"and who told you to help me? why are you doing this?"
"maybe because there's no point scoring 100 if you're not here to see me beat you."
⊹ ࣪ ˖ lee hwayoung has nothing better to do than to beat yang jungwon, who's been her enemy for as long as she...
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Incensed was probably the best word to use.
Despite the efforts you'd worked and painstaking travails you'd pushed through, he was somehow persistent and consistent in getting that bloody award.
This wasn't the first time. Four long, draining years. Every single fucking time, you always insist on the fact that: you and him, you're polar opposites. But maybe you guys are similar in that sense — you swear by your life that you will never be each other.
As trivial as it may seem — because it's either a 100 or a 99 — you both engage in some of the most blissfully threadbare arguments the school has ever seen. It is hackneyed and old and boring to call that 'rivalry', but rather it is a sort of adversarial ritual that is tradition after every test. Once results come in, you burst into strings of incomprehensible words and so does he — the only thing comprehensible to the spectators of the debate is: "I GOT A 99!" or "HAH I BEAT YOU SHITHEAD!"
Enduring his painful ass has been a handful, but it's been even more painful to have to put up with the swarms of makeup-caked and perfume-sporting honeybees that surround that asshole of a blooming sunflower, somehow radiating all that attractive pollen. Those girls. More like hornets than honeybees.
Every! Fucking! Day! Without avail!
But you still can't comprehend how he even does it. With all the time on his hands spent bouncing a ball in a court for forty eight minutes five times daily, the possibility of him being a prodigy isn't so farfetched to you, as much as you hate to admit it. Seeing him everyday, though, is absolutely out of the question. You spiral into despair. With eighty percent of your time spent on books and past papers and notes sprawled across desks, annotations decorating the intricate font, you can't take it anymore. With the time you commit towards your academics compared to his, it doesn't make sense how he still emerges victorious. And that irks you.
Perhaps the most bothersome of all are the two people behind the reason for your competitive spirit. A couple consisting of a successful entrepreneur and an affluent physician, it is hard not meeting their pressuring expectations. Because you either meet them, or you face hours more of gruelling tuition and piles skyhigh of Cambridge books. Add in the demands of the businessman to inherit the multi-million dollar firm, and that's even more frustrating to abide by.
How does he even do it? And why can't you do it? Is it your problem, or is it his own genius?
Until one day, you find yourself rocketing ahead – and the Yang Jungwon plummets behind. The tradition is long called off, and there are no more spectators of the debate. The sound of the bouncing basketballs reverberates even louder, the vibrations of his jumps and dunks trembling the building.
You wonder why. Perhaps the 'fifth' time's the charm.
It is annoying to admit that there's a sliver of excitement, a fragment of pleasure you find in having a competitor that can catch up with you. It is also annoying to admit that there is a gaping hole carved in the shape of his dishevelled black hair and the outline of his sculpted jawline. But for once, your parents are finally proud, and you find that you only need 50% of your time spent on those Cambridge books to pass the exams with flying colours. Everything is perfect except that when you step on stage to receive your award, the foldable chair that is usually occupied by one very irritating individual is empty. Unbelievably, it hollows a rut inside you, though it shouldn't.
You guess you'll have to wait another time until he can enjoy your smug smile from above that is reciprocated with his signature scowl.
Except it is even more annoying, indeed, to realise that there is a tinge of concern that leaks out of your pure soul for this eighteen year old. This childish eighteen year old who always claims that you both are like the North and South poles of a magnet.
But then, maybe he actually needs you (according to his phoney friends). You suppose that, maybe, you need him too (according to your friends). And maybe, you should do the unthinkable.
Maybe you should help.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
author's note:
hey guys! as you (hopefully) may know i'm the writer of succour, wonniversity! ─ you can call me aux though ^^
i have a huge passion in writing, though it's only a freelance hobby because i'm busy pursuing my studies :,) , and i really wanted to put this idea into motion as it's been on my mind for a long time ─ but i just haven't been able to kickstart it due to writer's block. i'm also a huge engene, jungwon-biased, and i've listened to their music for as long as i can remember :)
concerns aside, i wholeheartedly hope your journey through this book will be as happy, sad and memorable as mine will be! thank you so much for reading succour, and i'll see you in the next chapter ;)
