Fated Foes

8

Jungkook sprinted toward the quad with Seokmin trailing behind him, gasping for air. From a distance, the commotion was unmistakable.

Shouts echoed through the courtyard, punctuated by the occasional crash of something hitting the ground. A crowd of students had gathered, forming a loose circle around the chaos, their phones out to record the drama.

“What the heck is this? A campus fight club?” Jungkook muttered, weaving through the crowd.

The scene before him was straight out of a bad action movie. On one side stood his medical department crew, led by an exasperated Hoseok holding a half-empty carton of milk. On the other side, Taehyung’s engineering squad looked like they’d just walked off the set of a street gang film.

And, of course, in the middle of it all was Taehyung himself, casually sipping on a can of soda like he had front-row seats to the best show in town.

Jungkook stormed into the circle, hands on his hips. “What is wrong with you people?! It’s Monday morning! Aren’t we supposed to be learning?!”

Hoseok turned, relief washing over his face. “Finally, you’re here! Tell these wrench-wielding maniacs to back off!”

“Wrench-wielding?!” Taehyung’s friend Jimin scoffed. “Says the guy who threw a scalpel at Jaehyun!”

Hoseok threw his hands in the air. “It didn’t hit him!”

“It hit my textbook!” Jaehyun yelled, holding up a thick, slightly torn engineering manual like it was a wounded comrade.

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god, you’re all insane.”

Taehyung finally spoke, his voice dripping with mock amusement. “What’s the matter, bunny boy? Your hospital squad can’t handle a little friendly debate?”

Jungkook turned sharply, glaring at him. “Debate?! This looks more like a budget wrestling match!”

Taehyung shrugged, completely unbothered. “Well, maybe if your anatomy charts didn’t look like doodles from a five-year-old, we wouldn’t be here.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw. “You’re still on about that? It’s called scientific accuracy, not abstract art!”

“Oh, please,” Taehyung shot back, standing up and tossing his soda can into a nearby trash bin with infuriating ease. “Scientific accuracy? You people don’t even know how to use a ruler properly!”

The crowd “ooooh’d” in unison, like spectators at a rap battle.

“Okay, that’s it!” Jungkook snapped. “Everyone, shut up and step back before I—”

Before he could finish, someone from the engineering side accidentally tipped over a nearby juice carton. The sticky liquid splashed onto Hoseok’s shoe, and all hell broke loose.

“My new sneakers!” Hoseok shrieked, lunging forward.

“No one asked you to wear white shoes to a fight!” Jimin yelled, stepping in to block him.

Jungkook and Taehyung both facepalmed simultaneously.

“This is ridiculous,” Jungkook muttered.

“You’re telling me,” Taehyung replied, watching his squadmates exchange increasingly creative insults with the med students.

For a brief moment, their eyes met, and a flicker of something passed between them—was it mutual annoyance? Shared disbelief? A tiny spark of recognition?

But before either could say anything, Seokmin appeared out of nowhere, holding up a cafeteria tray like a shield. “Guys, let’s all just—”

The tray slipped from his hands and hit the ground with a loud clang, sending everyone into another frenzy.