CHAPTER 1

Four years later

Even before my alarm rings, I'm already awake. 4:45 AM. Five minutes before my set wake-up time. Though lacking sleep, my body moves automatically—already used to pushing itself to the very last limit.

"Do you still need to prove that you're Eleanore Salvacion?" I ask myself while rubbing my eyes. On the wall of my small dorm room hangs a thick paper—a makeshift scoreboard I started in freshman year:

_

ELLIE vs. SANJO

Midterms (Adv. Game Theory): 98% vs. 97%

Finals (Political Ethics): 96% vs. 98%

Research Grant Application: ✓ vs. ✓

Dean's Award Nomination: ✓ vs. ✓

_

The score is almost even. Always like that. It's maddening.

I glance at the last entry on the list: Alfonzo Memorial Fellowship: Pending vs. Pending

I sigh deeply. "Today's the day," I whisper while retrieving my journal from under the pillow. It's open to the last page where words that serve as my daily reminder are written: If not you, who? If not now, when?

Words from Lola Corazon, before she died when I was in high school. I wouldn't have made it to college if not for her. And now, in my final year, I won't allow myself to lose. Especially not to Santiago Alcaraz.

__

"The Alfonzo Memorial Fellowship isn't just about grades," Dr. Mercado explains, as we walk side by side toward the faculty building. "It's about demonstrating exceptional critical thinking, originality, and the potential to contribute meaningfully to your field."

I nod, unable to resist glancing at Sanjo who's walking on the other side of our professor. He's wearing an ironed polo, in contrast to my slightly-wrinkled blouse and slacks. Confidence is evident on his face—as if he already knows the fellowship is his.

Over my dead body.

"That's why I made a separate proposal for my research," I reply, raising my voice so Sanjo can hear. "I think my approach brings something new to the table."

Dr. Mercado smiles. "Both of your proposals are excellent. That's why I recommended you both as finalists."

"Thank you," Sanjo and I answer simultaneously.

Dr. Mercado stops in front of his office. "The committee will announce their decision after the presentation next week. In the meantime," he looks at both of us, "try not to kill each other."

After the professor enters his office, Sanjo and I are left standing next to each other in the hallway. I feel the tension between us—like static electricity ready to spark anytime.

"Good luck, Salvacion," he says, eyebrow raised. "I hope you don't get too nervous during your presentation. I noticed you had trouble maintaining eye contact during your mock defense last week."

The audacity.

"At least I, Alcaraz, don't rely on my family name to get noticed," I reply, staring at him directly. "What I have is earned, not inherited."

He laughs, but I notice his jaw tightening. Bull's eye.

"Still playing the scholarship kid card? How original," he remarks. "You know, sometimes I wonder if that chip on your shoulder is what's weighing down your analysis. Your interpretation of Habermas was... pedestrian, at best."

I feel my face heating up. "That's rich coming from someone who cited Wikipedia in his sophomore paper."

"That was a formatting error and you know it," he answers, his voice lowering. "Have you been hiding behind the 'working class hero' excuse for four years? Because if we're talking about academic merit alone, we both know I'm ahead."

"By what metric? Last time I checked, I have the highest GPA in our batch."

"By .02 points, Salvacion. Point zero two." He moves slightly closer. "And the semester isn't over yet."

"Excuse me," interrupts a student passing between us, and only then do I notice how close we are to each other. Our chests are almost touching while arguing.

I back away, nervous about what kind of reaction that was. It's always like this—hot-blooded, always on the edge of... I don't know what.

"I have a study group in five minutes," he says, also backing away.

"Enjoy your solo library session. Heard you don't play well with others."

"Better alone than surrounded by sycophants who can't tell you when your analyses are wrong."

He smiles—not his usual smug smile, but a genuine one that shows the dimple on his right cheek.

Shit.

"Always so serious, Salvacion. Maybe that's your problem." He measures me from head to toe. "You need to loosen up."

Before I can respond, he turns around and walks away, leaving me standing there with my heart racing—from anger, of course. Nothing else.

