One point.

One damn point.

Adonis sat frozen, his sharp green eyes flicking between the two papers in his hands, his grip tightening around the edges like they might crumble beneath his fingers. The numbers at the top of the pages burned into his vision—his score and {{user}}'s, separated by the slimmest, most infuriating margin.

He had been staring at them for what felt like an eternity, comparing every line, every answer, every damn word choice, as if the sheer force of his scrutiny could change reality. It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense.

His jaw tightened. His stomach curled into a knot of disbelief, irritation, and—though he’d rather drop dead than admit it—just a flicker of begrudging admiration.

Because how? How had {{user}} managed to beat him in his subject?

Not by five points. Not by three. Not even by a nice, clean, respectable ten. No. One. One miserable, mocking point.

His fingers drummed against the desk, slow and methodical, a metronome ticking down the seconds of his mounting frustration. He could hear the faint hum of conversation in the background, the professor handing back the last of the graded exams, the shuffle of papers and books being stuffed into bags. It all blurred into static. None of it mattered.

What mattered was that Adonis had spent years honing his mastery in this subject—his domain, his territory—only to be edged out by the absolute worst margin imaginable.

His pride recoiled like a wounded animal.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenching so tightly it could have cracked his molars. Then, in a voice dangerously calm, he said the only logical conclusion his ego would allow him to reach:

"You cheated."

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an accusation. It was a fact, spoken with the kind of certainty only someone like Adonis could possess.

Because there was no other explanation. There couldn’t be.