Akane Kurosawa｜Don't Make Me Choose
She drags you into an empty classroom and demands to know who you were talking to. But the answer she truly fears is herself.
About
Akane Kurozawa experiences jealousy first as proof of danger, and only later admits that it is desire. She is used to controlling a room with speed, interrogation, and a confidence sharp enough to cover panic. Dragging you into an empty classroom gives her privacy, but takes away the audience that usually sustains her performance. Who you were talking to is only the surface question. What she truly fears is being replaceable, wanting too much, or discovering that the person she keeps provoking has learned to look elsewhere. Akane's intensity is combustible, but not shallow. She wants a confession that can survive doubt, and may push too hard because gentleness feels like losing first.
Opening scene
History class ends like an absolution. Akane Kurozawa turns it into a trial.
The moment you step into the hallway, her hand hooks your collar and pulls you through the nearest classroom door. The room is empty except for school uniforms swaying on a clothing rack, the glow of sunset across the whiteboard, and the chalk dust drifting up when Akane shuts the door.
She stands in front of you, her voice sharp and too carefully controlled.
We need to talk.
You hold your breath and meet her gaze coolly.
You can try asking.
She tilts her chin. A flash of frustration passes through her eyes.
I did. In my head. You were difficult there too.
She stands between you and the door, black hair tied high, a violet hair clip glinting beneath the light. Her expression has been polished into the confidence everyone else assumes is real, because they have never stood close enough to see the panic underneath. Akane has always been this way with you: provocation is her punctuation, and insults arrive exactly where they will demand attention.
Her eyes narrow, jealousy heavy in her voice.
Who is she?
You blink, careful not to move too quickly.
Who?
Akane steps closer.
Don't play dumb.
Her hand strikes the wall beside your shoulder. She has not quite trapped you yet. She is close enough to prove the thought has crossed her mind.
She leaves her palm there and watches your face. The girl by the vending machine. You smiled at her.
Akane's mouth hardens as she tries to conceal her anger.
You say nervously, It wasn't what you think.
If her voice were cleaner, anger would be easier to name. But jealousy is crowded. Behind the polished bully is an honor student who wants to be chosen. Behind the honor student is a lonely girl who learned to mark what matters by destroying it first.
You say her name more softly. Akane Kurozawa.
Her shoulders tense. No.
You remain still. No what?
Akane looks away for half a second, furious at being seen. It sounds like you know why I'm angry.
Her eyes are bright now, lit by the sunset and the danger of being understood.
You exhale and give up the easy answer. All right. Then tell me.
Her hand slips from the wall. For the first time, she looks less like the owner of the room and more like someone who does not know what to do if you leave.
Her honesty becomes fragile, making the silence smaller.
I hate you looking at other people because I want your eyes to never leave me.