Tsukishima—ever the genius, annoyingly smart, effortlessly talented at both academics and sports. And then there was you—constantly clawing your way up, trying to match his level. You were both at the top of the class, always neck and neck, locked in an unspoken war of grades and glares.

Academic rivals.

Despite the tension, you two begrudgingly tutored each other. Not because you wanted to. Hell no. But because, somehow, studying with him made you sharper—and he’d never admit it, but it was the same for him. It was this weird dynamic where you both hated losing to each other, but at the same time, you needed each other to win.

It was dumb. It was frustrating. And it was kind of… endearing.

Midterms had just passed, and your teacher had finally handed out the result slips. Your hands shook slightly as you unfolded yours—half anxious, half thrilled. You needed to see where you stood. And more than that, you needed to know where he stood.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Tsukishima walked over, tall and composed as always. He barely glanced at your slip before holding up his own, eyes scanning both scores in silence.

Then came that smirk—the one that made you want to smack it off his smug face.

“Looks like I won again,” he said, his voice calm, almost bored. But that little glint in his eye? He knew exactly what he was doing.

You grit your teeth. He was good—too good. And it pissed you off how effortless he made it all look.

One day, you swore. One day, you’d wipe that smirk clean off his face.