It was the first Monday of the semester, and Aurelian Heights University buzzed with life. Freshmen ran around in tailored uniforms and branded kicks, the campus air filled with the scent of roasted coffee and early morning ambition. The fountain at the center of the main square glistened in the morning sun, students loitering around with iced americanos and tote bags stuffed with overpriced notebooks.

Carsten Jayce Mellora Azaria parked her BMW M4 like it was made to be displayed right at the university gates. Matte black, spotless, with the engine purring like a spoiled cat. Her LV tote bag hung lazily across her shoulder, contrasting the oversized black Nike hoodie and gray sweatpants she wore—paired, of course, with fresh Jordan 4s. Effortlessly cool, confidently boyish, yet the type to turn every head in a twenty-foot radius.

She didn’t care. She just wanted to eat.

She slung her water bottle decorated with pastel cat stickers into her arm, yawned behind her hand, and headed straight to the canteen before her 9 AM class. The only thing on her mind was the potato chips she’d been craving since last night. Salty, crunchy, and perfectly seasoned. The vending machine gods better be good to her today.

But when she turned the corner and reached the canteen, the universe answered her hunger with a slap in the face.

There was one bag of potato chips left. One. In the middle rack of the vending machine, hanging like a glowing relic of salvation.

Just as she was about to press the button—

“Excuse me.”

A hand reached out from beside her and, without even looking, tapped the same button.

Beep.

She blinked and turned to the source of the audacity.

Owen Caelan Valerio Knight. He was tall, lean but built, wearing an all-black Puma track set, baggy pants, and an Onitsuka hoodie pushed halfway up his arms to reveal toned forearms. His hair Light ash-blonde , a little messy but clearly intentional, and his expression?

Bored. Cold. Nonchalant.

“Are you serious?” Carsten snapped.

The guy turned slowly to look at her, one eyebrow raised as if she was the problem.

“Yeah? I was here first.”

“You were not!” she argued. “I literally had my hand out—”

“And I had mine on the button.” He pulled the chips from the bottom slot and held them up like a trophy. “Simple mechanics. You lose.”

Carsten's jaw dropped. “Oh, wow. So that’s how you wanna play it?”

The guy tilted his head. “Play what? I just wanted chips.”

“Those chips were mine.” She stepped closer. “I’ve had a long drive, zero caffeine, and a serious craving.”

“And I’ve had a long life, zero tolerance, and a serious hunger,” he replied dryly, casually opening the bag with a soft crack. The smell of salt and vinegar hit her in the face like a personal insult.

Without another word, he shoved a chip in his mouth and walked away like nothing happened.

Asshole.

---

Room 3A was filled with the nervous energy of first-year students—shuffling papers, overachievers with pastel notebooks, and late enrollees still trying to find their seats. The door slammed open with a bit too much force, and Carsten walked in like a storm.

Elara glanced up from her seat near the front and smiled. “You okay? You look like someone stole your cat.”

“Worse,” Carsten muttered, sliding into the empty seat beside her. “Someone stole my chips.”

“Who in the world would be brave enough to do that?”

“I don’t know who he is,” she said, pulling out her scented gel pens. “But he’s tall, full of himself, wears black like he’s in mourning, and looks like he gets off on being annoying.”

Elara smirked. “Sounds like your type.”

Carsten rolled her eyes. “I hate you.”

The class hushed a little as footsteps approached the door. The professor still hadn’t arrived, but someone new stepped in, hands in pockets, phone lazily dangling from two fingers.

It was him.

Chips-thief. Hoodie boy. Walking migraine.

He scanned the room, then walked to the back row and took the seat directly behind Carsten.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

As if sensing her rage, the guy leaned forward and said under his breath, “Don’t worry. I already finished the chips.”

Carsten didn’t turn around. She calmly pulled out her Dior mirror compact, angled it over her shoulder, and gave him a death glare through the reflection.

“I’m rooting for food poisoning,” she whispered sweetly.

He smirked. “I’m rooting for you to chill out.”

Before she could say another word, the professor entered, and the class officially began.

---

The tension didn’t disappear.

Every time Carsten answered a question, she could feel him judging. Every time he spoke, she tried not to roll her eyes hard enough to strain a nerve. By the time the lecture ended, their classmates had already started whispering.

“Do they know each other?”

“They’ve been fighting with their eyes since the class started.”

“I kinda ship it?”

Carsten stood to leave, but the guy was faster.

He stood too, pulled his bag over his shoulder, and leaned toward her again.

“Nice notes. Very... colorful.” His eyes flicked to the pink highlighters and cat-themed post-its. “Do you hand those out during nap time?”

