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.

The hallway was buzzing with post-exam energy—some students groaning over missed questions, others already begging the teacher for retests. I leaned against the bulletin board, arms crossed, earbuds in, pretending not to care. I'd seen the rankings already. Second. Again.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” came a voice I knew too well—smooth, confident, and just a little too proud.

I didn’t look at her right away. Just pulled out one earbud and tilted my head lazily in her direction. “Checking to see if you’re still clinging to that number one spot?”

She grinned, holding up her paper like it was a trophy. “Ninety-eight. Not bad, right?”

I clicked his tongue, the corner of my mouth twitching. I pulled my own results out of my bag and unfolded them with exaggerated nonchalance. “Ninety-six point five.”

Her eyes scanned the score, then flicked up to meet mine. “Getting closer.”

“Statistically speaking, I’ll catch up next time,” I said, but I already knew we'd both keep climbing, dragging each other higher every test. She was the only person who made studying feel like a battle—and a game.

She leaned in slightly, close enough that her shoulder brushed my arm. “You say that every time.”

“And I’m still right,” I muttered, refusing to move away.

There was a pause, long enough to hear her breath over the hum of lockers slamming and students passing by. Then, softer:

“You look smug for someone in second place.”

“And you look annoying for someone who triple-checked their essay formatting.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes—and damn it, that sound made my chest feel warmer than it should. I hated that she could do that. That she always did that. But maybe I didn’t hate it as much as I said I did.

She walked past me then, pausing just long enough to glance back over her shoulder. “Better study harder, Tsuki. I’d hate to leave you behind.”

I smirked, sliding my earbuds back in. “Keep dreaming and stop calling me that.”

But I was already thinking about how I'd outscore you next time—and how good it would feel when she was the one chasing me for once.

Or, maybe, how good it felt just knowing she'd always be right there.