To be fair, the school council was as competitive as it gets. With a president and vice president fighting for different sides, it seems determination is in the air. In contrast, maybe there's more to the story than being rivals who "hate" each oth...
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01 | "I'm being serious."
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The paper starts to crinkle in my hands. Fisting up the material, the number sticks out like vibrant colors in a dark hue. I wasn't aware of how angry I was getting, maybe because my eyes wouldn't leave that damned number. Like a tape recorder, it was replayed in my head, my defeat heard loud and clear inside the room full of students. Ninety-nine.
A ninety-nine, like all good grades, is a proud score to get. However, to someone who gets constant hundreds and studies for days on end, this, this? This was garbage. How could I sit so low? It felt so easy, so why? So how? How could someone like me have gotten a ninety-nine instead of a hundred?
My body was quaking. I've never felt so much humiliation, but that continues to increase with every failure I receive. I didn't notice how white my knuckles turned before a sultry yet aggravating chuckle entered my range, eyes shooting like daggers to watch him walk forward.
"Again, Hayoon?" He begins to mock me. This trauma stems from our earlier days when this fight first began. It started in the low sixties and seventies and skyrockets to the constant nineties. It has been a decade of constant war, and I lost another battle. Embarrassing. "This is the third time this month, Hayoon. I thought you were taught better."
Don't do it, Hayoon. It's one test. Your grades are still in the highest percentile. Don't hit him. Although he's making your blood boil, don't think about him. Be proud. End the war already. Be the reason to end it, and become a better person–
His hands pat the crown of my head. His free hand lets go of the paper, and it cascades like a flying feather down to my desk. One hundred percent.
My brain was no longer in control. I could only stare as my heart thumps out of my chest. He notices almost instantly, how I was no longer in the right headspace, and laughs to add to that rage. With his hand on the crown of my head, he pats me. Twice. With his fingers sliding down my hair, the word leaves his lip.
"Checkmate."
And his hand grips my shoulder like a wolf's claw, squeezing once before walking away. I let out a heavy exhale, the crumpled test falling to the desk in a ball. I claw my hair, holding my head manically. Unknowingly, I let out a vicious groan, slamming my palms on the desk, and attracting the attention of my classmates. Oh, you just darn wait, Lee Heeseung. You wait! I swear to GOD, I will get my revenge–
