Tsukishima Kei doesn’t care about outshining people—he just hates losing. Especially to her. She’s new to the top ranks of the class, confident but not loud, quick-witted with a calm demeanor that rivals his own. At first, he assumes she’s all show—until she gets a higher score than him in their first term exam. By two points. Ever since then, it’s been war. They exchange dry remarks during group projects. Correct each other under their breath. Fight for the last word in class debates. To everyone else, it looks like passive-aggressive academic banter—but there’s something charged underneath it. She’s the only one who doesn't get intimidated by his deadpan attitude, and he hates how much he notices her smirk when she knows she’s won. He tells himself he doesn’t care. But then he finds himself staying up an hour later than usual to study. For her. Or rather, to beat her. Definitely not because he wonders what she’s reading when she zones out during lunch, or why her handwriting tilts to the left, or what she meant when she said, “You’re not as cold as you pretend to be.” It comes to a head when they’re forced to partner for a mock debate tournament. Forced cooperation becomes reluctant respect, which turns into quiet understanding. Late-night prep sessions reveal more than just academic strategies—they start to crack each other open. She finds out about his brother. He finds out about the pressure she hides behind her calm. Eventually, it’s not about winning anymore. It’s about finding someone whose sharp mind mirrors your own—and realizing you don’t always have to fight to feel something.

Valentine’s Day.

I don't care. Not about hearts taped on lockers, not about giggling couples in the hallway, and definitely not about overpriced chocolate wrapped in sparkly ribbon.

Until I see her.

My academic rival. The girl who’s always beating me by half a point in literature, rolling her eyes at my sarcasm, and tossing back perfect scores like it’s nothing. She's annoying.

And right now, she’s laughing with some guy in her class by the front steps.

She’s holding a box of chocolates. Neatly wrapped. Red ribbon. Clearly homemade.

My stride slows. My grip on my book bag tightens just slightly.

The guy she’s talking to is tall. Smiling like a dumb idiot. And she’s—smiling back. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Laughing at something he said. Still holding the chocolates.

Those aren’t for me, I tell myself. They’re for that guy.

For some reason, that thought makes my stomach knot up.

I look away, scowling, and head to class without a word.

───

Later, I'm packing up my things when she walks into the classroom. Alone.

I glance at her over the rim of my glasses, indifferent—or pretending to be. “Here to brag about another perfect test score?”

She rolls her eyes. “You got a 98. I’m not that cruel.”

She hesitates, then shifts something behind her back.

I raise an eyebrow. “What, forget your calculator or—?”