"Grades on a report card can determine the future."
This time, her voice was sharper than usual.
The debate club room was silent. There were no cheers, no euphoria—only focused pressure. Seorin stood straight, her eyes fixed on her opponent.
"Achievement without an academic foundation won't last long."
She didn't mention anyone's name.
She didn't need to.
Some people in the room had already started exchanging glances.
Seorin continued, her tone steady, but there was something colder beneath it.
"The ones who endure aren't the most highlighted, but the most consistent."
Her opponent fell silent.
Applause followed, but Seorin barely heard it. She simply took a slow breath, trying to ease something that had been bothering her.
"Han Seorin, be a little gentler," Park Dongchul's voice came in, calm as always.
Seorin turned.
For a brief moment, her expression softened—almost imperceptibly.
"If they can't handle it now, they won't handle it later," she replied. Softer. More controlled.
"She's so cool," Han Gyol said, showing a live broadcast on the school's social media account—the ongoing basketball match between Woonsung High School and Hanbaek High School.
Seorin and Dongchul had no choice but to look at the screen, which showed player number 7, Kang Ara, dribbling the ball amid roaring cheers.
The squeak of shoes filled the gymnasium, faintly heard through Han Gyol's phone.
Fast, sharp, repetitive steps—blending with the loud cheers from the stands. Ara moved—quick, precise, always at the most decisive moment. And as always, it ended with applause.
Another win.
"Yeeeeahhhh!" Han Gyol shouted, startling Seorin.
Something twisted uncomfortably in her stomach as her friends praised Kang Ara—too excessive, too easy.
The screen now showed Kang Ara's interview session.
Seorin looked away.
But one of the questions caught her attention.
"Kang Ara, you've achieved a lot in basketball. We've heard your training for this match was very intense. Did it affect your studies? And what about your academic performance?" the school reporter asked.
Kang Ara paused for a moment—thinking.
"Who's the top student at this school?" Ara asked confidently.
Everyone already knew that Kang Ara had received the top student award at Woonsung High School for two consecutive years.
Seorin narrowed her eyes.
She wanted to curse.
But she held it back.
Kang Ara's smile.
Too light.
As if everything was exactly as it should be.
Seorin's stomach tightened.
***
Seorin quickly packed up the books she had borrowed from the library.
"Don't take too many, they're heavy," Dongchul said, immediately taking some books from her hands and adding them to his own stack.
Simple.
But it stirred something in Seorin's chest.
Seorin tried to match her steps with Dongchul's in the hallway. Dongchul's calm and warm aura always managed to draw her attention.
Until—
A collision.
A basketball hit Dongchul's back, causing the books to fall to the floor.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to."
Seorin turned around.
Kang Ara walked quickly toward them, still in her dark blue basketball jersey, her hair damp with sweat. Behind her—the basketball team, tall, striking, too crowded for the narrow hallway.
The height difference between them was obvious.
Seorin stood straight. Her shoulders tensed slightly.
"Just because you're a basketball athlete, you think you can play anywhere?" her voice was flat, but sharp. "Or do you just need attention?"
She didn't raise her voice, but her words were enough.
Ara didn't respond immediately.
She only looked at Seorin for a moment—long enough to feel like an assessment, but too brief to be certain.
Then—
"Not everything needs to be debated. Looking for material?"
Seorin's shoulders stiffened.
"Besides…"
Ara stepped closer—too close to Seorin's ear.
"No need to admit it. Everyone already knows."
Kang Ara lifted her medal slightly.
Her tone was light. Too light.
Ara picked up the ball near Seorin's feet. Her movements were relaxed, almost lazy.
A small laugh came from behind. Something hardened in Seorin's chest.
Not their laughter—but the way Ara remained calm.
"Don't you think this could be dangerous?" Seorin continued, sharper this time.
Ara frowned slightly.
"I already apologized."
A brief silence.
"It was an accident."
The same answer. Unchanged.
Seorin stared at her, trying to find something—a reaction, annoyance, or at least a hint of guilt.
There was nothing. Just that same calm expression. And that… was more irritating than anything.
Dongchul stepped between them.
"That's enough. It'll turn into a problem. There's no point arguing with her."
Seorin looked away, her jaw tightening.
She stepped back half a step.
Not because she lost. She simply didn't want to continue something that wouldn't give her any result.
Then—
"What's going on?"
The voice came in smoothly, but instantly shifted the atmosphere.
Seorin closed her eyes for a fraction of a second.
Kim Minji.
The crowd automatically parted. Seorin watched as Minji walked closer—light, confident, as if all eyes were meant to be on her.
And, as always—she stopped beside Kang Ara.
Seorin had never really had a problem with Minji— until she stood on Kang Ara's side like this.
Too close.
Everyone knew—if Kang Ara was there, Kim Minji would be there too. No one really knew what their relationship was.
Seorin looked away.
Too late. She had already seen it.
Two people who fit together. Too well, to the point it was unsettling.
"Dongchul," Minji said, her voice sweet but laced with something sharp, "don't just train your brain. Muscles matter too." She said it with a sweet smile.
Heat rose to Seorin's face. She was used to them. But not when it involved Dongchul.
She opened her mouth—
"There's no point arguing with them," Dongchul cut in casually. "Pity their small brains."
Seorin held her breath.
She waited.
Waited for a reaction.
But Ara only smiled. Minji even let out a small laugh. As if it was just… a game.
No one was truly offended. No one was truly attacked.
Seorin slowly exhaled.
This didn't feel like a debate. Seorin didn't like that.
"My brain may be small," Minji suddenly said, cupping her cheeks with both hands, "but I have this."
Seorin looked at her. That beauty. Anyone could see it without explanation.
But the way Minji used it—light, effortless—made her uncomfortable.
Clearly, she didn't like it. Maybe because it worked. Or because Ara never seemed bothered by things like that.
Seorin shifted her gaze to Ara.
The girl stood there, tall, relaxed, the ball in her hand—as if none of this mattered.
As if nothing could truly touch her. And somehow, that felt like a challenge.
Ara and Minji turned and walked away without a care.
Seorin didn't move. Her eyes followed them. Their steps were light. Too light. As if the world had never weighed on them the way it did on her.
Seorin slowly clenched her fist.
"I'll beat them this year," she muttered.
This time, it wasn't just a goal.
She needed it.
Her gaze remained on Ara's back—just a little too long.