Mirror Match

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...Lian’s POV...

He should’ve hit him.

He should’ve slammed Zi Han into the lockers and knocked that smug smile clean off his face.

Instead, he stood there like an idiot. Let him walk away. Let his words hang in the air like a victory flag.

“You’ll always be half a second behind me.”

Lian sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, fingers threading through damp hair as his lungs burned with more than just exhaustion. His race time—22.09—throbbed in his skull like a curse. It wasn’t even the worst time he’d ever clocked. But this one... this one came with a shadow.

A name.

Zi Han Liu.

Lian closed his eyes, and the image sprang up like it always did: Zi Han crossing the finish line half a second ahead, calm, pristine, like he belonged there. Untouched. Perfect. Again.

That name alone made his blood boil. Always first. Always composed. Always standing just far enough ahead to make chasing him feel like drowning with your eyes wide open.

He doesn’t even look tired.

Lian clenched his fists until his knuckles screamed.

He doesn’t train harder. He isn’t stronger. He just... wins.

Why?

Why did Zi Han make it all look so effortless—like being the best was in his blood?

Lian’s stomach twisted. Maybe it was. Maybe it really was that simple.

His jaw tensed at the thought. His father would say the same thing. Probably had, once. Back when he used to care.

Back when his mother still lived here.

Back when someone in that glossy, cold mansion had actually looked at Lian like he was more than a name on a succession plan.

Now, his father tossed praise like receipts—thin, meaningless. Bragged about him to investors, forgot to ask how his meets went. Lian got luxury cars, designer shoes, custom gear.

But not a damn ounce of warmth.

“You should learn from my mistakes,” his father once said, eyes on a tablet, not on Lian. “Win clean. Win smart. Never waste energy on emotion.”

But emotion was all Lian had left.

Anger. Pride. Hate. All tangled up in his ribs like barbed wire.

And today, Zi Han had cut him with every inch of it.

The worst part wasn’t losing. It was knowing that Zi Han looked at him like a mirror—only duller. Like he was a practice run. A shadow. Something to measure against and outgrow.

Lian had never wanted to be anyone’s reflection.

But what if that’s all he was?

No. No. He wouldn't allow it.

This wasn’t over.

This would never be over.

...⊹₊...

...Zi Han’s POV...

He shouldn’t have said it like that.

But Lian always dragged it out of him—the bite, the taunt, the thrill of circling too close to the edge.

Zi Han rolled the sweat from his neck with a towel, his movements slower than usual. His reflection in the mirror stared back, pale under the harsh locker room lights. A perfect image. Polished. Still.

He hated it.

The smirk he wore wasn’t real. It hadn’t been real in years.

“You talk like you hate me… but you keep walking into rooms I’m in.”

The words had slipped out too easily. But maybe that was the point. Lian always was there—loud, proud, angry.

And Zi Han couldn’t stop noticing him.

The way his breathing hitched when he lost. The way his eyes sparkled with fury instead of tears. The way he kept trying. Even when it was pointless.

Even when Zi Han had already won.

Why do I keep watching him?

He didn’t need to. He had nothing to prove.

At least, that’s what his mother would say.

“Winning is the bare minimum,” she’d snapped last week after his quarterly academic review. “You’re expected to lead, not compete.”

Zi Han had nodded, back straight, hands folded. Just like he always did. He never showed hesitation—not in front of her. Not in front of anyone.

Especially not in front of Lian Cheng.

But lately, every time he saw him—shoulders tense, voice sharp, eyes burning—it chipped away at something inside him. Something he couldn’t name. Something he refused to acknowledge.

Because feeling anything meant weakness. And weakness wasn’t allowed.

His mother had taught him that since the beginning.

He was NeuSys Corp’s heir, her creation. Built to dominate. Raised to surpass. There was no room for distraction, or curiosity, or want.

So why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about him?

Zi Han shut his locker with a soft click, but his jaw remained tight.

Lian was chaos. A walking contradiction. He burned hot while Zi Han froze. But somehow, they kept orbiting the same line—same classes, same rankings, same stupid championship.

The same need to come out on top.

He’s nothing like me.

But when he looked at Lian—eyes sharp with rage, chest heaving, pride like armor—it felt like looking into a mirror held at the wrong angle.

Same ambition. Same hunger. Same wound.

He’ll come back. He always does.

And when he does, Zi Han would be ready.

Because this wasn’t about winning anymore.

It was about staying the original.

The real.

And making sure the reflection in the mirror never overtook him.

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Too much hatred... -_-

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