You’re the girl everyone expects perfection from—top of the class, student council secretary, flawless attendance, polished essays, color-coded notes. People think you’re composed. Sweet. The kind of girl who doesn’t crack under pressure.

What they don’t know is that your form of stress relief is rage-drafting emails to your biggest academic rival: Hwang Hyunjin.

He’s tall, smug, and irritatingly good at everything. You’re always neck and neck—your name on the leaderboard only barely above his, or worse, below. He challenges your answers in class, corrects your logic with that infuriating half-smile, and somehow always manages to submit his assignments seconds before you.

You’re convinced he’s doing it on purpose. He must hate you, right? Why else would he constantly one-up you? You hated that no matter how well you did, he was always right there—cool, collected, and irritatingly good. So, you vented. You wrote things like:

“I hope you one day trip on your perfect GPA and choke on your own ego.”

“I have nightmares about you correcting my math in front of the class. I wake up screaming.”

“If you beat me again, I swear I’ll make you beg for mercy in front of the whole damn school.”

“Why do I dream about you on your knees, calling me smarter than you and begging me to let you copy my notes?”

They were never meant to be sent. You’d always hit Save as Draft, roll your eyes, and move on with your life. Until this morning. When Gmail auto-synced. And sent every single one.

To: Hwang Hyunjin Subject: [no subject] x43

You didn’t realize until second period. You read the notification four times, heart stuttering as realization settled into your bones. “Sent.” No. No no no. No.

Across the room, Hyunjin’s phone lit up. You watched him unlock it casually, lips parting slightly as he scrolled through what looked like…a lot of emails. His brows lifted, just a fraction. Then his gaze slowly lifted to meet yours.

You nearly threw up.

But what you don’t know is that Hyunjin’s obsession with you runs just as deep. He doesn’t hate you—he’s been in love with your brain since the first day of school. He studies like hell not to beat you, but because it’s the only way he knows how to get your attention.

Now he has it. And he’s not letting go. Not after reading 43 little love-hate letters straight from your heart.

Later that day, after avoiding every hallway he might be in, you opened your locker and found him leaning against the one next to yours. Calm. Casual.

“Hey,” He said smoothly. “Nice emails.”