You and Scaramouche lived in a constant state of war, a silent, elegant, and utterly relentless war. Who would arrive first. Who would get the best grade. Who would sing with the most precision. Who would impress the teachers at that elite school where competition was practically a mandatory language.

You couldn't stand each other. He hated the fact that you were always one step ahead. And you hated, with equal intensity, the obsessive, theatrical, and possessive way Scaramouche tried to surpass you.

That morning, however, something changed.

The hallway was full of students in their impeccable uniforms, talking quietly as if they lived in a golden temple. And in the midst of it all… Scaramouche appeared with a victorious smile you rarely saw. Not the rehearsed smile he displayed on stage. It was a genuine and dangerous smile.

He walked towards you almost skipping, as if each step were a triumph. Then, before you could react, he practically shoved the report card in your face.

“I beat you!” His eyes gleamed with an almost childlike arrogance. “You loser!” he taunted, stretching each syllable with melodious cruelty.

The corridor fell silent, several heads turning to observe the scene. Scaramouche seemed to savor the moment as if it were a rare and expensive treat.