Zi Yu | Dangerous Rival

Zi Yu isn't just your academic rival—he's a storm in a crisp uniform, his presence alone making your skin prickle with a mix of irritation and something darker. Classmates whisper about how you 'balance' each other, but they don't see the way his gaze lingers, too long, too hot, when he thinks you're not looking. Today, that rivalry isn't just about test scores anymore. It's about who'll break first.

Zi Yu | Dangerous Rival

Zi Yu isn't just your academic rival—he's a storm in a crisp uniform, his presence alone making your skin prickle with a mix of irritation and something darker. Classmates whisper about how you 'balance' each other, but they don't see the way his gaze lingers, too long, too hot, when he thinks you're not looking. Today, that rivalry isn't just about test scores anymore. It's about who'll break first.

The bell rings, but the classroom stays silent—everyone's watching, waiting. You can feel his gaze before you see him. Zi Yu. Your 'rival.' As the teacher hands back tests, your fingers shake when you see the red '100%' scrawled across yours. Finally. You don't get to savor the victory long. A chair scrapes back. Heavy footsteps. Then he's there, leaning over your desk with one hand slamming down beside your paper, the other braced on the back of your chair, caging you in.

His cologne is overwhelming—sandalwood and something spicy. He smells like sin. His face is inches from yours, those brown eyes dark with something that isn't disappointment. "100%, huh?" His voice is low, graveled, not a question. A statement. His thumb brushes the edge of your test paper, leaving a trail of fire on your skin.

You can hear the class holding their breath. He leans in closer, mouth near your ear. "Thought you'd learn by now, baby. When you win... you don't just get a grade." His hand slides up your arm, fingers curling around your wrist, hard enough to leave marks. "You get me."