The twelfth episode of 'Kimi ni Todoke' began by continuing the misunderstanding between the two leads.
"I-I'm sorry. You went out of your way to take care of me. I'm sorry..."
Sawako sobbed as she apologized to Shouta.
Shouta, his expression pained, replied,
"I meant well... I'm sorry for making you sad."
This recap alone made Lin Xi shift uncomfortably.
The same scene in the previous episode had broken her heart.
They clearly liked each other, yet both assumed the other didn't feel the same. It was a misunderstanding born out of false assumptions—a frustrating situation to watch.
The twelfth episode continued for over ten minutes with their ordinary campus life and their deepening emotional gap, leading into the school festival arc.
Sawako's class even had her playing the "ghost" in a haunted house.
Both leads went through the festival in a haze of misunderstanding and quiet heartache—an event that should've been sweet and joyful turned bittersweet.
"I'm not like Sawako. I'm impatient. Jealous. I'm not as admirable as she thinks I am. She's always solving everything on her own. In truth, I've always looked up to her…"
"I thought he was like a god—so cool, so confident, always the center of attention. I admired him, respected him… But the Shouta I like has always just been an ordinary boy."
Their inner monologues intertwined with shifting visuals and soft music that layered the mood.
Lin Xi's emotions rose with the story's atmosphere, and in the fan group chat, expectations were hitting a peak.
Until—
As the festival ended and the students began to disperse—
"I don't care anymore. I don't care who Shouta likes. I don't care."
As Sawako ran through the crowd under the setting sun, rushing back toward her classroom, a voice echoed in her mind—
"I don't care about what I don't know anymore."
In front of their TVs, nine out of ten viewers watching that moment were smiling through tears.
"Run, girl!"
"She's finally going to confess. I'm crying!"
"Three months of watching this drama—finally, payoff!"
"They better not pull anything weird this time."
"This background track is so good!"
"Sawako, you finally get it! You finally understand—it's time to confess!"
"Yeah! All this time, misunderstanding after misunderstanding—if even one of you dared to speak first, everything would've been cleared up. But no, both of you kept assuming the other didn't like you. Exhausting! Just confess—who cares if you fail?"
"Honestly, I thought it'd be Shouta doing the confessing."
"Yeah, well, Shouta's been emotionally shut down thanks to Sawako."
"He tried to confess twice already, and every time Sawako chickened out and made him think she didn't like him. Sigh."
"Guys, I'm tearing up. I never thought I'd be this excited just to see a couple confess. I'm more nervous than I was when I confessed."
"Says the guy who's clearly never confessed in real life."
Lin Xi's eyes sparkled as she watched the scene unfold.
"Shouta's sad face… his bright laughter… his angry expression…"
"If I could have all of that—how would he look at me then?"
Panting, Sawako reached the door of the classroom.
Inside, the person she liked was waiting.
"I want to break down the wall between us and tell Shouta… how I really feel."
"I want to tell you! Tell you!"
As she reached for the doorknob—
Lin Xi—and every single viewer in front of a TV—held their breath.
The door opened halfway. In the golden backlight of the sunset, sitting by the window with the curtains swaying gently, a handsome boy in a white school uniform looked out the window.
"That divine side profile! Forget Sawako—I'm falling for him too!" Lin Xi squealed, hugging herself. The immersion was too real—she was Sawako in that moment.
The door stayed half open.
Sawako and Shouta, each with half their faces showing, looked at each other across the doorway.
"I'm sorry I made you cry. I'm sorry. If there's anything you want to say, no matter what it is—I'll listen. But… my feelings won't change," Shouta said softly.
He still thought Sawako had come to clarify things—to confirm she didn't like him.
"Stop stalling! Just confess already!"
"It's starting! It's happening!"
"What is the female lead doing again?! Just three words—I like you! Why's she rambling?!"
"Get to the point! Or it'll turn into another misunderstanding!"
"Is it like you really that hard to say?"
"This girl would score under 30 on the essay section of a civil service exam. I'm done."
"Please no! We're halfway through this episode already, and still no confession."
"It's 9:49 PM—we've only got a few minutes left. This episode's about to end!"
"Are they seriously going to split the confession over two episodes?!"
"Oh my god, I'm dying here."
-------
"It's like my world used to be black and white, and you brought color into it."
"Just your existence… changed my world."
"So this time, rather than saying I'm sorry, what I really want to say is—"
"Thank you for smiling at me."
"Thank you for talking to me."
"Thank you for always being so kind to me."
"Thank you for letting me feel so many emotions I never thought I could experience."
That night, perhaps the longest yet most heartfelt confession in the history of Great Zhou romance dramas unfolded—watched by millions of viewers across the country.
"I didn't come to say all that," Sawako suddenly said, tears spilling from her eyes. She looked at Shouta inside the classroom.
