Adrien knew something was wrong the moment he stepped out of the car.
The courtyard of École Saint Laurent Academy was louder than usual.
Not the refined murmur of privileged conversation.
Not the soft elegance of French drifting through the morning air.
This was chaos.
Phones out.
Whispers sharp.
Laughter too loud.
He adjusted his blazer and walked forward, pretending not to notice the way heads turned.
But he heard it.
"C'est lui." (It's him.)
"Did you see it?"
"Mon Dieu, la tension." (My God, the tension.)
He exhaled slowly.
Of course they'd seen it.
The boxer campaign had dropped everywhere overnight.
Billboards. Social media. Magazine previews. TikTok edits.
It had exploded.
And now he was walking through the aftermath.
Ji-Won hurried toward him, heels clicking fast against the stone.
"You saw?" she demanded without greeting.
Adrien didn't answer.
"That commercial is everywhere," she continued, lowering her voice. "EVERYWHERE."
"I noticed."
She crossed her arms. "They're obsessed."
A group of girls nearby squealed suddenly.
Adrien caught fragments.
"He's so hot."
"Did you see how big he looked—"
"I swear the tension was REAL."
"And the way they looked at each other?!"
Another voice added dramatically, "They're totally hooking up."
Adrien closed his eyes briefly.
Ji-Won stiffened.
"They are not," she snapped under her breath.
Adrien glanced at her.
She looked genuinely irritated.
"I don't understand why they're shipping you with him," she muttered. "It doesn't even make sense."
"It's marketing," Adrien replied calmly.
But even he wasn't fully convinced by his own tone.
As they entered the main building, Luc practically pounced.
"Adrien!" he exclaimed in French. "Vous avez cassé Internet!" (You broke the internet!)
Mathieu appeared behind him, grinning. "The edits? Insane."
Camille waved her phone in Adrien's face.
On screen was a slow-motion clip of the boxer commercial—the almost-touch, the lingering glance, the tension—overlayed with dramatic music and captions:
"Enemies to Lovers?"
"The chemistry is insane."
"Camille x Calloway supremacy."
Adrien groaned.
Luc leaned closer. "Be honest. Did they tell you to look at him like that, or—"
"Enough," Adrien cut in smoothly.
Mathieu smirked. "There's a rumor resurfacing."
Adrien froze.
"What rumor?"
"That Zane's bi."
Ji-Won's head snapped toward them.
"It's everywhere," Camille said. "Some old interviews. Some pictures from clubs."
Adrien's stomach tightened.
He kept his expression neutral.
"And?"
Luc shrugged. "It makes the ship stronger."
Ji-Won looked furious.
"That's ridiculous," she said sharply. "He's just marketing."
Adrien didn't speak.
But something unsettled him.
Not the rumor.
The reaction to it.
The way people dissected it like gossip candy.
He hated that part of this world.
Across the city, MMA sports magazines hit the stands early.
One cover dominated.
Zane.
Black trousers low on his hips.
Boxers visible.
Tie between his teeth.
Eyes intense.
Headline bold across the top:
"CALLAWAY: The Fighter Redefining Power."
Inside the gym, the big screen played highlights from previous matches.
Zane was mid-training when one of the younger guys whistled.
"Bro. You're on the cover of Titan MMA Weekly."
Zane glanced over briefly, punching the heavy bag again.
"Cool."
"Cool?" his friend laughed. "That picture is illegal."
Zane rolled his shoulders.
He wasn't focused on that.
Today at 6 p.m., Dante was fighting.
Opening match.
Zane watched from the treadmill later, hood up, earbuds half in, eyes locked on the screen.
Dante moved like he always did.
Confident.
Precise.
Dominant.
The fight ended quickly.
Another win.
The crowd roared.
Zane's jaw tightened.
He shut off the screen mid-celebration.
Trained harder.
Longer.
Until 9 p.m.
His coach finally stepped in. "Enough. Go home."
He didn't argue.
At home, his mom had dinner waiting.
He sat across from her, exhausted, as she turned on the post-fight interview.
Dante appeared on screen, smug grin intact.
"Impressive performance," the interviewer praised.
"Thank you."
"Any message for your upcoming opponent, Zane Calloway?"
Dante chuckled.
"Tell him to enjoy the sponsorship while it lasts."
Zane's grip tightened on his fork.
Dante continued smoothly, "Marketing doesn't win fights. Skill does."
The interviewer laughed softly.
Zane turned the TV off.
The room fell silent.
He stared at the blank screen.
Then exhaled.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow was his turn.
The next afternoon, Adrien sat at a restaurant bar with Luc, Mathieu, Camille, and Ji-Won.
He was pretending to listen to Luc rant about some fashion scandal when he checked the time.
4:58 p.m.
His chest tightened.
"I'll be right back," he muttered, stepping away slightly.
He caught the bartender's attention.
"Can you put the MMA match on?"
The bartender blinked. "MMA?"
"Yes."
His friends stared.
"Since when do you watch MMA?" Mathieu asked suspiciously.
Adrien ignored him.
The screen flickered to the live broadcast.
5:00 p.m.
Zane entered the arena.
Even through the television, Adrien felt it.
The focus.
The intensity.
Zane looked different.
Sharper.
Hungrier.
Adrien typed quickly.
Adrien: you better not lose
Across town, backstage, Zane's phone buzzed in his hand.
He read the message.
And grinned like an idiot.
Before he could respond, staff called his name.
"Calloway! You're up!"
He slipped the phone away.
Stepped into the arena.
Adrien's friends fell quiet as the fight began.
Zane moved fast.
Aggressive.
Focused.
The first round was tense.
The second—decisive.
By the third, the momentum was clear.
When Zane landed the final blow and the referee raised his hand—
Adrien smiled.
He didn't even realize he was doing it.
He typed immediately.
Adrien: good 😤
Moments later—
Zane: you watched me?
Adrien stared at the message.
His friends were watching him now.
Smirking.
"Who are you texting?" Luc asked.
Adrien hesitated.
Then casually replied:
"Ji-Won."
Ji-Won nearly choked.
But she said nothing.
He typed back.
Adrien: maybe.
Zane: you said i better not lose. that sounds like support.
Adrien's lips twitched.
Adrien: don't read too much into it.
Zane: too late.
Luc leaned over. "You're smiling."
"I am not."
"You are."
Adrien locked his phone and stood.
"I'm leaving."
"It's barely seven," Camille protested.
"Work," he lied smoothly.
They watched him go with knowing looks.
Back at the penthouse, Adrien dropped onto his bed.
Stared at the ceiling.
This was going too far.
The tension.
The texting.
Watching his fights.
Smiling at his messages.
He ran a hand through his hair.
This wasn't part of the plan.
He liked control.
Predictability.
This felt—
Unstable.
His phone buzzed again.
Zane: thanks for watching.
Adrien stared at it.
Then locked the screen without replying.
At home, Zane's mom hugged him tightly.
"I'm proud of you."
He smiled.
Showered.
Collapsed onto his bed afterward, muscles sore but mind racing.
Adrien watched.
Adrien texted first.
Adrien smiled.
He replayed it over and over.
Then Dante's words replayed too.
Marketing doesn't win fights.
Zane stared at the ceiling.
No.
But motivation did.
And right now—
He had plenty of it.
He closed his eyes.
And all he could see—
Was Adrien watching him.