She didn’t even blink. “Keep talking, and I’ll use one of them to stab you.”

He grinned. “Looking forward to it.”

---

Back at the campus lawn, Carsten and her circle—Elara, Callie, Twyla, Nova, and Selene—gathered under their usual tree.

“So you’re telling me you almost threw hands... over a bag of chips?” Callie squealed. “That is iconic.”

“He wasn’t worth it,” Carsten mumbled. “But I want revenge.”

Twyla peeked over her sunglasses. “Name?”

“No idea.”

“Face?” Nova smirked.

“Unfortunately memorable.”

Selene stretched, cracking her knuckles. “Let us know if we need to jump him.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of campus, Owen Caelan Valerio Knight—chip thief, hoodie menace, and heartbreaker-in-progress—sat with his own circle: Rin, Theo, Jace, Zeph, and Kairo.

“Bro, what’s that smirk?” Jace asked. “You’ve been smiling since class.”

“Nothing,” Owen said, popping a mini candy into his mouth.

Kairo leaned closer. “Don’t tell me... girl trouble already?”

Owen shrugged. “Let’s just say... first day and I already met someone who can match my energy.”

Theo blinked. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“Not sure yet” He leaned back on the grass, hands behind his head. “But I kinda want to see her lose again.”

---

Back at the vending machine later that day, Carsten stood again.

This time, the rack was fully stocked. Chips galore.

She reached out to press the button, eyes narrowed just in case some guy came out of nowhere to ruin her life again.

But no one did.

She smiled and grabbed the chips.

And just as she turned around, she bumped into a hard chest.

Guess who?

Owen stood there, arms crossed. “Relax, Azaria. I’m not here to rob you today.”

“How do you know my name?”

He flashed his phone screen. Class list. “I pay attention.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Stalker behavior.”

He grinned. “Admit it. You were hoping I'd show up again.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” he said, stepping closer. “Then why are you smiling?”

Carsten didn’t even notice she was.

She pushed past him, the bag of chips held tight in her hand like a trophy. “You’ll never win again.”

Owen smirked. “We’ll see.”

The classroom air was different now.

After their dramatic standoff over a pack of potato chips at the canteen that morning, everyone in Room 3A of Aurelian Heights University could feel the tension simmering between Carsten Jayce Mellora Azaria and Owen Caelan Valerio Knight.

They didn’t speak of it—but they saw it. In the way Carsten’s LV tote bag sat pointedly on her desk, as if daring someone to brush against it. In how Owen lounged at his seat, long legs stretched out with his Nike x Sacai LDWaffle sneakers,tapping a rhythm against the floor like he was biding his time. Their classmates had barely recovered from the earlier canteen fiasco, and now these two—both notorious for their high school achievements—were placed in one room. One class. One battlefield.

And today was the first round.

(Subject 1: Philosophy 101)

Professor Castillo was known for her no-nonsense attitude and her love for Socratic questioning. She entered the room wearing an all-black ensemble, laid her books on the podium, and turned to the class.

“Today,” she said, her voice calm but sharp, “we discuss Plato's Allegory of the Cave. I want critical thinkers, not parrots.”

She scanned the room, then her eyes landed on Owen.

“You. Mr. Knight. Do you believe truth is subjective?”

Owen didn’t even blink. “I believe truth is influenced by perspective. What we perceive as real is limited to our senses, and that makes it subjective.”

There was a beat of silence, and a couple of students nodded in awe.

Then Carsten raised a hand.

“Counterpoint,” she said coolly, not even sparing Owen a glance. “Even if our perception is subjective, it doesn’t make the truth any less objective. Our interpretations vary, but reality doesn’t bend to accommodate them.”

Owen turned his head slightly, eyes meeting hers.

“Are you saying the shadows on the cave wall are less real because they’re perceived differently?” he asked, tone sharp but low, like a challenge made of velvet and steel.

“I’m saying you’re confusing truth with experience,” she fired back. “And Plato would’ve agreed with me.”

The class stared, enraptured. Professor Castillo smiled knowingly.

“Well,” she said, amused, “it seems the Azaria-Knight rivalry has begun.”

(Subject 2: Advanced Algebra)

The moment the numbers hit the whiteboard, so did the tension.

Professor Darion gave them a group task—solve a series of complex logic-based algebraic equations in pairs. Naturally, everyone in class scrambled not to be paired with either Carsten or Owen, for fear of being steamrolled.

But Professor Darion had a wicked sense of humor.

“Azaria and Knight. Pair up. I want to see fireworks.”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Carsten didn’t even flinch. “Great. Let’s solve it quickly so I can pretend you weren’t part of this.”

