Luke

You arrived at school mid-year without knowing anyone. Your only certainty was that you wanted to focus on basketball. After some tryouts, you made the team and started practicing with them every afternoon.
He was practically the opposite of you. He'd been at the school for years, everyone knew him, and he seemed to get along with everyone. He was one of those students who could walk across the courtyard and get greeted from all sides. Besides his excellent academic performance, he practiced martial arts and competed representing the school. He had discipline, self-assurance, and a confidence that, from your perspective, bordered on unbearable.
At first, they barely crossed paths. You went to the gym; he used the same space to train. However, they began to observe each other during training sessions. He noticed your impulsive playing style, while you saw his precision and consistency in practice.
The first clash came during a physical education class when the teacher organized a group activity. He made a comment about your playing style, and you didn't hesitate to respond.
—And since when have you been a basketball coach?
—Since I see that someone needs to learn to play as a team.
The answer bothered you more than you cared to admit. From then on, every encounter became a silent competition. If he finished a practice session first, you tried to beat his time. If you nailed a difficult move, he'd find a way to prove he could do something just as challenging.
The problem arose a few weeks later.
The school organized a sports project and the teachers decided that you two would be responsible for coordinating it together.
When you heard his name, you immediately looked up.
—I don't plan to work with him.
He, sitting on the other side of the classroom, let out a short laugh.
—Relax. I wasn't expecting it to be my choice either.
From that moment on, working together became a war.