Two days had passed since school started, and already, there was a palpable sense of competition in our class.

Every day, the rivalry between our group and Sarah's seemed to escalate just a bit more.

What started as a simple exchange of answers in Mr. Charles' class had spiraled into a full-blown contest that stretched across every subject.

And as the days rolled by, our small battles became more intense.

Each morning, I found myself looking forward to those moments of competition, the little back-and-forths, the stolen glances that seemed to speak volumes.

It was as if our entire class had split into two camps—those who rallied behind me and my friends, and those who cheered for Sarah and hers.

And it wasn’t just me; my friends were just as caught up in it.

Steve, Paul, and Gunther had fully embraced the rivalry.

Fifteen days had passed, and it felt like the energy in the room had only grown more electric.

Today, Mr. Charles walked in with a slight smile on his face, the kind that said he had something planned.

"Today," he announced, his voice echoing in the classroom, "we are going to choose class representatives. So, interested students, please stand up."

The class murmured in anticipation.

Each class had two representatives—a boy and a girl—elected based on votes.

It was supposed to be an honor, but to me, it always seemed like a lot of unnecessary responsibility: organizing events, handling class complaints, coordinating with teachers.

I wasn’t interested in becoming one.

But then, Sarah stood up.

"Sir, I would like to be class representative," she declared confidently.

I glanced at her, her eyes shining with that familiar spark of determination.

And before I knew what I was doing, I felt myself rising from my seat.

"Sir, me too."

I don’t know what compelled me.

Was it the challenge in her eyes?

Was it the unspoken rivalry that had grown between us?

My friends were looking at me like I had lost my mind.

"Anyone else?" Mr. Charles asked, scanning the room.

But no one else stood up.

It was just me and Sarah, facing off once again, but this time it felt different.

There was a weight to it, an intensity.

"Okay," Mr. Charles continued, "since no one else is interested, from today onwards, Sarah and Michael are our class representatives."

The class buzzed with chatter, some surprised, some amused.

Mr. Charles then added, "Shake hands with each other."

I turned to Sarah, who was already looking at me.

For a moment, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps? Or maybe it was something else, something deeper.

She extended her hand.

I took it, feeling the firmness of her grip.

Her skin was warm, and for a second, time seemed to pause.

There was a brief, almost imperceptible nod from her, as if acknowledging this new twist in our rivalry.

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“Looks like we’re partners now,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips, though her eyes were still sharp, challenging.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice steady, meeting her gaze head-on. “Let’s see how this goes.”

As our hands parted, I could feel the eyes of the entire class on us.

This was more than just a position; it was a new stage in whatever this was between us.

And something told me it was going to be anything but ordinary.

Mr. Charles's period ended, and with it came the brief break between classes, a gap where Sarah and I were responsible for maintaining order in the room.

It was part of our new duties as class representatives, and I took it seriously—sort of.

"Okay, guys. Don't speak loudly," I called out, moving along the rows on the boys' side of the class, trying to keep things under control.

Sarah, on the other hand, was doing the same on her side, pacing the rows with her usual confident demeanor.

She had a natural way of commanding attention, though a few of the girls were still chattering away, ignoring her.

"Hey, Sarah," I said, a smirk tugging at my lips.

"Keep your side in check, will you?" I nodded toward the cluster of girls giggling in the back.

She looked over at me, not missing a beat.

"Well, you should also make sure you’re doing your job right," she countered, nodding toward my friends, who were conspicuously trying to open their lunch boxes early.

A small grin spread across my face.

This was how our rivalry evolved—a constant back-and-forth of challenges and banter.

And somehow, it only seemed to make things more intense.

---

A few days passed in a blur of classes, responsibilities, and our never-ending competition.

Today was different, though.

After lunch, it was games period for the all first years, and everyone was buzzing with excitement.

The air was filled with chatter and energy; it was a welcome break from the routine.

Lunch ended, and we raced to the ground.

My friends ran off to fetch the football while I stayed behind, waiting for them on the field, letting the breeze cool me off.

Then, I heard a voice behind me. "So, you’re here, Mr. Class Representative."

I turned to see a group of boys approaching me.

Leading them was Donovan, a new student in our class.

I hadn’t interacted much with him, but I’d heard things.

And from the way he walked, his chest puffed out and a sly grin on his face, it was clear he wasn’t here for a friendly chat.

"What do you want?" I asked, already feeling a twinge of annoyance.

I could sense trouble brewing.

Donovan chuckled, his eyes narrowing as he looked me over.

"Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to see if our so-called 'topper' can play as well as he can solve equations," he sneered.

The boys behind him laughed, clearly enjoying the show.

I knew his type—someone who wanted to make a name for himself by picking a fight or causing a scene.

"I don’t see why it concerns you," I replied calmly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"It concerns me," he said, stepping closer, "because you’ve been acting all high and mighty with your little group, and I don’t like it."

