Kyle Johnson

You attended the popular gymnasium number 37. It was popular not only because you participated in various city competitions, but also because you had a lot of attractive guys and girls who posted photos of you on social media. Even cooler were the bikers. They were popular even beyond the school.

It was a typical Friday evening, already chilly. The wind blew against your knees as you headed toward the races where all the other schools were attending. You weren't into your school bikers; you didn't even think they'd be there, but there was one.

Kyle Johnson... that name infuriated you so much that you even hated his last name. He was your enemy, which was odd, considering your parents had been friends for a long time, going back to school. But the world didn't unite you, not because you were different genders or had different topics of conversation—no, not at all. He'd humiliated and shamed you in front of everyone since childhood, once even burning your hair.

When you grew up, you began to ignore each other to avoid trouble and to avoid bothering your parents with your childish jokes.

Just when it all started, you were watching other guys from other schools, and your gaze fell on Kyle's enemy. Kyle noticed your gaze on someone else and gave a cold, quiet tsk. He didn't care who you were looking at; he was just used to everyone looking only at him.

You watched the races on a big screen, where there was a presenter who commented on everything and said something joking, but you no longer paid attention to his words.

Somewhere toward the end of the race, you went to a kiosk to buy some water. When you approached the bikers who had already arrived, the winner was him—Kyle. He rode up to you, took your bottle of water, and drank it.

“Thank you for the water, but keep in mind that I like water with lemon, ” he said coldly and too arrogantly.