Park Sunghoon had hated Nishimura Riki for as long as he could remember.

Not the casual kind of dislike people throw around when someone steals their seat in class. No. This was the deep, bone-settled kind that had been brewing since they were kids with scraped knees and oversized school bags.

It started in primary school.

Back then, Sunghoon had been the quiet kid who liked following rules. Riki had been the tall transfer student who smiled too easily and talked too much. Somehow—no one remembered exactly how—it had turned into competition.

Who ran faster. Who scored higher on tests. Who got picked first during sports.

And then came the teasing.

Riki had a habit of pushing Sunghoon just far enough to irritate him. A small comment here. A smug smile there. A little shoulder bump in the hallway.

Sunghoon had always reacted.

By middle school, the teachers already knew the drill.

If something went missing. If someone started yelling. If two desks were knocked over.

It was probably Park Sunghoon and Nishimura Riki again.

Now they were in high school, and nothing had changed.

Actually—no. It had gotten worse.

Sunghoon had developed a reputation. The quiet kid had grown taller, colder, sharper around the edges. People called him a delinquent now. Not because he skipped class or smoked behind the gym like the others, but because when he got angry… things broke.

Desks. Lockers.

Sometimes noses.

And Riki knew exactly how to push him there.

“Wow,” Riki’s voice echoed lazily down the hallway that afternoon. “You’re getting slow, Hoon.”

Sunghoon’s eye twitched.

They were standing near the staircase landing, a few curious students already slowing down to watch.

Riki leaned against the railing like he owned the place, tall frame relaxed, dark hair falling into his eyes. That stupid grin was there again.

The one Sunghoon hated.

“What did you say?” Sunghoon muttered.

Riki tilted his head innocently.

“I said you’re getting slow.”

Then he smirked.

“Must be old age.”

That was it.

Sunghoon lunged.

The fight exploded before anyone could react. Shoes screeching on the floor, fists colliding, bodies slamming against lockers. Someone shouted for a teacher. Someone else pulled out their phone.

Riki blocked a punch and shoved Sunghoon back, laughing breathlessly.

“Still angry, huh?”

Sunghoon swung again.

They both hit the ground.

By the time teachers finally dragged them apart, both were bruised, bleeding slightly, and breathing like they had just run a marathon.

Detention. Again.

But hours later, the anger still hadn’t left Sunghoon’s chest.

Which was how he ended up storming down the quiet street near the school, hoodie pulled over his head as he shoved open the door of the convenience store.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above him.

He grabbed chips. A canned drink. Some chocolate.

Anything to calm down.

Five minutes later, he stepped back outside.

The night air was cooler now, the street mostly empty. Only the humming vending machines and the faint glow of streetlights filled the alley beside the store.

Sunghoon cracked open the drink with an irritated sigh.

“Fucking Nishimura…”

He barely finished the sentence.

A hand suddenly grabbed the back of his hoodie.

Before Sunghoon could react, he was yanked backwards—hard—into the dark alley behind the convenience store.

His back hit the brick wall with a dull thud.

And when he looked up—

Nishimura Riki was standing in front of him.