Chapter Text
Pride can sustain a rivalry for years.
But time doesn’t erase what was never spoken. It only transforms it.
At Haneul University, rumors change, generations move on, new names appear in the ranking. Yet some ties become tradition.
Second-to-last year.
Last real chance before the future stops being a promise and becomes an obligation.
The Haneul Global Internship is no longer a distant idea. It’s concrete. Tangible. Exclusive.
And there’s only one spot.
During the summer before the semester, the campus remained almost empty. Soobin returned before classes began, as always. He liked studying when the hallways were silent, when no one watched how long he spent in front of a screen, when he didn’t have to run into anyone.
Especially not him.
The Economics building had a different echo without students. The white hallway lights reflected his silhouette as he walked with measured steps. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. He always arrived before everyone else.
In the glass library, he chose the table in the back, the one overlooking the inner garden. He opened his laptop and began reviewing that semester’s academic plan, then almost out of habit checked the previous semester’s reports. He compared averages.
It wasn’t strictly necessary. But staying still made him uneasy.
The name beneath his was constant.
Choi Yeonjun.
He stared at the numbers a few seconds longer than was prudent. Then he closed the tab with a neutral expression.
Elsewhere on campus, days later, Yeonjun returned surrounded by voices and suitcases dragging through the dorm hallways. Greetings, jokes, promises of an unforgettable semester. He moved with the ease of someone who knew he belonged there.
Beomgyu intercepted him at the entrance with an exaggerated smile.
—Ready to keep losing to the finance robot?
Yeonjun rolled his eyes.
—I don’t lose. I tie.
—That sounds worse.
Yeonjun let out a laugh but didn’t reply. He didn’t like admitting how much that detail mattered to him.
That night, before sleeping, he opened the academic platform.
He didn’t look for his average.
He looked for the full ranking.
Tie.
He closed the laptop with a brief smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
He didn’t mind sharing first place.
He minded sharing it with him.
The new semester began under a clear sky and the cold September air. Students gathered in front of the main building. Contained expectation. Whispers.
Taehyun, a freshman, stared at the screen with almost analytical focus.
—Are they always like that? —he asked Hueningkai, discreetly pointing toward where Soobin and Yeonjun stood several meters apart.
—Always —Kai replied casually—. It’s like university tradition.
The ranking appeared on the campus screens at exactly nine, as it did every semester’s start. The crowd in front of the main building dissolved into tense murmurs as names slowly rose in the digital projection.
First place.
Tie.
Choi Soobin.
Choi Yeonjun.
Again.
Soobin didn’t need to look twice. He already knew he’d be there. Even so, he observed the name beneath his with calculated stillness. He felt that familiar pressure in his chest—not surprise, but anticipation. It was always him.
A few meters away, Yeonjun let out a short laugh, tilting his head as if the result were a private joke. Several people surrounded him, commenting on how impressive it was to maintain that level. He thanked them lightly, but his gaze crossed the plaza and found Soobin without effort.
There was no greeting.
Only that dense tension settling between them like habit.
Amy watched from the side. Her expression was difficult to read. When Yeonjun moved to enter the building, she called his name.
—Congratulations.
—You too —he replied, measured politeness.
Soobin passed near them without stopping. He didn’t look. He didn’t greet. But he sensed the shift in the air.
The Faculty of Economics was not neutral ground. It was terrain where every word could tip the scale. Scholarships depended on averages. International internships were assigned to the top of the ranking. Professors encouraged talent… as long as it was paired with endurance.
And Soobin and Yeonjun were pure endurance.
They entered the lecture hall almost at the same time, without touching, without speaking. They sat at opposite ends, as if distance were a public statement.
Dr. Kim appeared right on time, dark suit, unreadable expression.
—This semester will define more than your grades —he said, placing documents on the desk—. The final project will represent fifty percent of your evaluation.
The murmur was immediate.
—You will work in pairs.
Soobin intertwined his fingers on the desk. Working with someone else didn’t worry him. Depending on someone else did.
The professor continued:
—International corporate crisis simulation. Financial plan design, internal restructuring, and defense before an external panel. The best duo will receive a direct recommendation for the Haneul Global Internship.
