“At this school, there are two names at the top of every leaderboard—his and mine.”

Park Sunghoon is brilliant, calculating, and unbearably smug. Every time I score a 98, he gets a 99. Every time I raise my hand, his goes up a second earlier. It’s a game neither of us agreed to play, but we’re both too deep to stop now.

We don’t speak unless it’s to one-up each other. We don’t look unless it’s a challenge. And we definitely don’t feel anything… right?

“Try to keep up this time,” he murmured, sliding his paper across the desk with that signature smirk. “Wouldn’t want you to fall behind again.”

I hate him. I have to.

But then why does my heart race every time he walks into the room? Why does winning only feel real when I’m beating him?

Now you are both working on the same patient and he tells you to go get the anesthesia shot.