My eyes narrowed, my muscles tensing. "Look, if you’ve got a problem, say it straight. Otherwise, get out of my face."

Donovan’s grin faded slightly, replaced by a more serious, almost mocking tone.

"Oh, I’ll say it straight, alright. How about you tone down a little bit during classes? You’ve been acting all big for the last couple of weeks."

I held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "And what if I don't?" I replied, my voice calm but firm.

His grin returned, more sinister this time.

"I think you might get hurt," he said, gesturing towards his friends behind him, who were smirking and cracking their knuckles, clearly ready to back him up if things went south.

A rush of heat coursed through me.

If Donovan wanted a fight, he’d find I wasn’t someone who backed down easily.

I balled my fists, ready to stand my ground.

But before I could respond, I heard familiar voices behind me.

"Hey! What are you all doing here?" Steve's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Are you trying to bully our friend?"

Gunther and Paul flanked him, all three of them standing strong and ready.

"Do you take us for fools?" Gunther added, his voice low and threatening.

Donovan’s bravado seemed to waver for a moment as he glanced over his shoulder at his friends.

"Whoa! Calm down," he said, trying to sound casual, but there was a hint of nervousness in his tone. "I'm not here for a fight."

Steve took a step closer. "Then what do you want?"

Donovan straightened up, his cocky demeanor returning.

"I heard you all are good at football. How about a match?" He suggested it like a challenge, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

I didn’t even hesitate.

"Sure. Let’s do it," I said, feeling the adrenaline pump through my veins.

If he wanted a match, I’d be more than happy to show him what we were made of.

Donovan nodded, satisfied.

"Okay, let’s meet on the field," he said, turning around and walking off with his friends.

Once they were out of earshot, we huddled together.

"Alright, guys, we need to gather more players," I said, scanning the field for potential recruits.

We started moving around, calling out to some of our classmates and friends, but we were still three players short.

"What should we do?" Steve asked, his brows furrowed with concern. "If we don’t have enough players, we’ll have to forfeit."

Gunther crossed his arms, looking frustrated.

"No way. We can't back down now, not after all that talk. We need to figure something out."

I kept searching the field, desperate for any potential players.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted three middle school students skulking around, clearly skipping their classes.

They were loitering near the bleachers, looking like they had nothing better to do.

"Hey, you three!" I called out, waving them over.

They looked at each other, hesitant at first, but curiosity got the better of them, and they wandered over.

"You guys know how to play football?" I asked.

They exchanged glances again.

Only one of them, a scrawny kid with a mop of curly hair, raised his hand nervously.

"What position?" I asked, trying to sound encouraging.

"Goalkeeper," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

I sized them up.

They were small and inexperienced, but they were better than nothing.

"Let’s put these three in the team," I suggested, turning back to my friends.

"What? Are you serious?" Paul exclaimed, his face a mix of disbelief and frustration. "They don’t even know how to play!"

I could understand his concern.

Bringing in kids who didn’t seem confident could be a disaster.

But I felt like we could make it work.

"Don’t worry," I said firmly. "I’ll handle them."

Paul still looked unsure, shifting from foot to foot, glancing back at the field where Donovan and his team were warming up. "But—"

"Trust him, you fool," Gunther cut in, clapping a hand on Paul’s shoulder. "Michael knows what he’s doing."

Paul sighed, finally giving in. "Okay. If you say so."

I nodded, then turned to the middle schoolers.

"Alright, listen up," I said, trying to sound authoritative but not too intimidating.

"I'll be at defense with you guys. You," I pointed to the kid who’d raised his hand, "you’re the goalkeeper. You," I pointed to another, "cover the left. And you," I pointed to the last one, "take the right. Got it?"

They all nodded, their eyes wide with a mix of nerves and excitement.

"Good," I said, giving them a reassuring smile.

"The rest of you can discuss the formation. I’m going to get these guys ready."

I left my friends to strategize and walked toward the field with the three new recruits.

We moved to the side, and I crouched down to their level.

"Alright, guys," I said, lowering my voice to make it more personal, "this isn’t just about skill. It’s about heart. You keep your eyes on the opponents, follow my words, and don’t be afraid and just kick the ball. Understand?"

The boys nodded again, this time with a bit more confidence.

I could see a spark of determination in their eyes, and it gave me hope.

Soon, everyone was on the field.

Donovan and his team lined up opposite us, looking cocky and ready.

The crowd of students that had gathered around to watch the match buzzed with anticipation.

The tension was thick in the air, and I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.

I glanced over at my friends.

Steve, Paul, and Gunther were in their positions, giving me nods of encouragement.

I looked over at Sarah on the sidelines, and for a brief moment, our eyes met.

I couldn’t read her expression, but there was a flicker of something—maybe curiosity, maybe amusement.

Then the referee, one of the P.E. teachers, blew the whistle, and the match began.