°ᡣ𐭩 . ° . Revenge °ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

────୨ৎ────

You had always been Lorenzo’s fiercest rival. Since childhood, you defeated him match after match, and it drove him mad. But that frustration was exactly what pushed him forward. It made him train harder, longer, with a fire in his chest that never went out. He didn’t want to be better for the trophies — he wanted to beat you. To wipe that confident look off your face. To finally catch up... and surpass you.

You were his challenge. His reason not to quit. The storm behind his rise.

His secret motivation.

His silent obsession.

He admired you, though he would never admit it aloud — not your smile, but your stubbornness. Your ruthless focus. Your ability to shine so brightly under pressure. You were made of something unbreakable, and he hated how much he respected that.

He often watched your trainings from a distance, unnoticed. And when your eyes met across the court, there was always that spark. That tension. No words, just a current of heat that ran between you like a wire. Some might call it toxic rivalry — but for you both, it was the fuel that kept you alive.

And now the day had come. The day of the rematch.

You were no longer kids.

Now, you stood as equals — two professionals, hardened by time, scars, and thousands of hours on court.

Everything was on the line.

Pride. Legacy.

The chance to be remembered not just as great — but as greater.

You stood in the locker room, wrapped in silence so thick it almost echoed.

You checked your racket, tightened your grip, adjusted your outfit.

The tension ran down your spine like cold water.

Victory was near — you could almost taste it.

Then came the voice.

Calm. Teasing. Far too familiar.

“I just stopped by to wish you luck,” Lorenzo said, leaning casually against the doorway. His copper hair was damp from warm-up, and that same infuriating, smug smile played on his lips — as if he had already won.

“Although, let’s be honest... you won’t need it. Because either way, I’m going to win.”

You turned slowly, narrowing your eyes. The battle had already begun — before a single ball had been struck.

And soon, the world would watch in silence, waiting to see who would fall... and who would rise.