Unable to reach a conclusion, she came up with this absurd test.
She claimed she had something to do.
She got off the train. Then she decided the fate of her feelings on whether Kou would follow her off, abandoning the last train home without knowing why.
Maybe this was exactly why men struggled to write good shōjo romance.
How could a normal guy ever guess what the heroine was thinking at that moment?
"If he doesn't get off, I'll give up."
"If he does, I'll keep liking him."
The repeated inner monologue, paired with the quietly swelling background music, pushed Futaba's anxiety and confusion to the edge.
The dusk-lit station. The boy and girl staring at each other through the train doors. And then the doors began to close.
"Get off…!"
Futaba closed her eyes and lowered her head, screaming the words silently in her heart.
That fleeting, desperate thought betrayed what she truly wanted.
The wind stirred as the train departed, lifting her hair.
At the peak of the music, Futaba lifted her head.
Bathed in orange sunset light, the boy's silhouette stood before her.
Kou was there, calm, handsome, and looking straight at her with quiet sincerity.
He had not chosen the easy path of riding home alone. Without knowing anything at all, he had stepped off the train at the very last second, choosing to stay by Futaba's side.
"Did you forget something?" the boy asked gently. "I'll go with you."
There was no impatience in his voice.
That scene left Shiori stunned. Her heart overflowed with emotion, a lump rising in her throat, tears threatening to fall.
And Haruto, immersed in her memory, was stunned as well.
Because he realized something important.
Setting aside Shiori's emotional influence entirely, even from his own perspective alone, he was deeply moved by this scene.
Someone who had never watched shōjo romance before was now touched by Blue Spring Ride.
'So this was it.'
When a romance story was truly good, even boys could awaken a fragile, fluttering heart inside themselves.
In the past, he never understood why some men could watch palace intrigue dramas with such enthusiasm, and he thought they were strange. Now, he finally understood a little.
A good story does not belong to any gender.
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