"Did you see Prof. Estrada's face yesterday when Alcaraz presented?" Mia asks while we're having lunch in the cafeteria.

"He seemed captivated by his presentation."

I roll my eyes while taking out my laptop from my bag. "You're all too impressed by his basic analysis. His methodology had flaws, to be honest."

"Wow, the Ellie versus Sanjo rivalry is still going strong," Cassie says laughingly. "You've been chasing and firing critiques at each other for four years now."

"I'm not chasing him," I defend, while opening my laptop. "It just happens that we're both competitive."

"And you both work in the same field of study, you're both applying for the same grants, you're both..." Mia says, but I give her a stern look.

"Okay, I'll stop joking," Mia says, raising her hands as if surrendering. "It's a good thing he hasn't tired of your rivalry. Four years is a long time."

"Actually, it motivates me even more," I reply. "Every time he thinks he's outsmarted me, I work harder. That's all."

Cassie and Mia laugh a little.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," says Cassie. "Anyway, how's Dr. Rivera doing? He still hasn't shown up for my Ethical Theory class."

I feel my face heating up. Dr. Rivera. Thirty-five-year-old Philosophy professor fresh from Oxford. He even has a slight accent when he gets excited about a topic. It's only natural I have a crush on him. All the women in the department are easily charmed by his intelligence.

"He's been sick since last week," I say, feeling my heart beating rapidly. "But I heard he's coming back tomorrow."

"That was a quick answer," Mia shrugs. "You seem very updated?"

"I follow the department announcements, okay?" I defend again.

"It's my job as the school paper editor."

"Sure, Ellie," Cassie says laughingly. "Not because every time he has a seminar, you're always in the front row, listening as if you're drinking in his every word."

I can't help but smile. "You're exaggerating. It's just... nice to have a professor who actually challenges us to think, not just someone who reads PowerPoint slides."

"Hmmm," says Mia. "So it has nothing to do with the fact that he's single and looks like a K-drama leading man?"

"Just an academic crush," I say, trying to sound casual. "I just appreciate his mind."

"And his abs during the faculty sports fest," Cassie adds.

The three of us laugh, and for a few seconds, I forget the stress about the Alfonzo Fellowship, about Sanjo, and about my presentation next week.

But from the corner of my eye, I notice Sanjo entering the cafeteria with his study group. He's wearing the navy blue sweater he always wears during major exams—his lucky charm, according to campus gossip. I also notice that as soon as he enters, there's already a table prepared for them, reserved by some freshman admirer, probably.

"Ellie?" Cassie calls. "Are you okay? You suddenly went quiet."

"Sorry," I say, returning my attention to my laptop. "Just thinking about the presentation. I still have revisions to make."

"Sure," says Mia, but I notice her peek behind me to see what—or who—I was looking at earlier.

I don't remove my gaze from my laptop. I also don't give Sanjo any reason to think I noticed him. Just as I always do.

Because the rivalry is everything. If I feel anything else when I see him—irritation, anger, determination—it's nothing but the product of four years of competition.

Nothing more.

After lunch, I walked to the library. I had a paper that I needed to submit tomorrow for my Political Theory class—and I knew that Dr. Rivera was in the library now. I was hoping to have a chance to consult with him before I finalized my conclusion.

Not because I wanted to see him, I told myself. Just purely academic consultation.

When I entered the library, I went straight to the research section. Quiet, almost empty. I saw the arrangement of study carrels—near the window with a view of the university quad, in the middle of a wall of books about political thought and philosophy.

And there, in the last carrel on the right, sat Dr. Rivera. He was hunched over a book, his fingers gently caressing the page while reading. There was a small smile on his lips, as if he was conversing with the book itself.

What if he looked at my research that way too?

I took a deep breath and walked closer.

"Dr. Rivera?"

He looked up, and when he saw me, his smile widened. "Ms. Salvacion. How are you? How can I help you?"

"I was hoping to get your feedback on my paper," I answered, taking out the folder from my bag. "On Rawls' Theory of Justice as it applies to transitional economies."

"Ah, interesting topic. Have a seat," he pointed to the chair beside him.

