The morning sun spilled across Silvermist University, glinting off the glass windows of the sprawling design department like a spotlight on a stage. Inside, chaos reigned—or at least, Y/N thrived in it.

Sketches, swatches, and half-finished mannequins were scattered across every table, but she didn’t care. She strode between them like she owned the place, high heels clicking sharply on the polished floor. Every step screamed confidence, every glance challenged anyone daring to cross her.

“Y/N, you’re going to trip over that roll of fabric,” one of the first-years muttered, clutching their sketchbook like it was a life raft.

She smirked without looking back. “Then maybe it’s their problem, not mine.”

That was Y/N in a nutshell: sharp-tongued, brilliant, untouchable. Queen bee of the design department, master of sass, and the only student at Silvermist who could make a critique session feel like an Olympic sport.

And then… she heard it.

The faint hum of a camera shutter, crisp and deliberate, echoing from the other side of the studio. Y/N froze mid-step, instincts flaring.

Jeon Jungkook.

Golden boy of photography, campus heartthrob, Instagram sensation, and—most importantly—her artistic nemesis.

He was leaning against the window sill, camera in hand, adjusting a lens with that effortless charm that made people weak in the knees. His hair fell perfectly across his forehead, the sunlight catching just enough to make him glow. And yes, he was irritatingly good-looking—but that wasn’t the problem.

The problem? Everything else.

Their feud wasn’t new. It had started months ago, when the campus media had labeled them “artistic rivals,” and it only escalated from there. Every class critique, every showcase, every project: a battlefield. Sparks flew everywhere, though rarely the romantic kind.

Y/N narrowed her eyes as she stalked past him, clutching her portfolio like a shield. “Try not to blind anyone with that ego,” she said, voice dripping sarcasm.

Jungkook didn’t look up. He tilted the camera toward her, one eyebrow raised. “You first.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, portfolio clutched to her chest. His smirk was infuriating. He knew exactly how to get under her skin.

“I said don’t—” she started, but a soft thud behind her made her spin.

The joint project folder. Somehow, improbably, the professor had decided to pair them up for the semester’s final assignment.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Jungkook muttered, flipping through the pages like a kid at Christmas. “Two geniuses. One project. Zero patience.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. She hated him already.

But the project wasn’t going to complete itself. And as much as she hated to admit it… she had a sinking feeling that this semester wasn’t just going to be about work.

It was going to be a war.

And sometimes, wars had a way of starting… with unexpected sparks

The design studio smelled of coffee, paint, and ambition—a combination Y/N thrived in. She set her portfolio down on the nearest table, flipping it open to show her sketches. Clean lines, bold patterns, and a touch of rebellion—exactly what she did best.

Jungkook hovered beside her, camera dangling from his neck, his presence annoyingly magnetic. “You really think those color choices work?” he asked, peering over her sketches with a tilted head, eyebrow raised.

Y/N barely looked at him, keeping her eyes on the sketches. “Do you think your filters make an overexposed sunset look good?” she shot back.

He smirked. “Touché. But at least my photos don’t look like a toddler attacked them with crayons.”

The words hit sharper than she expected, and she whirled around, hands on her hips. “Excuse me? These aren’t just colors—they’re a statement!”

“And statements,” he countered smoothly, “don’t always translate into art that people actually like.”

For a moment, neither moved. Sparks crackled in the space between them, invisible yet undeniable. Every student passing by gave a wide berth, sensing the tension that practically radiated off them.

Y/N huffed, grabbing a pencil and stabbing it into her sketchbook. “Fine. Let’s see who gets the higher grade, then.”

“Oh, it’s not about the grade,” Jungkook said casually, like he didn’t just insult her life’s work. “It’s about who can make the other crack first.”

Her jaw dropped. “You think you’re going to make me crack?”

“Already halfway there,” he replied with a grin that was infuriatingly charming.

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard she swore she almost saw them spin. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Hours passed like minutes as they worked. The initial hostility turned into snarky collaboration—an odd rhythm neither expected. Y/N would sketch something, Jungkook would photograph it, they’d argue, she’d sigh, he’d smirk, and somehow, something brilliant emerged from their chaos.

By the time the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting golden streaks across the studio, they were hunched over the same laptop, editing a digital layout.

“Crop it here,” Y/N said, pointing.

Jungkook leaned closer, and their shoulders brushed. Y/N froze. Did that just feel… electric?

He didn’t seem to notice. “Done,” he said, stepping back, giving her a look that made her chest tighten. “Perfect. Almost like we… work well together.”

She blinked, flustered. “Don’t say that. Ever.”

Later, as the studio emptied and the halls grew quiet, they found themselves in a lull, both too stubborn to leave first.

“Y/N,” Jungkook said softly, the teasing gone from his voice, “look… I don’t hate working with you. I just… don’t know how to deal with you.”

Her heart skipped. She should have rolled her eyes, walked out, and slammed the door behind her. But instead, she stayed, a strange mix of curiosity and frustration holding her in place.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered, barely audible.

“And yet,” he replied, leaning closer, “you’re still here.”

The moment hung, electric, fragile. And then—the laptop slid off the table with a loud clatter, breaking the spell.

They both jumped back, hearts racing, and Y/N couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her.

Jungkook chuckled too, low and teasing. “See? I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me for long.”

“Don’t—” she tried to protest, but her voice was gone. All that remained was the awareness that the feud had shifted, subtly, dangerously.

This semester wasn’t going to be easy. But for the first time, Y/N realized… maybe she didn’t completely hate it either.

This was the first chapter of this book , show love and support lovely readers~