Mr. Yamato's words, relayed through Sakura, didn't just add pressure; they defined a new reality for our relationship. It wasn't enough that we were happy together; we had to prove that our happiness didn't come at the expense of Sakura's future, a future laden with family expectations and the weight of her brother's unfulfilled path.
This meant our time together often shifted to "study dates." We still found moments for simple romance – holding hands while walking, sharing a quiet lunch, exchanging shy smiles – but the looming presence of exams and university applications became a constant backdrop.
Studying together became our new normal. We'd meet in the library, the clubroom, or sometimes a cafe, surrounded by textbooks, notebooks, and the low hum of focused students. Sakura was relentless in her studies. Seeing her pore over complex material, her brow furrowed in concentration, reminded me of the intense pressure she carried. I tried my best to keep up, not just for my own future, but to be a supportive presence beside her.
During one study session in the library, I noticed her rubbing her temples, a sign of stress.
"Hey, you okay, Sakura?" I asked softly, leaning closer.
She sighed, a sound of pure weariness. "Just... a lot to get through. And sometimes... the pressure feels heavy."
She didn't elaborate, but I knew what kind of pressure she meant. Not just from school, but from home. From the expectations.
I gently covered her hand on the desk. "Take a break," I suggested. "Just for a few minutes. We can get some fresh air."
She looked at our hands, then back at me, a small, grateful smile touching her lips. "Okay, Hiroshi. A few minutes."
We walked outside the library, finding a quiet bench in the school courtyard. The fresh air felt good. We didn't talk about studies or expectations. We just sat in comfortable silence for a bit, enjoying the simple act of being together, away from the books and the pressure.
"Thanks," she said softly, breaking the silence. "Sometimes I just... need a moment."
"Anytime," I replied, squeezing her hand. Being her 'refuge' in these small moments felt important. It was a different kind of support than cheering her on during the contest, but just as real.
The pressure wasn't only external. It also created subtle tension within our relationship. There were moments when Sakura would seem distant, lost in thought about her studies or her future. Sometimes I worried that I was the distraction her father was concerned about, even when we were studying together. My own insecurities about fitting into her world would surface.
During a study date at a cafe, I saw her staring blankly at her textbook, a frustrated look on her face.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
She jumped slightly, as if startled. "Oh, sorry, Hiroshi. Just... thinking about university essays. It feels like... everything I write has to be perfect. Has to impress. Not just the teachers, but... them." She gestured vaguely, implying her family.
"It sounds exhausting," I said honestly.
Sakura sighed. "It is. Sometimes I just wish... I didn't have to think about expectations all the time."
Seeing her like this, raw and vulnerable beneath the perfect facade, reinforced how much pressure she carried. It also highlighted the difference in our worlds. While I was thinking about getting into a decent university and figuring out a path, she was aiming for the pinnacle, weighed down by legacy and unspoken demands.
My own future felt less defined, less pressured. This difference wasn't a problem in itself, but it was a reminder of the gap between our worlds, a gap that her father's concerns had made more apparent.
"Hey," I said, reaching out and gently taking her hand across the table. "You don't have to impress me, you know. Just... be yourself. And you're already incredible."
She looked at me, her eyes softening. A genuine smile bloomed, pushing away the stress lines around her eyes. "Thank you, Hiroshi-kun. You always know what to say."
"I just say what I see," I replied, squeezing her hand.
Our study dates continued, a mix of focused work, shared frustration, quiet support, and moments of genuine connection. The pressure from her world was a constant presence, a new challenge for our real relationship. But facing it together, even if it was just sitting side-by-side in a library, quietly holding hands during a break, felt like we were building something stronger, something that could hopefully withstand the weight of expectations.
We had to prove our relationship wasn't a distraction. And the only way to do that was to support each other through the very thing it was supposedly distracting from: the path to the future.