They sat at the same desk, side by side but coldly distant. Their hands moved in sync, writing on their shared sheet of paper, occasionally clashing elbows as they raced to solve the same variables.

“Stop writing over my steps,” Carsten snapped, glaring.

“You wrote the formula wrong,” Owen muttered, scribbling out her answer.

She yanked the pen from his hand. “Quadratic distribution, genius. Your method is outdated.”

“And your ego is showing.”

They kept at it, like war generals trying to outwit the other with every number. The rest of the class was already done watching the board—they were watching them.

When they handed the paper in, Professor Darion stared at it for a moment. “Correct. All of it.”

Carsten crossed her arms smugly.

Owen leaned back with a smug grin. “Thanks to me.”

She scoffed. “In your dreams.”

**Lunch Break: Still Not a Truce**

By the time the lunch bell rang, Elara—Carsten’s closest confidant and seatmate—was practically dragging her out of the room.

“Okay, break time means no academic bloodshed, Carsten,” she insisted.

Carsten rolled her eyes but followed. They headed for the covered court, where food stalls had been set up just for opening week. As she walked, her silver Bulgari necklace swayed gently against her white Nike hoodie, her grey sweatpants hugging her frame. She was beauty with bite, and it showed with every step.

She was about to order her food when a familiar voice spoke up beside her.

“Let me guess,” Owen said. “You’re one of those people who think fries are a full meal.”

Carsten turned, scowl automatic. “And you’re one of those guys who think sarcasm is a personality.”

He smirked. “I’m just trying to understand how a walking planner like you survives on sugar and salt.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Says the guy holding two sodas and three packs of gummy worms.”

He offered her one sarcastically. “Want some? Might help with your mood.”

She slapped the offer away—gently, but just enough. “I’d rather starve.”

“I’m sure you would. That’s the only way you’d ever beat me in next class.”

Elara, now used to their daily bardagulan, just sighed and pulled Carsten to a nearby table. “He’s obsessed with you, you know,” she whispered.

“Please,” Carsten muttered, biting into her food. “He’s obsessed with being right.”

(Subject 3: Communication Studies)

By the time they reached their final class, Professor Sablan had just started his welcome lecture on persuasive speaking. Today’s task? Impromptu speech showdown.

“Each pair will argue for or against a statement. Random picks,” he said, holding a small bowl of names. “First round: Knight and Azaria.”

Owen’s chair scraped as he stood.

Carsten rolled her shoulders like a boxer entering the ring.

“Your topic,” Professor Sablan said, pulling out a card, “is: Emotions hinder logic. Knight, you’re against. Azaria, you’re for. You have two minutes.”

Owen went first.

“Logic exists to give structure to emotion. They’re not opposites—they’re collaborators. Emotions, when acknowledged, sharpen reason. Pretending they don’t exist doesn’t make us smarter; it makes us blind.”

Smooth. Confident. And spoken like someone who had lived through a little pain.

“Emotions,” she said clearly, “are volatile. They cloud decisions, distort judgment, and ruin logic. History’s worst decisions were made in passion. Logic, unlike emotion, doesn’t beg for validation. It works, whether we like it or not.”

Their arguments cut like blades through the air.

When the class was told to vote, the result was a tie.

A rare, beautiful tie.

Professor Sablan chuckled. “Well. It appears we have our own academic Achilles and Athena.”

Carsten and Owen locked eyes from across the room.

No smiles.

No handshakes.

Just heat.

**Later That Day**

Inside the library, Elara leaned over her book with a sigh. “You guys are going to destroy each other at this rate.”

Carsten flipped a page. “Good. That’s the plan.”

On the other end of the library, Owen sat with Theodore, his only classmate in their room who could handle his moods.

“She’s not just good,” Owen muttered, chewing on the cap of his pen. “She’s infuriatingly good.”

“You mean attractive,” Theo teased.

Owen didn’t respond.

But the way his eyes lingered on the table where Carsten sat, casually highlighting her notes with a pastel pink cat-designed highlighter?

Yeah. Attraction was a battlefield, too.

Faculty Lounge Conversations

The morning sunlight streamed through the wide windows of the faculty lounge, casting a warm glow on the polished wooden table where three professors had gathered. The room, usually quiet at this hour, hummed softly with the low murmur of intellectual banter.

Professor Castillo, the university's distinguished Philosophy instructor, adjusted her glasses and looked up from her notes. She reached for her coffee, pausing as the door swung open to reveal Professor Darion, the ever-meticulous Advanced Algebra teacher, followed closely by the easygoing Professor Sablan, who taught Communication Studies.

