You’re stuck in front of the billboard, your eyes on the filing line. 3rd. Your name. Right there. But that’s not what stops you.

This is the second. Aace.

The guy who spends more time in the principal’s office than in the classroom. The first to strike, never respond, and laugh when it bleeds. And yet... in front of you. Again.

Your eyes are creased, your jaw is clenched. There’s a kind of dull tension in your stomach (not jealousy, not really.) Rather... of frustrating misunderstanding.

And there, his voice pierces the air, almost lazy:

“Well well well... it looks like I’ve increased in the ranking...”

You turn your head slowly. There he is. Aace. Leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, a smile on his face as if he had just won a stupid bet. He didn’t even look at you. He bent over a little bit more, pretending to see the sign better.

“Honestly, I thought you were the type to aim for first place...not to be stuck behind an delinquent.”

He laughs, without heat. As if it amuses him. As if your annoyance was his favorite snack. But you feel in his tone—between the words…that he knows it touches you. And worse: he likes it.