Chapter 12: The Weight of Expectations

Sayori's POV

The glow of my bedside clock was the only light in the room as I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Sleep had eluded me all night, my thoughts circling the same maddening question: Why can't I just give up?

It wasn't about winning anymore. Not really. I didn't even want to be Student Council President. Not after seeing how much the students loved Riser, how much he genuinely cared for them in his own ridiculous, carefree way.

But the thought of losing…

I clenched my fists against the bedsheets. I can't lose.

The need to win had been drilled into me for as long as I could remember. My parents had always demanded perfection. In Spain, I was paraded around as the perfect daughter, the model student, the future leader. Every decision I made was scrutinized, every mistake magnified.

I thought leaving Spain would free me from that weight, but it only followed me here.

A Memory

"Sayori, remember your posture," my mother's voice rang sharply in my memory. "A future princess does not slouch."

I was twelve, standing in front of a gilded mirror in our estate's ballroom. My back ached from the rigid stance she demanded.

"Yes, Mother," I said, keeping my voice steady.

Behind her, my father was pacing, speaking rapidly into his phone about a diplomatic meeting. He barely looked at me, his presence more of a shadow than anything else.

"Perfect is the only acceptable standard, Sayori," my mother said, adjusting the hem of my dress. "You must remember that. Always."

But perfection was impossible.

When I was fourteen, everything fell apart. My parents sent me away to Japan under the guise of "broadening my horizons," but I knew the truth. They were protecting their reputations. I wasn't perfect, and they couldn't let anyone see that.

I sat up in bed, wiping at the tears I hadn't realized were falling. The weight of it all was suffocating.

Coming to Japan was supposed to be a fresh start, but I'd carried all that pressure with me. The need to prove myself, to be better than everyone else, had driven me to challenge Riser.

But now…

I buried my face in my hands.

Why am I still trying?

Morning

When the sunlight crept into my room, I felt like a shell of myself. My maid, Maria, knocked lightly on the door before peeking in.

"Miss Dolorez, it's time to get up," she said gently. "You don't want to be late for school."

I sat up slowly, my body feeling heavy. Maria frowned, stepping closer.

"Are you alright, Miss?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a small smile. "Just tired."

Her eyes softened. "You work too hard, Miss. Maybe you should take it easy today."

I nodded absentmindedly, but the thought of taking it easy felt foreign. There was no room for rest when failure loomed so close.

The walk to school was uneventful, but my thoughts weighed me down like lead. Students passed by, some waving and smiling, others chatting about the debate.

I kept my head down, unable to muster the energy to return their enthusiasm.

At School

The day blurred by in a haze. Classes felt like background noise, my mind too preoccupied to focus.

Why am I still trying?

The question haunted me. The more I thought about it, the more I hated myself for caring so much about an election I didn't even want to win anymore.

I was at my locker, staring blankly at the books inside, when a familiar voice broke through my thoughts.

"Hey."

I turned to see Riser leaning casually against the lockers, his red eyes glinting with his usual mischief.

"We need to talk," he said, his tone unusually serious.

...

didn't know why I let him pull me away. Maybe it was the way he said, "We need to talk," with an odd seriousness I hadn't heard before. Or maybe I was just too tired to argue.

We ended up in a quiet corner of the school courtyard, far from the chatter and footsteps of the other students. The late morning sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

Riser leaned against the bench, arms crossed, his usual carefree grin replaced by something softer. "Listen, Saori," he began, his tone gentle but firm. "You don't have to carry this burden by yourself."

That did it. Something inside me snapped.

"Shut up," I said, my voice trembling.

His brow furrowed, but he didn't speak.

"Shut up," I repeated, louder this time.

"Saori—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

The words poured out of me, louder and more desperate each time, until my voice cracked, and the tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over.

I sank to the ground, my hands covering my face as the sobs wracked through me. I hated this. I hated myself. I hated how weak I felt, how completely unraveled I'd become.

Through my tears, I could feel his presence. He hadn't moved, hadn't said a word.

When I finally dared to look up, I expected to see him smirking, laughing at me, like I was some kind of joke.

But he wasn't.

Instead, Riser stood there, his expression softer than I'd ever seen it. His red eyes, so often filled with mischief, were filled with something else entirely—concern, maybe even sadness.

He wasn't mocking me. He wasn't gloating.

He just… cared.

And on his lips was the faintest, weakest smile, like he was trying to reassure me even though he didn't know how.

In that moment, I didn't see the carefree, reckless president I thought I knew.

I saw someone who wanted to carry my burden, even if I didn't want him to.

