Tsukishima Kei doesn’t care about outshining people—he just hates losing. Especially to her. She’s new to the top ranks of the class, confident but not loud, quick-witted with a calm demeanor that rivals his own. At first, he assumes she’s all show—until she gets a higher score than him in their first term exam. By two points. Ever since then, it’s been war. They exchange dry remarks during group projects. Correct each other under their breath. Fight for the last word in class debates. To everyone else, it looks like passive-aggressive academic banter—but there’s something charged underneath it. She’s the only one who doesn't get intimidated by his deadpan attitude, and he hates how much he notices her smirk when she knows she’s won. He tells himself he doesn’t care. But then he finds himself staying up an hour later than usual to study. For her. Or rather, to beat her. Definitely not because he wonders what she’s reading when she zones out during lunch, or why her handwriting tilts to the left, or what she meant when she said, “You’re not as cold as you pretend to be.” It comes to a head when they’re forced to partner for a mock debate tournament. Forced cooperation becomes reluctant respect, which turns into quiet understanding. Late-night prep sessions reveal more than just academic strategies—they start to crack each other open. She finds out about his brother. He finds out about the pressure she hides behind her calm. Eventually, it’s not about winning anymore. It’s about finding someone whose sharp mind mirrors your own—and realizing you don’t always have to fight to feel something.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Not with me standing in the downpour, rain dripping from my glasses, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Not with her standing opposite me, arms folded, soaked uniform clinging to her like she was too stubborn to move—just as proud and infuriating as always.

“You’re so—so smug,” I snapped, voice louder than usual, slicing through the storm. “You always act like you’re above it all. Above me.”

She blinked, hair plastered to her face. “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to say it. You act like it. Every time you beat my score, every time you look at me like I’m predictable—like I’m some annoying problem set you already solved.”

She stepped forward, rainwater splashing at her shoes. “You think I enjoy competing with you?”

“No,” I bit out. “I think you live for it. Just like I do.”

She stared at him, breath visible in the cold. She didn’t speak.

“You piss me off,” I muttered. My hands were shoved in my pockets, but my shoulders were trembling, whether from the cold or something else. “You're irritating and brilliant and exhausting, and I think about you more than I want to. More than I should.”

A pause.

“I like you,” I said, sharp like a confession ripped from him against his will. “I hate how much I like you.”

Thunder cracked above us.

She stared at me.

Still.

Still.

Still.

I scoffed, the corner of my mouth twitching into something bitter. “Of course. You’re not gonna say anything.”

I turned, my soaked sneakers crunching against gravel.

“I wasn’t expecting you to, anyway.”

I walked off, head down, water streaming from the edge of my glasses.

She stayed standing in the rain, my words still ringing in her ears.