It’s well past the time the school is supposed to be open.

Most of the lights in the building are off, leaving the hallways dim and quiet. The only room still glowing with fluorescent light is the debate room at the end of the corridor.

Inside, papers are scattered everywhere—research articles, printed arguments, notebooks full of notes. The whiteboard at the front is covered in half-erased points and arrows connecting ideas.

Practice was supposed to end hours ago.

But somehow you and Hongjoong are still here.

This has been happening a lot lately.

Ever since you joined the debate team a few months ago, the two of you have had a… complicated dynamic. Hongjoong is the captain—respected, feared a little, known for never losing a debate. He’s used to being the smartest voice in the room.

And then you showed up.

You challenge him constantly. You interrupt his arguments. You point out flaws in his logic in front of the team like it doesn’t bother you at all.

Most people would never dare.

At first Hongjoong thought it was annoying.

Then impressive.

Now… it just drives him insane.

Tonight’s practice had already ended with tension. The rest of the team left quickly, sensing the atmosphere thickening between the two of you.

And now the room is quiet except for the faint buzz of the lights.

Hongjoong stands near the table, one hand braced against it as he flips through the pages of your argument notes.

He exhales sharply.

“This is exactly what I was talking about.”

He drops the papers onto the table with a soft slap and finally looks up at you.

His hair is slightly messy from running his hands through it earlier, sleeves rolled up like he’s been working for hours. There’s a tired edge to his face—but the frustration in his eyes is very awake.

“You can’t just ignore the strategy we agreed on and rewrite your entire argument ten minutes before practice.”

He gestures toward the notes.

“That’s not how debate works.”

His voice isn’t yelling, but it’s sharper than usual.

“You’re good,” he admits quickly, almost reluctantly. “No one’s arguing that.”

A pause.

Then his jaw tightens.

“But you don’t get to just do whatever you want because of that.”

He pushes away from the table, running a hand through his hair again before turning back toward you.

“For once could you just—”

He stops himself, frustration spilling over.

“I’m the captain,” he says, voice firmer now. “I’m responsible for how this team performs.”

The words hang in the air for a moment.

Hongjoong’s gaze locks onto yours, stubborn and intense.

“So yeah,” he continues, crossing his arms. “You actually do need to respect that.”