My Dearest Rival

The rhythmic drumming of rain against the classroom windows was the only sound competing with the scratching of a pen. While the rest of the senior class dozed off or scrolled secretly through their phones, the young woman in the front row was dissecting a calculus problem with the precision of a surgeon.

She sat with her back straight, focus absolute. Her uniform was pressed to perfection, a sharp contrast to the dreary gray afternoon outside.

She had to maintain her rank. She had to secure that scholarship. There was no room for error.

"Look at her," a voice whispered from the row behind. It was faint, meant to be private, but the classroom was quiet enough that the words drifted forward. "Studying again. Does she ever take a break?"

"Why would she?" another girl replied, voice dripping with a sickly sweet mockery. "When you're that desperate to get into the top university, you don't have a life. I heard the admissions office already sent a specialized invite. Must be nice to be a robot."

The student didn't flinch. She didn't even pause her writing. She simply solved for x, boxed the final answer, and flipped the page. The gossip of mediocrity was just background noise, no different than the rain.

The classroom door slid open with a rattle. The class president poked his head in, looking breathless.

"Listen up, everyone," he announced, waving a clipboard. "Mrs. Gomez has a high fever and went home early. The last period is cancelled. You're dismissed."

A collective cheer erupted in the room. Chairs scraped loudly against the floor as students shoved books into their bags, eager to escape.

The girl in the front row, however, moved with calculated efficiency. She capped her pen, aligned her notebooks, and placed them gently into her worn but tidy backpack. She had no time to waste celebrating. There were chores to be done, dinner to be cooked, and a brother to supervise.

She stood up and walked to the back of the room where the wet umbrellas were clustered in a plastic bin. Reaching for hers-a pale pink one owned for years-her hand froze.

Dark, jagged lines of permanent marker marred the fabric. It wasn't just a scribble; it was a message. Motherless freak. So annoying. No one wants you.

She stared at the black ink. The words were ugly, cruel, and childish. A cold knot tightened in her chest, a familiar ache learned to be suppressed years ago. She didn't cry. She didn't tremble. Instead, a frighteningly calm veneer settled over her features.

Behind her, the giggling intensified.

"Oops," one of the whisperers murmured, voice rising artificially. "Did something happen to your umbrella, Elena? It looks... improved."

She turned slowly, facing Clara and Jessica, who were smirking behind their hands. They were waiting for tears. They were waiting for an outburst.

Elena gave them a smile. It was bright, wide, and completely devoid of warmth.

"You know," she said, voice smooth and pleasant. "I was just thinking how lucky you two are. You must have such wonderful mothers waiting at home to take care of you. It really shows in your manners."

The pair blinked, confused by the compliment. Before they could process the sarcasm, she reached out. The movement was fluid and fast. She grabbed the thick history textbooks sitting on the edge of their desk.

"Hey!" Clara shouted.

"Since you have so much support," Elena continued, smile never wavering, "I'm sure you won't mind a little extra exercise."

She turned and hurled the heavy books out the open window.

There was a brief silence, followed by the distinct splash of paper hitting a puddle two stories down.

The classroom went dead silent. Clara and Jessica leaped to their feet, faces flushing a deep, angry red.

"You crazy witch!" Jessica shrieked. She lunged forward, hand raised to slap the other girl across the face.

Elena didn't flinch. She didn't cower. She saw the movement coming a mile away. Catching Jessica's wrist in mid-air, she twisted it aside, and in the same motion, delivered a sharp, stinging slap across the bully's cheek.

Crack.

The sound echoed off the walls. Jessica stumbled back, clutching her face, eyes wide with shock. The entire class watched, stunned. The quiet, studious classmate had just snapped. Elena smoothed down the front of her blazer.

She picked up the vandalized umbrella and looked at the two trembling girls.

"It's raining heavily outside," she said. Her tone was kind, helpful, and laced with absolute venom. "I suggest you go retrieve your books before the ink runs. Education is important, after all."

Turning on her heel, she walked out of the classroom.

She moved through the hallway with her head held high, but her heart was hammering against her ribs. Exiting the school building, she snapped the pink umbrella open. The hateful words were displayed for the world to see, but she held the handle with a white-knuckled grip, refusing to fold it.

The rain fell in sheets, blurring the world into gray and silver.

