Sharp Minds, Sharper Tongues

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.