I sat down, extremely conscious of how close we were to each other. Just professional. Just academic.

"I was actually looking for you too," he said while flipping through my paper. "Professor Limuaco told me about your application for the Alfonzo Fellowship."

My heart suddenly beat faster. "Oh, really?"

He nodded, smiling. "I'll be part of the panel. Your abstract was quite impressive."

"Really?" I couldn't help but show my excitement. I smiled widely.

"Yes. Though, I have to say—" he suddenly stopped what he was about to say.

I looked in the direction he was looking, and there, approaching us, I saw Sanjo. He was holding some books and folders, and he also looked surprised to see Dr. Rivera and me together.

"Mr. Alcaraz," Dr. Rivera greeted. "Perfect timing. I was just telling Ms. Salvacion about the fellowship panel next week."

Sanjo's forehead wrinkled quickly, before changing to a diplomatic smile. "Dr. Rivera. Nice to see you back on campus. Feeling better?"

"Much better, thank you," the professor answered. "I was about to tell Ms. Salvacion that I'll be evaluating both your presentations. The department feels I can provide a balanced perspective since I haven't worked closely with either of you before."

Sanjo sat down in the chair across from us. "That's... interesting news."

I couldn't help myself. "It's nerve-wracking," I said. "But I look forward to your feedback, Dr. Rivera." I deliberately smiled sweetly.

I noticed Sanjo pause, looking at me. There was some emotion in his eyes that I couldn't read. Irritation? Concern?

"Actually," said Dr. Rivera, "I just read both your abstracts this morning. They're both compelling approaches to contemporary political challenges."

"Both?" I couldn't help but ask, I almost heard the disappointment in my own voice.

"Yes, Ms. Salvacion. Mr. Alcaraz's proposal on institutional reform is quite innovative as well."

I looked at Sanjo. He was smiling now—not the genuine smile I'd seen sometimes, but that smug, self-satisfied smirk that I really wanted to wipe off his face.

"Thank you, Dr. Rivera," he replied, but he was looking at me. "I've put a lot of thought into my methodology."

"Apparently," I said, unable to stop myself from countering.

"Though I wonder if you've considered the limitations of your theoretical framework. The blind spots are quite... significant."

"Ms. Salvacion," said Dr. Rivera, somewhat surprised. "Have you read Mr. Alcaraz's full proposal?"

"Not yet," I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush. "But based on his abstract—"

"—which you read?" asked Sanjo, almost laughing. "Wow, Salvacion. I didn't know you were my student now."

I wanted to disappear from sheer embarrassment, especially when I noticed Dr. Rivera looking at us, almost with amusement.

"I think," said the professor, "this kind of academic passion is exactly what makes both of you strong candidates. But perhaps it would benefit you both to focus on strengthening your own arguments rather than attempting to weaken each other's."

I felt like I was being scolded like a child. Sanjo also looked uncomfortable.

"Yes, Dr. Rivera," we answered simultaneously.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," the professor stood up, "I have a faculty meeting to attend. Ms. Salvacion, I'll review your paper and email you my feedback by tomorrow."

"Thank you," I said.

After Dr. Rivera left, the temperature suddenly dropped between Sanjo and me. We weren't talking, just both arranging our things.

Finally, I stood up to leave.

"Using your charm on the panel members already, Salvacion?" he whispered, not looking at me.

I paused. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing," he answered. "Just noticing how your eyes light up when you talk to him. Subtle."

I felt my face heat up. "Haven't you noticed that not everything is about you? For me, that was an academic consultation. How I look at people is none of your business."

He stood up too, almost as tall as my height. "Whatever you say. Just know that this fellowship will be decided on merit, not on how much you bat your eyelashes."

I felt like he punched me in the stomach. "That's low, even for you."

"Maybe," he replied, holding his books tighter. "But we both know that desperate times call for desperate measures. And we're both desperate to get this."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he moved a bit closer, his voice lowered, "you need this more than I do, financially speaking. But I need it just as much, for different reasons."

I couldn't respond because he immediately left.