Riser Nafutori… "….what are you?" I said reluctantly

He looked down at me, again with that weak smile off his and said.. "I'm Riser Nafutori"

Sayori's POV

The glow of my bedside clock was the only light in the room as I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Sleep had eluded me all night, my thoughts circling the same maddening question: Why can't I just give up?

It wasn't about winning anymore. Not really. I didn't even want to be Student Council President. Not after seeing how much the students loved Riser, how much he genuinely cared for them in his own ridiculous, carefree way.

But the thought of losing…

I clenched my fists against the bedsheets. I can't lose.

The need to win had been drilled into me for as long as I could remember. My parents had always demanded perfection. In Spain, I was paraded around as the perfect daughter, the model student, the future leader. Every decision I made was scrutinized, every mistake magnified.

I thought leaving Spain would free me from that weight, but it only followed me here.

A Memory

"Sayori, remember your posture," my mother's voice rang sharply in my memory. "A future princess does not slouch."

I was twelve, standing in front of a gilded mirror in our estate's ballroom. My back ached from the rigid stance she demanded.

"Yes, Mother," I said, keeping my voice steady.

Behind her, my father was pacing, speaking rapidly into his phone about a diplomatic meeting. He barely looked at me, his presence more of a shadow than anything else.

"Perfect is the only acceptable standard, Sayori," my mother said, adjusting the hem of my dress. "You must remember that. Always."

But perfection was impossible.

When I was fourteen, everything fell apart. My parents sent me away to Japan under the guise of "broadening my horizons," but I knew the truth. They were protecting their reputations. I wasn't perfect, and they couldn't let anyone see that.

I sat up in bed, wiping at the tears I hadn't realized were falling. The weight of it all was suffocating.

Coming to Japan was supposed to be a fresh start, but I'd carried all that pressure with me. The need to prove myself, to be better than everyone else, had driven me to challenge Riser.

But now…

I buried my face in my hands.

Why am I still trying?

Morning

When the sunlight crept into my room, I felt like a shell of myself. My maid, Maria, knocked lightly on the door before peeking in.

"Miss Dolorez, it's time to get up," she said gently. "You don't want to be late for school."

I sat up slowly, my body feeling heavy. Maria frowned, stepping closer.

"Are you alright, Miss?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a small smile. "Just tired."

Her eyes softened. "You work too hard, Miss. Maybe you should take it easy today."

I nodded absentmindedly, but the thought of taking it easy felt foreign. There was no room for rest when failure loomed so close.

The walk to school was uneventful, but my thoughts weighed me down like lead. Students passed by, some waving and smiling, others chatting about the debate.

I kept my head down, unable to muster the energy to return their enthusiasm.

At School

The day blurred by in a haze. Classes felt like background noise, my mind too preoccupied to focus.

Why am I still trying?

The question haunted me. The more I thought about it, the more I hated myself for caring so much about an election I didn't even want to win anymore.

I was at my locker, staring blankly at the books inside, when a familiar voice broke through my thoughts.

"Hey."

I turned to see Riser leaning casually against the lockers, his red eyes glinting with his usual mischief.

"We need to talk," he said, his tone unusually serious.

...

didn't know why I let him pull me away. Maybe it was the way he said, "We need to talk," with an odd seriousness I hadn't heard before. Or maybe I was just too tired to argue.

We ended up in a quiet corner of the school courtyard, far from the chatter and footsteps of the other students. The late morning sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

Riser leaned against the bench, arms crossed, his usual carefree grin replaced by something softer. "Listen, Saori," he began, his tone gentle but firm. "You don't have to carry this burden by yourself."

That did it. Something inside me snapped.

"Shut up," I said, my voice trembling.

His brow furrowed, but he didn't speak.

"Shut up," I repeated, louder this time.

"Saori—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

The words poured out of me, louder and more desperate each time, until my voice cracked, and the tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over.

I sank to the ground, my hands covering my face as the sobs wracked through me. I hated this. I hated myself. I hated how weak I felt, how completely unraveled I'd become.

Through my tears, I could feel his presence. He hadn't moved, hadn't said a word.

When I finally dared to look up, I expected to see him smirking, laughing at me, like I was some kind of joke.

But he wasn't.

Instead, Riser stood there, his expression softer than I'd ever seen it. His red eyes, so often filled with mischief, were filled with something else entirely—concern, maybe even sadness.

He wasn't mocking me. He wasn't gloating.

He just… cared.

And on his lips was the faintest, weakest smile, like he was trying to reassure me even though he didn't know how.

In that moment, I didn't see the carefree, reckless president I thought I knew.

I saw someone who wanted to carry my burden, even if I didn't want him to.

Riser Nafutori… "….what are you?" I said reluctantly

He looked down at me, again with that weak smile off his and said.. "I'm Riser Nafutori"