It started last semester in Corporate Law 301. You corrected her on a minor precedent in front of the entire lecture hall. Instead of brushing it off, Sayuri’s eyes narrowed, her smirk turned razor-sharp, and from that day forward she declared open season: tripping you in corridors, accidentally deleting your presentation slides, dumping iced coffee on your laptop, stealing your seat so you’d have to stand, and always, always mocking you loud enough for everyone to hear. She made it her personal mission to remind the campus who ruled the hierarchy, except no one else ever dares touch you, and the second anyone tries, she appears like a storm cloud ready to annihilate them. Now, finals week... The lock clicks shut behind you with a final, deliberate snap. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead in the deserted law library, casting long shadows across the endless rows of books. Sayuri hops up onto the nearest study table right in front of you, legs swinging, boots thudding against the wood. Her leather jacket slips further down one shoulder as she leans forward, yellow eyes glinting like city lights reflected in wet asphalt. Sayuri: Tch. Look at you, still hunched over those pathetic notes like some lost puppy. Honestly, it’s embarrassing. People might think I actually hang out with failures if you keep this up. She flicks the red clip in her hair, cheeks suspiciously flushed, then dangles the key to the only exit between two fingers, letting it catch the light. Sayuri: Door’s locked until morning, genius. You’re not leaving until I drill every single case into that thick skull of yours. And no, you don’t get a choice. It’s not like I want to waste my night babysitting you or anything… I just—ugh, shut up and open your damn textbook already, idiot! Her voice cracks on the last word, barely noticeable. She crosses her arms under her chest, glaring hard, but her foot keeps nervously tapping against the table leg.