Shouta, calm, prepared to be rejected—ready to finally let go.
[How do you put this feeling into words? I don't know. But one word keeps echoing in my heart.]
"What I really want to say is—"
"I like you. I like you. I like you."
"I like you. I really, really like you."
That simple confession hit every viewer like an emotional bombshell.
Tears streamed down Lin Xi's cheeks—she couldn't hold them back.
They confessed.
Finally.
In the fan chat:
"This feeling... absolutely perfect."
"I'm crying."
"I waited 12 episodes for this."
"This moment made everything worth it."
"So satisfying."
"I'm so moved!"
"Let them live happily ever after."
"I waited so long… my hands are shaking."
"This sugar overload…"
"When will someone confess to me like that?"
"Cried while smiling."
"Finally, a romance that's not emotionally devastating."
"Teacher Jing Yu is a master. He makes us cry with heartbreak and with sweetness."
"I love Teacher Jing Yu so much! Been following his works for three years—he's never let me down."
"Damn…"
The episode ended with Shouta pulling the half-open classroom door wide, and Sawako, teary and bashful, finally stepping into the room.
His hand reached out, pulled her in.
The final freeze frame: Sawako falling into Shouta's arms—their eyes locked on each other.
The ending theme began to play.
All the viewers' overwhelming emotion turned instantly into frustration.
"That's it?!"
"You ended it there?!"
"What the hell?! That cliffhanger killed me."
"No way—I'm filing a complaint."
"They couldn't give us one more minute?! What happens after she gets pulled in?!"
"I was so happy one minute ago… now I'm dying."
"At least show us a kiss! Shouta, you've got to kiss her right now!"
"It's over, guys. No sleep tonight."
"Yup, not sleeping."
"I'm going to Jing Yu's Qingyun profile to rant."
"I'm going to beg for the next episode."
"I'm going to confess to him."
"???"
"Bro… what?"
Jokes aside, most fans stuck around and watched the ending theme... then caught the trailer for episode 13.
Final Episode
Most had already guessed it, but seeing those three words made their hearts sink.
Another masterpiece was about to end.
The impact of episode 12 exceeded even industry expectations.
Especially at Yunteng TV—they thought ratings might rise a bit, maybe hit 9.8%. They didn't expect that halfway through the episode, more and more casual viewers would tune in, drawn by word-of-mouth buzz.
The final viewership rating for episode 12?
10.01%.
The next day, Great Zhou media naturally jumped on the trending topic.
A single episode breaking 10% was a major event.
Now, a show with a series-wide average of over 10% usually meant it was a high-budget production—with a famous director, big-name cast, and top-tier marketing that kept ratings high from beginning to end.
But Jing Yu's drama started out modestly—its low rating caused by its platform—yet it steadily climbed thanks to pure word of mouth. That climb alone proved the quality of the show.
As long as the final episode didn't flop, the long-term profitability, licensing, and cultural impact of 'Kimi ni Todoke' would be comparable to any drama with a consistent 10% average.
This was now the fourth drama in the past five years to have a single episode break 10%—and it did so on Yunteng TV, no less.
Naturally, media coverage exploded with praise.
Some critics even declared:
"'Kimi ni Todoke' is the most outstanding romance drama in the past twenty years."
And, of course, Jing Yu's name came up repeatedly.
The winter drama season was nearing its end.
'Kimi ni Todoke' had just one episode left.
The thirteenth episode would be all sweetness and fluff—a reward from Jing Yu to fans who endured three months of romantic frustration.
Also… maybe a warm-up for '5 Centimeters per Second'.
Outside the production base, reporters had gathered in larger numbers than usual.
"Teacher Jing Yu! What's your next project after 'Kimi ni Todoke' wraps up?"
"Are you working with Qingyun because you were unhappy at Yunteng?"
"Teacher Jing Yu! What do you think of the recent comments made by Jixun and Qiezi Video's executives? They claimed that while you may be the 'ratings king' on TV, you're not cut out for the online drama market!"
Jing Yu quickened his pace toward the set, not bothering to respond.
Anyone would be annoyed with a media horde chasing them every few days.
But when the reporter on the left brought up Qiezi and Jixun, he paused.
These were the same companies that had politely rejected him before he invested in Qingyun. Now, they'd started mocking him publicly to boost themselves.
Jing Yu finally looked into the camera.
"I acknowledge their point. Online and TV dramas differ in competition and delivery. But—"
He narrowed his gaze.
"That difference applies to them, too. I hear they're preparing 'original' online dramas to air next spring or summer."
"In front of the media, words are cheap. I already have two approved scripts. If things go well, they might air soon."
"And when they do—it'll be clear who really isn't cut out for the online drama world."
With that, Jing Yu turned and walked into the studio.