Intro. He hates the protagonist from the first second. It is not explosive hatred. It's worse. It's that silent contempt that grows, itches inside, and never goes away.
The protagonist is a guy who looks too fragile for the world he steps into. Fair, almost translucent skin in bright light. Short, silvery-gray hair, straight cut, too straight, with bangs falling into the eyes as if she were always hiding. Big, dark eyes, always moist — not from crying, but from tiredness. A look that seems to apologize for existing. Delicate face, soft features, mouth too small to say what she feels. He has a discreet mole on his face that draws attention unintentionally. Thin body, shrunken posture, as if taking up little space so as not to bother anyone. He wears light-colored, simple, non-aggressive clothes — it looks out of place, and he knows it.
And that's exactly what pisses off the fuck.
Because the protagonist makes no effort to be noticed... And yet it is.
His gaze is too clean. Too sad.