A subtle shift ran through the room. Some students tensed. Others began calculating who would be most convenient to partner with.
Dr. Kim took the list.
—The pairs have been assigned randomly.
Soobin kept his gaze forward.
—Choi Soobin.
A deliberate pause.
—With Choi Yeonjun.
The entire lecture hall stopped breathing.
From the back, Beomgyu whispered a dramatic “this is going to be a disaster,” making Taehyun raise an eyebrow, intrigued.
Yeonjun leaned back in his seat before standing up with calculated calm. He smiled faintly, as if the situation amused him.
Soobin turned his head just enough to meet his gaze.
The exchange lasted no more than three seconds.
It was enough.
—Looks like destiny insists —Yeonjun murmured as they stepped into the hallway.
—Destiny doesn’t exist —Soobin replied calmly—. Only unfortunate coincidences.
—Worried?
—No. I just hope you don’t improvise in something that requires strategy.
Yeonjun’s smile lost some lightness.
—Relax. I won’t ruin your average.
The reference to his obsession with control had an edge.
Soobin held his gaze.
—Try not to get distracted.
Yeonjun stepped closer.
—Distracted by what?
The space between them became minimal. It wasn’t a physical threat. It was something else. An energy difficult to define.
Soobin stepped back just enough to regain distance.
—By anything that isn’t the project.
They parted in opposite directions, but neither walked with the same steadiness they had entering the lecture hall.
Later, in the glass library, Soobin opened the base file of the case. Multinational company. Abrupt stock drop. Media scandal. Legal risk.
He tried to focus on the data.
He felt footsteps in front of his table.
Yeonjun dropped his backpack without asking.
—We’re starting today.
It wasn’t a suggestion.
Soobin nodded.
They worked in silence the first few minutes. The kind of silence that demands attention.
—Your financial approach is too conservative —Yeonjun commented while reviewing the preliminary outline.
—Your restructuring proposal is impulsive.
—It’s risky.
—It’s unstable.
Their gazes met again.
But this time, neither looked away.
The discussion turned technical. Projections, indexes, recovery rates. Ideas collided, adjusted, reformulated.
And in the middle of disagreement, something began to align.
It wasn’t harmony.
It was shared precision.
After nearly an hour, Yeonjun leaned over the table to point at something on the screen. Too close. Soobin noticed the focus in his expression, the firm line of his jaw, the way he frowned when analyzing numbers.
Something shifted inside him.
It wasn’t a clear conclusion.
It was an uncomfortable feeling.
Because for an instant, he stopped seeing him as an obstacle.
And that disrupted the balance he had maintained for years.
Soobin closed the laptop harder than necessary.
—We’ll continue tomorrow.
Yeonjun watched him with a different kind of attention, as if trying to decipher something.
—Is something bothering you?
—Yes. Wasting time.
The answer came automatically.
Yet as he gathered his things, Soobin knew it wasn’t entirely true.
What unsettled him wasn’t the project.
It was the possibility that working together might reveal something he had ignored for far too long. For once, the tie didn’t feel the same.
The Economics residence wasn’t known for its design. Long hallways, white lighting, identical doors aligned with almost clinical precision. A space built for functionality, not comfort.
Soobin always requested a single room in the quietest wing. This year was no different.
What he didn’t expect was the number across from his.
He left his suitcase by the door while checking the assignment email on his phone. Floor 5. North wing. Room 512.
He looked up.
511.
The door was half open. Soft music drifted out, along with the sound of something falling to the floor.
Soobin sighed faintly, as if the universe had just added an unnecessary variable to a perfectly structured plan.
Soobin sighed faintly, as if the universe had just added an unnecessary variable to a perfectly structured plan.
At that moment, the door across opened fully.
Yeonjun appeared holding a poorly closed box, his hair messy from the effort of moving. He froze when he recognized him.
The silence lasted long enough for the irony to settle.
—This has to be a joke —Yeonjun said at last.
—It isn’t.
—Since when do we share a hallway?
—Since now, apparently.
Yeonjun looked at his number, then Soobin’s, then his again.
—Interesting.
—Irrelevant.
—Sure. Totally irrelevant.
Soobin opened his door and went inside without adding anything else. No need to dramatize. It was just physical proximity. It changed nothing. In theory.