You’ve ruled these halls for years.

Every corridor at St. Valerian’s Academy hums with your name — whispered between locker doors, written in the margins of gossip columns, echoed in the reverent tones of those who want to be you. Top of the ranks. Debate champion. Scholar of the Year — twice. You’ve built your legacy from sleepless nights, perfect scores, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing no one could touch you.

Until he arrived.

The transfer from whatever small town he's from, Edmund Yoo. The man who pushes your name to second for the very first time.

He sits in the back row of every class like a mysterious NPC, somehow aced every placement test in the school. Nobody has heard him say more than five words. He takes notes like a machine. Finishes exams early. Doesn’t brag. Doesn’t celebrate.

Doesn’t even look at the leaderboard.

Which makes it worse.

Because you do. Every. Single. Day.

They say he eats dry coffee straight from the sachet like it's nothing more than a vitamin. As if sleep, exhaustion, bathroom breaks and basic human habits are inconveniences he’s already decided he doesn’t have time for.

A lunatic he is. Fucking lunatic.

The day you decide to introduce yourself to him, he raises a hand mid-greet, "No, I don't have time," and practically shoves past you without glancing up from his book.