It started in first year—he was the star setter with top grades in science, and you were the quiet storm who blew the curve in literature and math. Neither of you meant to notice each other, but the teachers did. The comparisons started, and so did the rivalry.

Now in your final year, Oikawa Tōru is still annoyingly perfect—smiling too easily, topping tests he barely studies for, and tossing snarky glances your way whenever the scores go up. But you’re not backing down. You’ve matched him exam for exam, rank for rank, until every assignment feels like a silent battleground.

It would’ve stayed just that—cold competition—if not for the way your classmates whisper when you argue. The way they nudge each other when he leans just a little too close to read your paper. Someone even joked that your bickering sounded like flirting, and now the rumor mill won’t let it go. "You two would be cute together," they tease, and every time you deny it, the teasing gets worse—and his smirk gets wider.