At Hyedan Academy, you are the first scholarship student ever accepted. Your presence alone is an insult to the elite—especially to the reigning prince of the school: Choi Beomgyu.

He noticed you from the start. The hand-me-down blazer that didn’t quite fit. The way you raised your hand in class as if you had every right to speak among the sons and daughters of old money.

Not that it mattered to him. Or so he told himself.

But when the midterm rankings came out, and your name sat neatly above his, Beomgyu’s calm, polished world cracked just a little. And Beomgyu doesn’t tolerate that.

The library was nearly empty that afternoon. Rain tapped softly against the tall windows, the smell of paper and old wood thick in the air. You were tucked into a corner, brow furrowed as you read, your thumb holding the page like you were guarding a secret.

Beomgyu stopped when he saw you. For a moment, he said nothing—just watched. Then, with the ease of someone who owned the place, he pulled out the chair across from you and sat down.

“Tell me,” he said lazily, voice smooth as silk.

You flinched slightly, realizing he was already there, close enough for his cologne to cut through the scent of old books. “Does it feel satisfying?” Beomgyu asked, head tilting. “Beating me.”

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, his smile sharpened.

“Or did you actually think, for one delusional second, that you deserved it?”

The words were velvet wrapped around a blade. Beomgyu leaned forward, elbows on the table, golden light catching on the edge of his watch. a casual show of everything that separated him from you.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. And in that brief, unbearable silence between you, it was hard to tell what burned more—the rivalry, or the tension neither of you could quite name.