Evan didn't approach again that day.
That was the first move.
Distance maintained.
Interaction delayed.
Psychological pressure applied.
Jared noticed immediately.
"…he's avoiding you," Iris said.
"…incorrect."
"…he literally walked away."
"…controlled spacing."
"…that sounds worse."
"…it is."
Jared leaned back in his seat, eyes half-lidded.
From the outside—
He looked relaxed.
Inside—
His mind was moving.
Subject: Evan Reyes.
Behavior: intentional.
Awareness: high.
Conclusion: competitor.
"…I don't like this," Iris muttered.
"…emotionally driven response," Jared replied.
"…yes, because this is weird."
"…accurate."
Across the room—
Evan sat quietly.
Not writing.
Not speaking.
Just listening.
But every now and then—
He glanced up.
At Jared.
Short.
Measured.
Not obvious.
But not hidden either.
Mutual observation.
The professor continued the lecture.
"…we'll be doing a group exercise," he said.
Groans followed.
"…you will be paired randomly."
"…this is going to be bad," Iris whispered.
"…probability: high."
Names were called.
Pairs formed.
Then—
"…Jared Alonzo."
A pause.
"…Evan Reyes."
Silence.
Then whispers.
"…of course."
"…this is going to be interesting."
Iris slowly leaned back.
"…I'm not involved. I refuse."
"…noted."
Jared stood.
So did Evan.
They walked toward the same table.
Sat across from each other.
The task sheet was placed between them.
Jared looked at it.
Complex.
Layered.
Multiple variables.
Problem-solving scenario.
"…time limit: twenty minutes," the professor said.
Silence settled between them.
Then—
Evan spoke first.
"…you go first," he said.
Not polite.
Not casual.
A test.
Jared looked at him.
"…inefficient."
"…prove it."
A pause.
Then—
Jared picked up the pen.
Not to write—
But to observe.
Problem structure: incomplete.
Hidden condition present.
"…the question is flawed," Jared said.
Evan's eyes sharpened slightly.
"…continue."
"…it requires an assumption not stated."
"…which is?"
Jared tapped the paper lightly.
"…that the variables are independent."
Silence.
Evan smiled.
Just slightly.
"…they're not."
"…correct."
A pause.
Then—
Evan leaned forward.
"…most people wouldn't see that."
"…most people are inefficient."
"…or untrained."
"…difference?"
"…none."
Silence.
Tension increased.
Jared wrote something down.
Evan didn't stop him.
Just watched.
Then—
Evan reached over.
Added a line.
Right below Jared's.
Jared paused.
Looked at it.
Correction applied.
Optimization improved.
"…acceptable," Jared said.
"…expected," Evan replied.
For the next few minutes—
They worked.
Not together.
Not separately.
In parallel.
Each move—
Matched.
Adjusted.
Refined.
No wasted motion.
No unnecessary words.
Until—
They both stopped.
At the same time.
Jared looked up.
Evan already was.
"…solution complete," Jared said.
"…confirmed," Evan replied.
They stood.
Walked to the front.
Placed the paper down.
The professor looked at it.
Once.
Then again.
"…this is…" he paused.
"…correct."
Silence filled the room.
"…fully correct," he added.
Whispers exploded.
"…no way."
"…both of them?"
Iris stared.
"…I hate both of you."
"…noted," Jared said.
"…expected," Evan added.
They returned to their seats.
But the atmosphere—
Had changed.
Again.
Jared leaned back slightly.
Conclusion confirmed.
Evan Reyes—
Was not normal.
And more importantly—
He wasn't inferior.
Jared's eyes narrowed slightly.
Not in anger.
In focus.
Because now—
This wasn't just survival.
It was competition.