Jarel's POV-

A chunk of plaster fell on my pillow.

I blinked, then pushed it off without sitting up. The ceiling above my bed was flaking again. I’d noticed it last week. I hadn’t done anything about it.

I checked the time. Late.

Not late enough to panic.

I got dressed in silence. Shirt still damp at the sleeves, but passable. I buttoned it halfway before deciding that was enough. No time to eat. Not that there was anything worth eating.

Outside, the street was cold. The kind of cold that clung to your collarbones. I walked with my hands in my pockets.

“Jarel!”

Mathis was already waiting near the corner, bike leaning against the wall, half a croissant in his mouth. “You coming or skipping the first day like a legend?”

I nodded. “Coming.”

“Good. You miss roll call again, and they’ll send a search party.”

We walked together. Or rather, he biked slowly and talked, and I walked next to him, mostly quiet.

Our neighborhood was old. Cracked pavement, crooked windows, everything slightly leaning. But it had its own rhythm. Doors creaked open. Someone argued over prices at the bakery. Kids kicked a flat ball near the fountain.

“You think you topped the list again?” Mathis asked.

“I don’t think about it.”

“Which means yes.”

We reached the front gates of Saint-Erhart Lyceum. Stone walls, ivy climbing the sides, a building that looked too serious for teenagers. The courtyard buzzed with new faces.

The ranking board was already crowded. I didn’t bother pushing through. I waited until people moved.

Eventually, I saw it.

Jarel Reidl— Rank 1

I nodded once. Good enough.

“Of course,” Mathis said, reading over my shoulder. “The silent genius returns.”

I didn’t respond.

But then—

That’s when she appeared.

“Still pretending you don’t care?” Clara Drexler said, stepping into view.

Same perfect uniform. Same sharp voice. She looked straight at me, waiting.

I glanced at her, then back to the board.

“Still trying to get a reaction?” I said.

Her name was right below mine. Rank 2.

She didn’t answer right away.

“I’ll pass you by the next term.”

“Maybe.”

She frowned slightly, just for a second. “That’s all?”

“You’re here to compete. I get it.”

I turned and walked off before she could say more.

“She looked ready to throw her pen at your head,” Mathis muttered as we left the crowd.

“She always does.”

“You’re colder than winter, you know that?”

“She’ll be fine.”

...----------------...

Lunch was quiet. Just the way I liked it. I had a sandwich. Mathis stole half.

“She’s already working through the new textbook,” he said, pointing across the yard. “Highlighters out and everything.”

“Of course she is.”

Clara sat at a clean table, surrounded by people but not really talking. Head down. Focused. Sharp lines, straight spine. Not a glance in my direction.

“You think she hates you?” Mathis asked.

“No.”

“You act like she doesn’t exist.”

“She talks enough for both of us.”

He laughed, then leaned back. “People already talking about you two. Says it’s like a silent war.”

“Let them talk.”

“You’re really not interested?”

“I’m interested in staying ahead.”

I finished what was left of the sandwich and stood up.

She’d come for the top spot. I didn’t doubt it.

She always did.

But I wasn’t moving.

And Clara Drexler could keep chasing.

Clara's POV-

They posted the project list just before second period.

Group assignments. Topics. Deadlines.

I didn’t rush, didn’t need to. I walked straight through the crowd, glanced at the board, and there it was:

Clara Drexler / Jarel Reidl

Topic: “Social conformity in school environments.”

I stared at it for three seconds.

Then smiled. Perfect.

...----------------...

He was half-asleep near the window, as usual. Arms crossed, eyes half-lidded like the walls were more interesting than people.

I dropped my notebook onto his desk.

“We’re meeting after class. Library. We have a project.”

He looked at me like I’d interrupted his retirement. “I saw.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t seem urgent.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t strangle you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “For caring less?”

“For acting like you care less.”

...----------------...

The library. Same spot. I got there first again.

He arrived two minutes late, sat down without a word, and opened his laptop like we’d already been working for an hour.

I shoved a paper at him. “Topic: social conformity in school. You got any opinions, Mr. Doesn’t-Speak?”

He skimmed it. “People follow to avoid judgment. School just amplifies it.”

“That’s not bad.”

“I know.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, then. Hypothesis?”

He leaned back, still typing. “The more academically competitive the environment, the stronger the pressure to conform.”

“Examples?”

