"AS PROMISED, I will be passing out today's quiz. This is the first one for this year but I expect you all to take it extremely seriously. Am I clear?"

The second year mathematics teacher, Mr. Koganei, was leaps and bounds younger than Mr. Fujinaka and a heck of a lot stricter. While my classmates recited an extended "yes, sir" in accordance, Ren Takumi, the king of the classroom himself, sat straight as a ruler in his chair, his posture textbook perfect.

My eyelids prickled with tears as a yawn came over me. I bet his back never hurt.

"Take one and pass it down." Mr. Koganei interrupted my train of thought. His sharp eyes bore into mine as he dropped a stack onto my desk. "Those who fail will have remedial lessons with me after school. Indefinitely."

"Just for a quiz?" Naoya Otomo called out. "Come on, that's unfair!"

"If you have a problem, then pass. Failures have no say in my classroom."

"Cruel bastard."

"Otomo. Come visit me after class."

"You heard that?!"

Naoya's complexion visibly reddened. He didn't make a peep after that. Up against a snob like Mr. Koganei, it was the smartest move.

Since Mr. Koganei had high expectations for all of his students, that meant he was especially cruel to those who didn't reach them. In the past, I'd written a fair share in the school's gossip column where I highlighted his questionable teaching methods. So far, the headmaster hadn't done anything to address them—merely brushed the gossip aside as nothing less than baseless rumours. Most likely than not, nothing was going to change this year either. In that case, it was better to do as told. Pass and avoid his wrath.

As soon as the signal to start was given, the classroom was engulfed with the scraping of erasers, the taps of pencils, and the clicks of Mr. Koganei's shoes as he strolled up and down the rows.

I twirled my lead pencil between my thumb and index finger. Or, at least, tried to. Amidst my struggle to master the art of pencil-twirling, Takumi's chair screeched, and he ascended to his feet. He approached the front of the room where Mr. Koganei stood adjacent to the front podium.

Mr. Koganei blinked three times as he received his quiz. Then, glanced at his watch. "You've finished already? It hasn't even been ten minutes."

"It was just that easy," Takumi answered, coolly as ever.

Murmurs arose.

"Takumi is so smart," a girl gushed.

"I bet he'll score at the top of the class, like always," whispered another.

"There's no way Mr. Koganei's dumb tests could hold a candle to my best friend's great mind. The guy's a genius."

"Otomo." Mr. Koganei glared directly at the guy. "As of this moment, you're attending remedial lessons."

"Why me?! I wasn't the only one talking!" Naoya complained.

As Naoya grumbled under his breath, the classroom fell deathly silent. 

Takumi's eyes crossed mine as he returned to his desk. He scoffed under his breath. His disgust was clear as glass.

Nevertheless, I twirled my pencil. In due time, other students got off their butts to hand in their quizzes. Mr. Koganei graded them as they piled in one by one. Before I knew it, almost a half hour had passed, and hushed whispers picked up around the room.

Only three minutes remained.

A sigh escaped me.

Might as well get this done and over with before I forgot about it.

Flipping over the sheet, I worked my way down from question one. As soon as time was up, Mr. Koganei shouted, "Pencil's down." He rose to collect the remaining quizzes, ripping them out of students' hands if he had to. I plopped mine directly into his palm.

Class proceeded as normal.

He distributed our graded quizzes on our way out for lunch.

"Hinomori, wait."

Amidst the surge of students in the second-year hallway, Takumi effortlessly weaved through the crowd. Part of me thought it best to ignore him. Therefore, I continued on with my business.

I didn't even manage to take a step before my shoulder was tugged.

"I said wait."

He struck his hand right by my ear and into the wall I'd stumbled into, successfully cutting off my escape route. My heart skipped an unintentional beat. He towered over me, his eyes dark and thick as prowling clouds in a thunderstorm. The fact that all spectators stood dead in their tracks—the fact that I'd been kabedon-ed like a heroine in a dating game—was the least of his worries.

Well, then. As seconds passed, and the crowd around us seemed to grow larger and larger, I contemplated my options. Considering this was supposed to be a dating game, quite a few lay before me.

A) Ignore him (Appealing)

B) Taunt him (Very Appealing)

C) Apologize to him (Never!!!)

Of course, I went with my favourite choice.

"If it isn't the king of the classroom," I taunted, putting on my most infuriating smile. "What can I do for you today?"

His jaw clenched. I had mere seconds before he exploded. "What's your problem?"

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You didn't touch your quiz." The vein in his neck pulsated. "You didn't even look at it until there were three minutes left. You picked it up and finished it in three minutes."

"I guess I did," I answered, raising an eyebrow to denote confusion. "I'd have finished it sooner but the third question didn't make much sense to me, you know. I bet a super genius like you must've figured out the answer much easier than little ol' me ever could."

He bunched his bangs into his fingers. With a huff, he withdrew, returning my personal space. "I'm an idiot," he complained, more to himself than me. "You've been messing with me."

A smug grin took over the bottom half of my face. "Did you only just realize that?"

His icy stare and arrogant demeanour put significant distance between us. He stood on the summit of Mount Everest all the while I was nothing more to him than a squashed bug. "If you're holding a grudge about something, you're wasting your time," he stated. "So what if you sweet-talk the teachers? Accept an easy job like class rep? It all comes down to performance."

He thrust a sheet of paper to my face. Today's quiz. It was covered in red checkmarks. The highlight: a bright 100% scribbled onto the top right corner.

"I've been at the top of my class for ten years straight. I've never lost at anything before and I have no intention of starting. Get it through your thick skull, Hinomori. You can't beat me in a million years."

"Are you finished with your petty speech?"

His eyebrows lifted on his forehead.

"What?"

I flicked my quiz at him. He caught it, bug-eyed. The instant he spotted my score—the 100% plus one bonus mark—all of his pomposity, his self-assurance, and his summit-high ego, deflated like a balloon.

"There's something you also should get through your thick skull, Takumi." Gone was my simper. In fact, my black look chilled him right down to the bone. "The reason you've been at the top of "your class" is because I let you be. All of your accomplishments. All of those awards and trophies. All of the shallow praise and compliments. It's because I let you have them. I gave them to you."

Not that you remember.

"I don't need a million years." My declaration echoed throughout the whole building. "Three minutes is more than enough time to pulverize you, asshole."

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