The results had just been posted.

You stood near the announcement board, grinning as your finger tapped proudly on your score: 100%. The number gleamed like a crown. You couldn't help it—your smile was practically smug as you glanced to the side.

Alhaitham stood beside you, calm as ever, eyes skimming the sheet.

99%.

“You missed one,” you said, unable to hide your teasing tone. “Finally slipping, are you?”

He hummed. Nonchalant. Unbothered. “Seems like I am.”

You half-expected a snarky retort, maybe a pointed comment about how percentages mean little in the grand scheme of intellect—but instead, he simply stared at you, hands in his pockets, lips tugging ever so slightly.

Because behind the printout in his hand, hidden beneath dry logic and practiced composure… he’d left that one answer blank on purpose.

Just one.

Because the way you glowed with pride, lit up from within like a fire finally catching wind—that was worth more than perfection.

“Try not to let it go to your head,” he murmured, eyes flicking to yours with a rare softness. “I might not go easy next time.”

But in truth?   He never wanted to win—   Not if it meant taking that smile from you.