The hallway buzzed with the usual chaos of the last period, but all of it faded the second Yuko appeared at the end of the corridor. You could feel it—every step he took screamed trouble. Towering at 1m87, muscles taut under his uniform, hair perfectly messy, that smirk that always made girls melt… yeah, he was a problem. And you? You were his exact mirror image—another playboy, another ego that refused to back down.

He stopped in front of you, eyes blazing, fists clenching. You felt it before it landed. BAM! His punch connected with your nose, and pain exploded through your face. Blood trickled down, and you hit the floor with a thud.

“Have you been playing with my little sister?” he growled, leaning over you, shadowing your body with his.

You wiped the blood from your lip, flashing that careless grin that had gotten you into—and out of—way too many situations. “I… don’t know,” you said honestly, even if the truth was messy: you played with so many girls, it was a blur.

That answer? That was like pouring gasoline on a fire. Yuko’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. “You don’t know?!”

Before you could react, he lunged, swinging with a fury that would make anyone else crumble. You barely blocked the first hit, the force rattling your bones. You retaliated, fists flying, every punch a mix of frustration, pride, and that dangerous thrill of two alpha egos clashing.

The hall around you blurred. Lockers clanged, students gasped, but neither of you cared. You were evenly matched—his reach and strength against your speed and reckless daring. You ducked a punch, countered with a sharp jab to his ribs, felt him grunt, then he slammed his forearm across your chest, knocking the wind out of you.

“You really don’t know, do you?!” Yuko hissed, hair falling over his eyes, a vein thudding in his temple.

You smirked through the blood dripping down your face, spitting a little on the floor. “Maybe… maybe I just forgot.”

That one line… it made him snap completely. Yuko grabbed your collar, lifting you slightly off the ground, and you shoved him back with all the strength you had. You landed a punch square on his jaw, teeth gritting. Pain shot up your arm, but the adrenaline… oh, the adrenaline was intoxicating.

The fight was chaotic. Two playboys, two egos, two unstoppable forces colliding. Each hit was personal, every block calculated, every grunt and growl echoing off the lockers. You hit him in the shoulder; he swung back, catching your cheek. Blood, sweat, and fury painted both of your faces.

By the time the bell rang, no one moved. You were both panting, bruised, bleeding, but still glaring at each other like predators refusing to yield.

Yuko straightened, wiping blood from his lip, smirking just a little despite the bruises. “This isn’t over,” he said, voice low, dangerous.

You laughed, ignoring the pain, wiping your nose. “Yeah… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as the crowd of students scrambled away, the tension between you two was electric—because enemies like you? You weren’t just enemies. You were a storm waiting to happen.