A Childhood Friend Born Never to Lose
It was a life blessed from the moment of birth, one where defeat was inconceivable. Under the wings of her affluent parents, she had enjoyed every luxury, surrounded by people who looked up to her in awe. Yes, to the girl, this was simply natural. Treating others as mere gifts and being exalted by them was a given, so she assumed everyone would bow before her.
Perhaps that's why she became so obsessively fixated on the first exception she encountered. The boy showed no interest in her presumed aura of superiority, which she thought could subjugate anyone. Instead, he dared to stand eye-to-eye with her, a chaebol heiress, despite his commoner roots. It infuriated her. The fact that this boy, whom she barely noticed, met her gaze as an equal...
So she pulled out every trick in the book to make him submit. Ironically, the more she tried, the more she realized her common sense was crumbling. She slowly came to see that her absolute wealth couldn't buy everyone. There were people superior to her in this world, and what they admired was her background and money—not her without them.
But could a girl who believed her excellence was innate easily accept such a shattering of her worldview? She ignored the creeping realization and stubbornly challenged the boy, betting everything on victory. Beating him would negate his barbs, protect her pride, and reclaim her supposed innate superiority.
Yet even the talents honed with her family's support proved useless against him. His abilities, unbelievable for a commoner, overwhelmed her every time. With each repetition, she felt her upper-class pride cracking. Why couldn't she beat him? Why couldn't she, with all her advantages, triumph over someone from a disadvantaged background?
To uncover the reason, she watched him constantly, observing his every move, recording and analyzing it all. And finally, she realized it. He wasn't a genius or using tricks to deceive her—he was an effort incarnate, never slacking in his pursuit of improvement.
He devoted most of his day to study and exercise. When she declared a challenge, he'd preemptively prepare in that field. And through it all, he never underestimated her. He always gave his all in their contests, securing victory without allowing her the slightest opening to nitpick or pull herself down. He was meticulous to a fault.
She had no choice but to admit it. Stripped of background and wealth, she had nothing outstanding, while he was truly remarkable. Beating him would require matching his level of effort—an impossible task without becoming the same kind of relentless striver.
Even realizing this subconsciously, the girl didn't break. Instead, she refined her strategies to defeat him, preparing for the next bout. She just wanted to win once. To beat the one who had utterly denied her worldview, to reclaim her shattered pride...
No, that too was just inertia from years of challenges. Their rivalry had become routine, his presence a constant in her life. Imagining a world without him was now impossible. As time stretched on, just thinking of him, just looking at him, brought a subtle shift in her feelings toward him.
It started with ridicule, fueled by rivalry and inferiority, then evolved into faint admiration for his diligence and a desire to be with him. But she didn't know what name to give this final emotion. For an ignorant girl still in early puberty, the fluttering in her chest whenever she recalled his face or was near him was too alien a concept.
Still, she vaguely thought she might one day understand it. Ironically, the boy's fear dragged it into the open, leaving a deep wound.
'What you're feeling is definitely love.'
Love. The hottest, most beautiful emotion a person could feel. And thus, the one that hurt most when denied.
'But I'm sorry. I don't like you, and I never will.'
She resented how he arbitrarily defined her feelings before she could, then rejected them outright. It felt like all the time they'd spent together, every memory she'd built around him, was thoroughly invalidated.
So she thought maybe forgetting him forever would ease the pain. But how could she shake off memories from childhood so easily? She'd always wanted him by her side; a life without him was unimaginable. She couldn't accept the tower of emotions she'd built crumbling overnight.
Even if he tried to distance himself, she'd ignore it and close the gap. He had no right to deny her feelings arbitrarily, just as she could affirm hers toward him on her own terms.
"Until we graduate high school in three years, we'll bet on which of us says 'I like you' first."
"No, I..."
"Don't even think about refusing. I've already decided, and I won't allow someone like you to rebel against it."
In declaring the bet, she felt the long-forgotten ridicule revive. She had to protect the seed that hadn't even sprouted yet. To preserve the emotions built over ten years, she had no choice.
"You're too arrogant from the start. Who are you to dump someone like me? Why assume a confession I never made and dump someone like me? If you're really going to reject me, shouldn't you make me confess properly first?"
"...Mary."
"No, even assuming I'd confess first pisses me off. Didn't you say it yourself? You can't like me, but you don't hate me. That means there's a chance you'll say you like me, depending on what I do, right?"
Yes, he might not want to get closer, but he didn't want distance either. There was a clear weakness in his desire to maintain their childhood friend status—a chance for her to wedge in.
"If that's true, I'll do my utmost to make you say you like me."
So she bet on that. It was the way that suited them best. Whatever form her feelings ultimately took, turning the process into a rivalry was perfect for them.
"It's not about me saying I like you. It's about making you say you like me. I won't allow you to reject me, so no matter how much you try to pull away, I'll keep coming closer."
Her resolve echoed down the cherry blossom-strewn street, her outstretched finger locking onto the boy facing her steadily. He couldn't turn away from the situation, absorbing every word. Guessing her message had landed fully, the girl turned on her heel and delivered her final line.
"So get ready. For the next three years, I'll give everything to make you fall for me."
With her piece said, her legs carried her away as if fleeing. After long deliberation, her declaration of war bore fruit, foreshadowing the longest rivalry yet to come.
'I absolutely won't lose...'
'In this bet, I absolutely won't lose. I'll make you say you like me.'
As she steeled her resolve, an ideal future at the rivalry's end flickered in her mind. One that would surely be more radiant and beautiful than anything in the world, once reached. A happy ending like a spring dream, satisfying everyone.
My childhood friend of ten years had declared war. She vowed to make me say I liked her, to make me regret arbitrarily denying her feelings...
...It felt bitterly poignant to me. Having soured on romance entirely, I couldn't imagine ever reciprocating her emotions.
So from now on, I'd need to devise a gentler way to refuse, patching the radical mistakes of before. To end our relationship smoothly without hurting the girl I'd watched grow up as much as possible.
That was what I thought back then.
"What're you brooding over?"
As I reminisced on that era, a woman approached my side. Facing the pure white dress beneath her, I recalled our destination and curved my lips into a soft smile.
"Just thinking about the old days a bit. Like when we bet on who would say 'I like you' first, you or me."
"Hehe, yeah. There was that time. I was so desperate then, but now it's just a memory."
The woman in white smiled, sharing the recollection. Noticing my memory of it was hazy, I tossed her a light question.
"Come to think of it, I can't remember well—which of us confessed first?"
A memory surely tied closest to our current outcome. She laughed playfully and took my hand gently.
"You did, obviously. I told you I'd make you say you liked me."
"Did I...?"
"What, you think I'm lying now?"
She pulled my hand, drawing me to my feet. Her steps now lacked the awkwardness of her girlhood days, replaced by calm acceptance and anticipation of what lay ahead.
Yes, everything about her in this moment was for the blessed time to come. The beautiful dress catching the light, her delicately made-up face and smile as she faced me.
"Come on, let's head to the altar. We have to show everyone."
Mary Christine. She was my childhood friend—and the partner I'd sworn to spend my life with.