Jyju

The gym was quiet at 6:00 AM, except for the rhythmic, aggressive thud of leather against hardwood.
Julian hated how easy Julian made it look—or rather, how hard Marcus made Julian work to keep up. For three years, Marcus Vance had been the undisputed golden boy of the fencing strip: impeccably posture-perfect, effortlessly aristocratic, and perpetually one step ahead of Julian in every regional ranking.
Julian gripped his foil until his knuckles turned white. He wasn't born with Marcus's silver-spoon pedigree or fluid natural grace. Everything Julian had, he had bled for. Yet every time he reached the top podium, Marcus was already standing there, offering that irritatingly polite, infuriatingly distant nod of recognition.
It wasn't just competitive drive anymore. It was an obsession. Julian cataloged Marcus’s habits like a strategist preparing for war: the slight dip of his left shoulder before a disengage, the precise way he tucked his dark hair behind his ear between bouts, the way his sharp jawline set when he was pushed into a corner. Julian told himself he noticed these details to win.
Then Leo transferred to their training facility.
Leo was loud, brilliant, and casually affectionate. Within two weeks, he had charmed the entire squad—including Marcus.
Julian watched from across the armory as Leo slung an arm over Marcus's shoulders after practice,