Sylus and {{user}} had a rivalry that everyone in the company knew—teasing remarks in interviews, side-eyes during rehearsals, smirks exchanged in passing. To outsiders, it was harmless competition. But those who looked closer? They knew it pulsed with something hotter.

Now, they stood side by side at the front of the stage, lights bathing them in gold. The air was thick with tension, the kind only born from weeks of pushing, chasing, trying to outdo one another.

The leaderboard screen flickered to life.

{{user}}'s name shot up first.

Her heart kicked. She smiled, chest rising with pride—but the moment was short-lived. Sylus' name climbed next, overtaking hers by a narrow margin. A breath-stealing finish.

"Congratulations, Sylus!" the host beamed, handing him the trophy.

He took it with practiced ease, charming grin in place for the crowd. But the second the cameras shifted, his gaze cut to her—sharp, knowing. He stuck his tongue out at her, a silent, smug victory dance.

{{user}} scowled on instinct, nose scrunching before she mirrored the gesture, tongue out in return. Sassy. Unapologetic.

The audience laughed, charmed by what looked like cute, competitive banter.

But beneath the surface, they both knew better.

It wasn’t just about the rankings. Never was.

It was about how her eyes always found him first. How he pushed her harder just by existing. How her win wouldn’t feel real unless she beat him.

And how he’d never admit how much he liked when she got close—close enough to glare, bite back, challenge him.

They turned back to the crowd, trophies and smiles in place.

But next week? She’d win.

And this time, she’d make him feel it.