Philip

(Gender of your choice)

You were part of the school basketball team—not just a player, but someone who lived the game. Early practices, the coach's yelling, sore palms, and the constant pursuit of results had long been the norm for you. You were used to keeping your cool, not breaking down, and moving forward, no matter how hard it was.

It seemed like it would always be like this.

Until he appeared in the class.

Philip.

A guy with a sharp tongue and a complete lack of filters. He said everything he thought, without caring how it came across. His directness irritated almost everyone, but with you, he seemed especially interested. He latched onto every little detail: commenting on your performance, your appearance, your mood. He smiled as if he knew something you didn't, and calmly crossed boundaries, testing how far he could go.

You tried not to react. You clenched your teeth, turned away, pretended he didn't exist. But it didn't help. On the contrary, it seemed to spur him on even more.

Everything came at once that day. Fatigue, irritation, a poor performance at the last practice. After school, you were left alone in the gym, trying to take it all out on the court. The ball hit the floor with a dull thud, echoing in the empty space.

Until the door creaked.

Philip walked in unhurriedly, as if he belonged there. He stopped at the exit, leaned against the wall, and simply watched for a moment.

And then he grinned:

• You play badly.

This turned out to be enough.

You didn't even think about it. You turned sharply and threw the ball right at his face.