“Good morning,” Castillo greeted with a smile, watching as the two men claimed their usual seats.

Darion sighed, placing a thick calculus textbook on the table. “Morning. Ready for another day of trying to keep up with geniuses?”

Sablan chuckled, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Geniuses—or just two extraordinarily stubborn students?”

“You mean Carsten Azaria and Owen Knight,” Castillo said knowingly.

“Of course,” Sablan replied. “Who else could we possibly mean?”

Darion flipped open his textbook to a bookmarked page, his expression a mix of frustration and admiration. “Carsten turned in another flawless assignment this week. A perfect hundred on her calculus exam, and she managed to spot an error in the answer key.”

“Classic Carsten,” Castillo said, sipping her coffee. “She’s methodical, precise, and relentless.”

“And Owen,” Darion continued, “he scored a ninety-nine. Only because he challenged the format of one question, arguing that it lacked real-world applicability. He made his case so convincingly that I almost revised the exam for next semester.”

“That’s Owen for you,” Sablan said with a grin. “Every argument he makes is like a masterpiece of rhetoric. In my Communication Studies class, he’s practically untouchable.”

“But Carsten can hold her own against him,” Castillo noted. “She’s the only one who can, really. Their debates in my Philosophy class are legendary. Remember the one on moral absolutism last month?”

“How could I forget?” Sablan said. “They dissected the topic so thoroughly that half the class looked traumatized by the end.”

Darion laughed. “And yet, they never cross the line. They argue fiercely, but there’s an underlying respect. They know they’re the only true competition for each other.”

“True,” Castillo agreed. “But what fascinates me is how they approach everything as a competition—not just academics, extracurriculars, even seating arrangements. They’re like two opposing forces, constantly colliding.”

“They’re not just competing, though,” Sablan added thoughtfully. “They’re setting a standard. Every student in this school knows their names, not because they’re heirs to powerful families, but because they’ve earned it.”

Darion nodded. “It’s inspiring, really. They push each other to excel, and in doing so, they raise the bar for everyone else.”

“But isn’t it exhausting?” Sablan asked, half-joking. “To live under that kind of pressure every day?”

Castillo smiled faintly. “Perhaps. But for Carsten and Owen, it’s not just pressure—it’s purpose. They thrive on it. And we’re lucky to witness it.”

---

The Legacy of the Azaria and Valerio-Knight Families

As the conversation shifted, Sablan leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Do you ever wonder,” he began, “how much of their brilliance comes from their upbringing? I mean, look at their families. The Azarias and the Valerio-Knights—two of the most influential clans in the world.”

“Hard to ignore that kind of legacy,” Darion agreed. “Let’s start with the Azarias. Their name is practically synonymous with luxury.”

Castillo nodded. “Malls and hotels in every major city. Their reach in retail and hospitality is unparalleled. But it’s not just about wealth—it’s about vision. They’ve revolutionized the way people shop and travel.”

“And they’re philanthropic,” Sablan added. “The Azaria Foundation funds scholarships, hospitals, environmental projects. They don’t just accumulate wealth; they give back.”

“That’s why Carsten is the way she is,” Castillo said. “She’s not just an heiress; she’s a symbol of what the Azarias stand for—excellence, innovation, and generosity.”

“And then there’s the Valerio-Knight clan,” Darion said, his tone almost reverent. “Owen’s mother’s side, the Valerios, are culinary royalty. Their restaurants set the gold standard for fine dining. Exclusive, elegant, and utterly impeccable.”

“And his father’s side,” Sablan interjected, his voice lowering slightly, “the Knights. They’re actual royalty. Airports and resorts in tropical paradises—it’s a global empire built on prestige and tradition.”

Castillo leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “Imagine the weight of those legacies. Carsten and Owen aren’t just brilliant because of their own determination; they’ve been molded by families that demand perfection.”

Darion nodded. “They carry their family names like armor, but it’s also their greatest motivator. Anything less than excellence isn’t just unacceptable—it’s unthinkable.”

“And yet,” Sablan said, “they don’t seem burdened by it. If anything, it fuels them. Carsten and Owen aren’t just heirs—they’re pioneers. They’re proving that they can be even greater than the legacies they’ve inherited.”

The professors fell silent for a moment, the gravity of their discussion settling over them. Finally, Castillo broke the quiet.

“It’s extraordinary,” she said softly. “We’re not just witnessing two brilliant students. We’re witnessing history in the making.”

Sablan chuckled. “As long as they don’t destroy each other in the process.”

