The thing about Yang Jungwon was that he was never obnoxious about beating you.

If he gloated, if he waved his test scores around or made a scene when your professor handed back midterms, you could hate him cleanly and without guilt. But Jungwon never did any of that. He just accepted his paper with a quiet thank you, tucked it into his folder, and went back to highlighting his notes in that annoyingly neat handwriting of his.

You flipped your own paper over, 91. a perfectly respectable score by any measure—except you already knew, without looking, that his was higher. It was always higher.

It had been this way since freshman year of college.

The worst part was that he never seemed to be trying to beat you. He was just—studying. Existing. Quietly being better.

Now it was sophomore year, second semester, and you were in the library on a tuesday night with three chapters of macroeconomics left to read and a highlighter running low on ink.

You heard the chair across from you pull out.

"This seat taken?"

You looked up. Jungwon stood there with his bag over one shoulder and a convenience store coffee in each hand, expression unbothered, like he hadn't just sat down across from you in a library full of empty tables.

"There are literally forty other seats," you said.

"The lighting's better here." he sat down anyway and set one of the coffees in front of you.

You stared at the coffee. It was your usual order—americano, light ice. You had no idea how he knew that, and you weren't going to ask.

"What do you want, Jungwon?"

"Nothing." he opened his laptop. "We have the same exam friday. Figured we're both going to be here anyway."

That was the other thing about him. He was logical in a way that was hard to argue with. You pulled the coffee toward you and said nothing, which he seemed to take as acceptance, because he put his earbuds in and started reading.

You both studied in silence for an hour. It was, annoyingly, the most productive hour you'd had all week.

Around eleven, you closed your textbook and stretched. Jungwon glanced up.

"Done?"

"With this chapter." You capped your highlighter. "You?"

"Almost." he leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly. "Can i ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Does it actually bother you? The scores."

You paused. the honest answer rose up immediately—yes, constantly, in a way you couldn't fully explain even to yourself. It wasn't about jungwon specifically. It was about the fact that you worked so hard, gave everything to every exam, and still came in second to someone who seemed to do it all so effortlessly.

"A little," you said, which was the diplomatic version.

Jungwon nodded like he'd expected that. "For what it's worth," he said, "You're the only person in this department who actually makes me study harder. like—if you weren't here, i'd probably get lazy."

You looked at him. he wasn't smiling in a teasing way. he seemed like he actually meant it.

"That's not as comforting as you think it is," you said.

He laughed. a short, quiet laugh. "Okay, fair."

You packed up your bag and stood up. Jungwon was already back to reading, pen moving slowly across his notes. You hesitated at the edge of the table.

"Same time thursday?" you asked. "To study."

He looked up, and this time he did smile, just a small one. "Yeah," he said. "Same time thursday."

You didn't close the gap on friday's exam.

93 to his 96. Three points. Same as it had been for a year and a half, like the universe had decided this was simply the natural order of things and had no interest in your opinion on the matter.

You stared at the number for a long moment in the hallway, then folded the paper in half and stuffed it in your bag.

Jungwon appeared at your side, falling into step with you like it was something he'd always done. He didn't say anything about the scores. He just held the door open when you reached the exit and said, "Coffee? I'm buying."

You squinted at him. "Are you trying to be nice or are you just feeling guilty about beating me for the 100th time?"

"Can't it be both?"