. Everywhere, phones chimed sporadically. A couple walking hand-in-hand grinned at matching rings. A lone student checked his screen with slumped shoulders after silence.
“I’m deleting it after today,” Isagi declared.
“No, you’re not,” Bachira sang.
“Yes, I am.”
“No, because the moment it rings even once, you’ll be hooked. Emotional investment achieved.”
“That’s not how emotions work—”
ding!
The clear, distinctive chime sliced through the courtyard noise like a knife.
Isagi froze mid-step. His friends halted too. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen glowed with a single notification:
1 person within a 10-meter radius loves you
The words stared back at him, impersonal yet intensely personal.
“…Oh,” Isagi said quietly.
Bachira lunged sideways, nearly climbing onto Isagi’s shoulder to see. “Oho? Already?”
Reo leaned in, curiosity piqued. Chigiri glanced up with mild interest, though his expression suggested he was cataloging details for later.
Isagi scanned the courtyard instinctively. Dozens of students milled about—groups chatting near benches, others hurrying to club rooms, a few reading under trees. Anyone could have triggered it. The realization made his stomach twist uncomfortably. “It’s probably a malfunction,” he muttered, shoving the phone away.
Bachira looked personally offended on behalf of modern technology. “The app has a ninety-nine percent accuracy rating according to all the reviews! Heartbeat synchronization doesn’t lie.”
“That sounds fake.”
“You sound fake,” Bachira shot back.
Isagi rolled his eyes. “There. Problem solved. I’m ignoring it.”
“You can’t ignore destiny!” Bachira protested.
“I absolutely can.”
“Someone nearby is in love with you.”
“‘Love’ is a strong word for whatever this is.”
“Your emotional avoidance is incredible,” Bachira lamented dramatically.
Before Isagi could fire back—
ding!
The second chime rang out, sharper this time, or perhaps it only felt that way because of the weight behind it. Isagi’s fingers trembled slightly as he checked again.
2 people within a 10-meter radius loves you
The number stared back, stark and undeniable.
Silence blanketed the group for a heartbeat.
Then Bachira made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a victory cry. “YO! Two people?!”
Isagi stared at the screen like it had declared war on his peace of mind. “What… the hell.”
Reo’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “Okay, maybe you actually are popular and we’ve all been sleeping on it.”
“This is horrifying,” Isagi whispered.
“This is amazing,” Bachira corrected, vibrating with energy.
Chigiri crossed his arms, ever the voice of reason. “You do realize two people nearby developing feelings for you at the exact same moment is statistically ridiculous, right? The app might be accurate, but human hearts aren’t usually that synchronized.”
“Thank you,” Isagi said immediately, latching onto the logic like a lifeline.
Bachira ignored both of them completely.
"WAIT. Don’t move, Isagi."
"What?"
"Don’t move."
Bachira spun dramatically in a slow circle, scanning the courtyard like a detective in a crime drama.
Isagi watched him with increasing concern.
"...What are you doing?"
"I'm finding your admirers."
“You cannot identify people through vibes,” Isagi deadpanned.
“I absolutely can.”
“You absolutely cannot.”
The normal rhythm of school life swirled around their frozen tableau. Laughter from a group of girls, the bounce of a basketball from the courts nearby, leaves skittering across the path. None of them knew that Isagi Yoichi’s ordinary afternoon had detonated into chaos in under five minutes.
Bachira suddenly paused, his gaze sharpening past Isagi’s shoulder. His grin turned sly, almost predatory. “Oh,” he said softly.
“What?” Isagi asked, turning instinctively.
Near the row of vending machines under the shade of a large oak tree stood Itoshi Rin. Alone, as always. Tall and strikingly composed, with dark green hair framing sharp, half-lidded teal eyes, looking deeply uninterested in human interaction. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a canned coffee. He radiated an aura of untouchable excellence—the top honor student who kept everyone at arm’s length.
The moment Rin noticed Isagi looking, he glanced away—too quickly. Suspiciously quickly. The subtle shift in his posture was minuscule, but noticeable to someone paying attention.
Bachira’s eyes gleamed. “No way.”
“What?” Isagi pressed.
“Oh, this just got interesting.”
“Bachira—”
But the words died as someone brushed firmly past Isagi’s shoulder, close enough that their uniform sleeves touched.
“Move.”
The voice was smooth, laced with a faint accent that suggested time spent abroad. Confident to the point of arrogance.
Isagi turned.
And found himself face-to-face with a stranger who commanded attention without trying. Blond hair catching the sunlight like spun gold, sharp blue eyes that pinned him in place, and a tall, athletic build that made the standard school uniform look tailored. The new transfer student—rumors had swirled about his arrival all week.
The blond reached past Isagi toward the vending machine, but his gaze lingered.
Then—
ding!
Isagi’s phone vibrated again in his hand. The notification held steady at two.
The stranger noticed the sound immediately. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. Not warm. Not polite. It was playful curiosity mixed with something sharper, like a predator identifying intriguing prey.
Behind them, near the vending machines, Rin’s expression darkened. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing into a glare aimed squarely at the newcomer.
Bachira looked seconds from spontaneous combustion with glee.
Reo whispered under his breath, “Oh no.”
Chigiri rubbed his temple, already exhausted by the unfolding drama.
And Isagi Yoichi stood frozen between them, phone heavy in his pocket, heart pounding for reasons the app could never fully explain. He had no idea why the air suddenly felt charged, why standing between these two strangers felt like stepping directly into the path of an oncoming storm.
But as the courtyard continued its oblivious bustle around him, one thing was already clear: downloading Love Alarm had been a catastrophic mistake.