Mie without her glasses is a completely different person, and Komura gets to know both versions of her. The comedy lives in that gap: watching him navigate a girl who can't see him clearly while he sees her more clearly every day. It's a show about how love works in small, stupid, perfect moments, not big declarations.
Komura has always been the quiet type, content to fade into the background. His new school year promises more of the same until Mie sits down at the desk beside him. She's charming in an unpredictable way, always saying something unexpected, and her thick glasses frame eyes that make his pulse race. There's just one problem: Mie constantly forgets those glasses at home. What should be a minor inconvenience becomes Komura's romantic torture and salvation rolled into one. Without them, Mie squints in concentration, her face unintentionally fierce and adorable all at once. Suddenly Komura finds himself offering to share textbooks, positioning himself close enough to help her see the board, living in a state of perpetual flustered panic. The comedy blooms from this simple dynamic: a shy boy trying to survive proximity to his crush while she remains blissfully unaware of her own effect on him. Their daily routine becomes a careful dance of nervous glances and almost-moments, grounded in genuine warmth rather than mean-spirited humor.