The three professors laughed, the sound echoing through the lounge. But beneath their laughter was a shared understanding: Carsten Azaria and Owen Knight weren’t just rivals. They were the embodiment of their families’ legacies—a perfect storm of brilliance, ambition, and the undeniable weight of expectation.

---

After classes, Twyla stretched dramatically as the group gathered near the campus gates. “Ugh, I’m too tired to think anymore. Let’s go somewhere fun.”

“Yeah!” Nova chimed in, her energy still as vibrant as ever. “Carsten, you need to blow off steam. I swear, you’ve been fuming ever since Owen beat you by one point in the exam.”

Carsten’s jaw tightened at the mention of her rival. “I’m not fuming,” she said, though the bite in her tone gave her away.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Callie teased, skipping over to link arms with her best friend. “Come on, Carsten. Let’s hit the mall. I heard there’s a new arcade game, and you can pretend you’re destroying Owen’s face.”

Selene, ever the quiet protector, nodded. “It’ll help.”

Elara adjusted her glasses with a small smile. “It could be a good distraction. Plus, we all need a break.”

With the group unanimously agreeing, they set off to the mall, their chatter lightening the mood.

---

At the Mall

The arcade was bustling, neon lights flashing and the sound of games echoing through the air. Twyla immediately gravitated to a rhythm game, her usual sleepy demeanor replaced with rare excitement.

“First round’s on me,” Nova said, swiping her card for tokens.

Carsten approached the basketball hoops game, unable to resist. “Alright, who’s going to challenge me?”

Before anyone could step up, a familiar voice drawled from behind her.

“I’ll take you on.”

Turning around, Carsten found Owen leaning casually against the machine, his trademark smirk firmly in place. Behind him stood his group—Rin, Theo, Jace, Zeph, and Kairo—clearly ready for a showdown.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Carsten muttered, crossing her arms.

Nova groaned audibly. “Oh, great. The boys are here.”

“It’s like they’re stalking us,” Twyla said, though her tone lacked heat as she fed tokens into a machine.

Elara observed silently, her calm gaze flicking between the two groups. “Let’s keep this civil.”

But Callie, always hyper and unfiltered, jumped into the fray. “Civil? Where’s the fun in that? Let’s show them who’s boss!”

Selene cracked her knuckles, her usually composed demeanor shifting. “They’re going down.”

---

The First Challenge

Carsten stepped up to the basketball hoops game, Owen beside her. The machine started, and the two captains began shooting.

“Come on, Carsten!” Callie cheered.

“You’ve got this,” Selene added, her voice steady.

The rest of the girls chimed in with their support, while the boys heckled Owen from the sidelines.

“You better win, Knight,” Theo called, smirking.

“Don’t let her intimidate you,” Jace added with a grin.

The timer buzzed, signaling the end. The scores flashed on the screen—Owen had won by a narrow margin.

“Guess you’re not as unbeatable as you thought,” Owen teased, his smirk widening.

Carsten glared at him but refused to back down. “Next game.”

---

The Arcade Wars

The arcade turned into a battlefield as the two groups competed in various games. Dance Revolution saw Selene outshine Jace, her moves sharp and her confidence unshaken.

“You might be charming, but you can’t keep up,” she teased, flipping her hair dramatically.

Air hockey pitted Nova against Zeph in a silent but intense match. Selene emerged victorious, earning quiet nods of approval from her team.

Callie took on Theodore in a shooting game, her energy and speed overwhelming his cocky attitude. “Told you I’d win!” she declared, grinning as her score climbed.

Rin faced off against Elara in a strategy game, their quiet intellects clashing in a battle of wits. Elara’s calm focus earned her the win, and even Rin gave her a respectful nod.

Twyla surprised everyone by defeating Kairo in a rhythm game, her fingers flying over the buttons with unexpected speed.

“That was... impressive,” Kairo admitted, still processing his loss.

“Always expect the unexpected,” Twyla replied, smirking as she walked away.

---

The Final Showdown

The night culminated in a multiplayer racing game, all ten players competing. The race was chaotic, filled with shouts, near-misses, and playful taunts.

“Out of the way, Knight!” Carsten yelled as her avatar overtook Owen’s.

“Not a chance, Azaria!” he shot back, weaving through the track with precision.

In the end, the screen flashed with a tie—Carsten and Owen crossing the finish line at the exact same time.

“Well,” Owen said, leaning back in his chair, “looks like we’re destined to compete forever.”

Carsten smirked, her competitive fire still burning. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Knight. Next time, you’re going down.”

Their friends groaned at their predictability, but amidst the rivalry, there was a strange sense of camaraderie forming—whether they liked it or not.