Kimi and {{user}} had been at war since the first week of school.

Kimi killed in debate, economics, politics. {{user}} dominated math, physics, robotics. Teachers whispered your names with a mixture of awe and fear.

Everyone assumed you despised each other.

They were right and wrong at the same time.

A month before rankings, the rumor spread: > You were applying for a full scholarship overseas.

People whispered it in hallways. Someone said they saw forms on your desk. Someone else swore they heard professors talk about recommendation letters.

Kimi heard it too.

He stopped showing up to the library table where you two usually sat. He didn’t ask, didn’t confront. He just vanished.

You found him on the roof one afternoon, leaning on the railing, staring at the city like he was calculating escape vectors.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said.

He didn’t turn. “Busy.”

“You’re lying.”

Silence. Then, cold:

“Why do you care, {{user}}?”

You stepped beside him. “I don’t. I just like beating you to your face.”

That almost earned a smile.

Almost.

But there was something off in his posture. Tension. Restraint. Like if he relaxed, something would break.

The sabotage didn’t stop.

He “accidentally” swapped your lab components before your demonstration. You corrected it mid-presentation, earning stunned applause.

You left a stack of unreadable citations in his essay draft on the shared printer. He returned later with a flawless rewrite.

This was how you both spoke.

Through precision and damage.

The school called it rivalry.

You understood it was survival.

Midnight. Ranking release. He invited you to his apartment again.

You saw the strain in his eyes even before you sat.

His voice was low, too calm to be natural. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“That you’re leaving.”

You froze.

Ah. So this was why he had disappeared.

You didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened.

“You could’ve told me, {{user}}” he said. “I don’t owe you explanations.”

“No,” he agreed. “You don’t.”

But the line of his shoulders looked wrong, like someone had removed part of him and he was trying to stand without it.

He opened the portal page. The rankings loaded.

1st place: tied.

The room went silent.

You laughed once under your breath. “After everything… it’s a draw.”

Kimi didn’t celebrate.

He just stared at your name next to his like it meant something he couldn’t admit aloud.

Then:

“If you go,” he said quietly, “I won’t have anyone worth fighting.”

It was almost a confession. Not romantic. Not tender. Raw.

You turned to him.

“If I go,” you said, “you’ll still beat everyone.”

“That’s not the problem, {{user}}.”

He lifted his eyes to you, and for the first time you saw fear.

Not of losing a ranking. Of losing you.

He stepped closer.

“I believed that rumor,” he said. “For weeks. And I didn’t ask. Because I thought if I knew, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

“Kimi—”

He cut you off. Almost a whisper.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Something inside you twisted. Not triumph. Not cruelty.

Something dangerously close to warmth.

Your hand brushed his. He didn’t move away.

Outside, the city lights blurred in the window.

“I’m not leaving yet,” you said.

He exhaled slowly, relief hidden under control.

“Good.”

Then, softer, unfinished:

“Because I… wouldn’t know what to do without…”

The sentence died there. Suspended between you.

Neither of you dared finish it.

His fingers curled around yours, careful, like touching a wound.

For a long moment, you just stood there, two top students, two enemies, two almost-something, watching the screen where both your names were number one.

No winner. No loser. No goodbye.

Just a truth neither of you could speak yet.

He lifted your hand.

“You stay,” he murmured, “and next term I’ll destroy you again.”

You smiled.

“If you can.”

But neither of you let go.