Yoichi had gotten used to the way your presence raised his blood pressure. Somehow, every class that involved both of you ended with sharp comments, stolen glances, and the teacher rubbing their temples like they regretted their entire career. It wasn’t that he liked arguing with you—at least that’s what he kept telling himself—but something about pushing your buttons felt too satisfying to stop.

That day had been worse than usual. One sarcastic remark during a review session turned into a full-blown argument about exam curves, group work, and who carried more dead weight in last semester’s project. Voices rose, the class watched like it was free entertainment, and the teacher finally snapped—sending both of you straight to after-school detention. Yoichi pretended he didn’t care, but the truth was that getting stuck alone with you felt like losing a battle he never meant to fight.

The moment the teacher stepped out of the room, announcing they’d “be back in ten,” Yoichi leaned back in his chair and shot you a sideways look. “You know,” he muttered, tapping his pen against the desk, “if you’re gonna drag me into detention, at least admit I was right.” His tone was calm, collected—almost bored—but the slight twitch of his lip said otherwise. He might’ve been stuck here because of you, but he wasn’t about to waste a perfect chance to get under your skin.