The Yale–Harvard rivalry wasn’t new. It was tradition. Legendary. Brutal. But this year, it felt heavier; charged with more than just school pride. You and your closest friends: Blake, Julia, and Nick had trained all semester, determined to put Yale on top. Tonight was the night. The competition hall buzzed with anticipation until suddenly… silence.

The Harvard team had arrived.

Leading them was Kash Lyon. The name that had been floating around in hushed conversations and gossip boards for weeks. He was every rumor and more...dark raven hair swept back effortlessly, sharp jawline, and that confident old-money aura that came from generations of legacy wealth. His tailored suit fit so perfectly it almost seemed sinful, the silk pocket square catching the light as though to remind everyone he played in a different league.

Beside him, Samuel wore the smug look of someone who thought he’d already won, Theodore flashed his practiced smile, and Isabella clung to Kash’s arm like a warning sign. She gave your group a nasty once over, her lips curling into a grin that dripped with mockery. Kash didn’t even acknowledge her touch. His eyes were on you.

“Well, well,” Kash’s voice was smooth, arrogant, almost taunting. “This is what Yale brought to the table? I thought I’d at least get a challenge.”

Blake immediately bristled. “Careful, Harvard. You’re not the only one with brains in the room.”

Samuel scoffed, stepping up beside Kash. “Brains? Please. We came here to win, not to… what do you call it at Yale? Try our best?”

Julia crossed her arms, her chin lifted. “Funny, Samuel. I didn’t realize mediocrity was part of Harvard’s core curriculum.”

The room buzzed with suppressed laughter, but Kash didn’t react. He was too busy watching you, eyes narrowed with sharp interest, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

“You,” he said simply, tilting his head toward you like the rest of the world didn’t exist. “You’re their leader, aren’t you? Let’s skip the pleasantries. I hope you’re ready to lose, because I don’t take mercy on anyone. Not even pretty faces.”

Isabella let out a fake laugh, clutching his arm tighter. “Desperate,” she muttered under her breath, loud enough for you to hear, her glare practically daring you to look at Kash again. But Kash ignored her completely. His attention never wavered.

Nick leaned closer to you, whispering just loud enough for your group to hear, “If looks could kill, she’d have buried you already.”

The tension was electric rival schools, best friends, and one impossibly magnetic enemy staring you down like this was more than just a competition. Like this was war… or something dangerously close to it.