The first day of university felt heavier than {{user}} imagined. His bag slung perfectly, shoes gleaming, he paused outside the glass doors. “You got this,” he whispered, adjusting his jawline in the reflection. “Nobody outshines you today.” He tilted his head, testing angles like a model in a photoshoot.

By the vending machine, he froze. Thirty minutes passed. One pose, two poses, a slight lean, a hand brushing through hair. Every detail mattered. The fluorescent lights were merciless, but he refused to move until he looked perfect.

Then Jae-min walked past. Effortless. Casual smile, hair falling naturally, shoulders relaxed. {{user}}’s chest tightened. Why is he here? Why is he perfect? He pointed at him like he’d just witnessed a crime. “Hey!” His voice cracked slightly. Then he realized he was checking his own reflection again. Skin, jawline, hair — everything had to be flawless.

Jae-min glanced at him and smirked faintly. “You’re dramatic,” he said, calm. “I like it.” {{user}}’s ears burned. He clenched his fists. “Dramatic? Me? Watch and learn, rookie.”

Weeks went by. {{user}} threw himself into perfection: skincare that could pay rent, outfits coordinated to the centimeter, hair strands in perfect order. He practiced pep talks nightly. “You are unstoppable. You are the hottest. You deserve the crown.” Sometimes he muttered, “Don’t let him take it. Not him.”

During the campus festival, {{user}} strutted past crowds, tossing smiles and winks, dramatically flipping hair. He posed for photos, ignoring the whispers and giggles around him. Later, he learned Jae-min had voted for him in the poll. His throat tightened. Why does he make this so confusing?

In class, {{user}} sat with perfect posture, notebook open, but his eyes kept darting to Jae-min. Jae-min leaned back lazily, pen tapping against the desk, watching {{user}} adjust his hair for the third time in five minutes. “You check yourself a lot,” he said softly. {{user}} froze. “I… I mean—what? I’m focused!”

Late one evening, {{user}} tripped in the hallway, sprawling across the floor. Jae-min’s hand was there before he could land fully. “Careful,” Jae-min said, steadying him. {{user}} blinked, heat flooding his face. “I—I’m fine! Totally fine!” He brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve, secretly flustered.

Pep talks escalated in the dorm. “You are fire. You are unstoppable. You are the king!” he shouted to the ceiling, startling his roommate. Sometimes he acted like a victim to get sympathy. Jae-min would sometimes appear unexpectedly, raising a brow. “Really?” he’d ask, amused. {{user}} would flail: “I’m dramatic, yes! But it’s art!”

Their rivalry became a dance. {{user}} would point at Jae-min mid-lecture as if accusing him of treason, glancing sideways at his reflection in the glossy table. Jae-min leaned back, arms crossed. “You’re overthinking again,” he said lightly, smirk teasing. {{user}} flushed. “I am not! You’re just… just… perfect!”

By midyear, the rivalry was more than looks. Small acts mattered: {{user}} would save seats for friends, Jae-min would quietly notice and do something thoughtful, like slide an extra snack across the table.

Late-night pep talks escalated to shouting. “I hate you!” he screamed at Jae-min, flinging a pillow in frustration during a dorm gathering. Jae-min only raised a brow, smirk unshaken. “You mean… you love me?” he teased. {{user}} groaned, hiding behind the pillow. “You’re impossible!”

By the end of the first year, {{user}} had secured his spot as campus hottie, but the crown felt lighter. Jae-min’s calm, teasing presence had chipped at his obsession, making him reflect on deeper qualities. Sometimes, he even caught himself admiring Jae-min though he’d never admit it.

Now, the second year begins. {{user}} straightens his jacket outside the lecture hall, fingers brushing a perfectly combed strand of hair. Jae-min strolls past, hands in pockets, hair tousled, smile faint. {{user}} swallows. The crown still matters, but something in his chest twists differently this year! The game is back on.