“Dress code. Grades. Who you’re seen talking to.”

I blinked. “You’ve been paying more attention than I thought.”

“I observe. You just talk faster.”

I ignored that. “You know we have to do a five-minute presentation, right? With graphs.”

“You can talk. I’ll do the analysis.”

“You’re really pushing the whole ‘silent genius’ brand, huh?”

“It works.”

He said it like it wasn’t even up for discussion.

I leaned forward. “Do you even like group projects?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t you fighting me on everything?”

“Because you’re competent.”

That caught me off guard.

“Oh,” I said. “Thanks?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

...----------------...

We worked for a while. He typed without pause. I made a bullet list. He glanced at it once and added two corrections without asking.

“Your formatting’s rigid,” he said. “Makes it hard to pivot.”

“Your face is rigid.”

He didn’t even blink. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you’re annoying.”

“I can live with that.”

I groaned and dropped my pen. “Do you talk like this to everyone?”

“No.”

“Then why to me?”

“Because you push back.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then we both went back to work.

...----------------...

It was raining again when we left. No umbrella. Just the two of us walking the same sidewalk, three steps apart.

“You always this difficult?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “Just consistent.”

“You ever get tired of being unbothered?”

“Do you ever get tired of overexplaining?”

“Touché.”

We reached the corner. I stopped. He didn’t.

“You’ll send me the data analysis?” I asked.

“Tonight.”

“No last-minute bail?”

“I don’t bail. You do the talking, I do the numbers.”

I hesitated. “Fair enough.”

He nodded once and turned down the next street.

Not a single goodbye.

Not that I expected one.

Later that night, the doc updated on its own. Jarel had already input the framework, attached links, and set up a graph template.

Everything precise.

No notes. No message.

I stared at it for a second.

Then started typing.

Jarel's POV :

I knew it was going to be a problem the second I walked in.

She was already there, adjusting the slides for the fourth time, muttering to herself and looking way too ready for a fight.

“You’re late,” she said, without turning.

“I’m here,” I replied.

“That’s not the same thing.”

I dropped my bag on the desk. “The slides were fine yesterday.”

“They weren’t clean.”

“They were fine.”

She turned then, arms crossed. “Maybe to you. But I actually care how we present.”

“I care too,” I said. “I just don’t need to micromanage to prove it.”

That landed. She tilted her head, smiled — that kind of smile that meant 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘦.

“You know what your problem is?” she said.

“Only one?”

“You think silence makes you superior. Like if you don’t say much, it must mean you’re deep.”

“And you think talking louder makes you right.”

She stepped forward. “At least I talk. You just sit there like you’re too good for the rest of us.”

“I don’t think I’m too good,” I said. “I think I’m not interested.”

“In what? Collaboration? Basic decency?”

“In the performance,” I said. “You don’t want a teammate, Clara. You want a spotlight.”

That hit something. Fast.

She stared at me like I’d just ripped up her script mid-scene.

“You’re a jerk,” she said flatly.

“Maybe,” I said. “But I’m not pretending to be something I’m not.”

“You think I am?”

I shrugged.

And that’s when she stepped closer.

“You walk around like you’ve figured everything out,” she said. “Like being quiet makes you smarter. But here’s a thought — maybe you’re just scared of being seen.”

Mathis stood up from the back of the room. “Okay—”

Clara kept going. “You’re not impressive, Jarel. People just project onto you because you’re blank enough to be whatever they want.”

I looked her dead in the eye.

“And you?” I said, voice low. “You talk too much because you’re terrified of being average.”

She froze.

Mathis winced. “Bro—”

“Don’t,” I said.

But Clara didn’t flinch. She didn’t break. She just stared at me, jaw tight, chest rising a little too fast.

Then she grabbed her folder and left.

No yelling. No tears. Just exit.

The door clicked behind her.

...----------------...

No one said anything for a while.

Mathis let out a slow breath. “Man… you really said that.”

“She said worse.”

“Sure. But you hit where it hurts.”

I didn’t argue.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

“She started it.”

“She always starts it,” he said. “You’re the one who finishes it like a sniper.”

I didn’t reply.

Because it wasn’t planned. But it also wasn’t accidental.

I packed up. Quiet.

Elka didn’t say a word.

The doc stayed untouched that night.

For once, I didn’t care about the slides.

And I didn’t know if she’d show up tomorrow.