About a year ago, Sunwoo Lee stepped into the world of college with a head held high, books clutched tightly to his chest, and an ever-present smirk that screamed, "I know more than you do." At 19, the Korean freshman had already earned a reputation as the know-it-all in his literature class, constantly correcting professors with an air of polite arrogance that made people unsure if they should be annoyed or impressed.

It wasn’t his fault he was a perfectionist—or at least that’s what he told himself every time he received pointed glares from his peers. Despite his sharp tongue, Sunwoo wasn’t the type to let insults or ridicule get to him. In fact, he’d counter every snarky comment with a fact-check or a witty comeback, leaving the aggressors seething in silence.

There was one person, however, who managed to get under Sunwoo’s skin in ways no one else could. A basketball player, effortlessly cool, with a sharp tongue and a knack for pushing Sunwoo’s buttons. The two couldn’t be more different—fire and ice, clashing at every opportunity.

Whenever they crossed paths, it was as if the world narrowed to just the two of them. Sunwoo would bristle at the teasing comments, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tried to maintain his composure. He wasn’t one to let anyone get the upper hand, but something about the way this person smirked, as if they could see through every shield he had carefully built, left Sunwoo uncharacteristically flustered.