She paused at the gate. A few meters away, a young man stood by the curb, laughing while holding a large black umbrella. A moment later, a girl ran out of the school building, squealing as she ducked under the shelter of his arm. He pulled her close, keeping her dry, whispering something that made her smile.

Elena stood still, the rain drumming against the nylon above her head. She watched them walk away, their shoulders touching.

It wasn't jealousy, exactly. It was a hollow ache. She was strong. She was the top student. She was the responsible sister. She didn't need anyone. But standing there in the cold, watching the couple disappear into the mist, she allowed herself a single, dangerous thought.

It must be nice, she thought bitterly. To have someone hold the umbrella for you. To have someone to rely on.

She shook her head, dispelling the weakness, and began the long walk home.

The Reyes household was small, a cramped single-story unit squeezed between two larger buildings, but it was clean. Or at least, the eldest sibling tried to keep it that way.

As soon as she unlocked the front door, the noise hit her.

"Attack! Left flank! No, you idiot, the left!"

Her younger brother's voice cracked with intensity. Elena sighed, placing the vandalized umbrella in the stand and toeing off her wet shoes. She walked into the living room where her father was asleep on the worn-out sofa, snoring softly with the television blaring a news program.

In the corner, her brother was hunched over the family computer, headset on crooked, tapping furiously at the keyboard.

"I'm home," she announced.

No response. Just more furious clicking and shouting about mana points.

Elena rolled her eyes. She set her bag down and immediately went into "mother mode." She picked up the socks her father had left on the floor. She straightened the pile of mail on the table. Moving into the kitchen, she washed her hands and started chopping vegetables for dinner.

The rhythm of the knife against the cutting board was soothing. This was her domain. She cooked, she cleaned, she managed the budget. Her father worked hard at the factory, she knew that, but his passivity at home was maddening.

"Dinner!" she called out thirty minutes later.

Her father stirred, blinking awake. "Ah, you're back. Something smells good."

"Go wash up, Pa," she said gently. She looked at the corner. "You too. Game over."

"Five more minutes!" the boy yelled, not looking away from the screen. "We're at the boss raid!"

"You said that yesterday," she replied, walking over to him. "And the day before."

"Just wait! I can't pause, it's online!"

She didn't argue. Reaching down, she pinched his ear-hard.

"Ow! Ow! Okay! I surrender!" he yelped, tearing the headset off.

"Eat," his sister commanded, pointing to the table. "Or I unplug the router. And you know I'll do it."

He rubbed his red ear, grumbling. "You're brutal, El. Seriously."

"Someone has to be," she muttered.

Dinner was a simple affair. Her father made small talk about the factory, while her brother ate quickly so he could rush back to his sanctuary. Elena ate in silence, mind already organizing the schedule for tomorrow.

After the dishes were washed and the kitchen wiped down, the house settled into a familiar hum. Her father retreated to his room to sleep. Her brother returned to his game, voice lowered to a whisper after the earlier threat.

The eldest sibling entered her own room and closed the door.

It was the only place in the world that felt truly hers. It was small, just big enough for a single bed and a desk, but it was immaculate. She changed out of her uniform and into soft, oversized pajamas.

She sat at her desk for an hour, reviewing notes for the next day, ensuring her academic dominance remained unchallenged. Only when her eyes began to blur did she finally close the textbook.

Clicking on a small lamp, she cast a warm, golden glow over the bed. She grabbed her headset, plugging it into her phone, and selected a soft acoustic playlist. Then, she reached under the pillow.

She pulled out a paperback novel. The cover featured a woman in a ballgown and a man in a suit, looking at each other with disdain. The Duke's Hated Bride.

Crawling under the covers, she pulled the duvet up to her chin. As she opened the book, the strict, terrifying student melted away.

She read about the arguments, the misunderstandings, the moment the cold male lead secretly protected the heroine. She giggled into her pillow when the characters bickered, kicking her feet slightly.

I wish someone would fight for me like that, she mused, tracing a line of dialogue with a finger. Someone who sees past the armor.

Her eyelids grew heavy. The music slowed. The stress of the vandalized umbrella, the fight at school, and the burden of the household faded into the background.

She fell asleep with the romance novel resting on her chest and a soft, rare smile on her lips, dreaming of a world where she didn't have to be the strong one.