Throughout their junior years, Jim and (Y/N) managed to rub each other up the wrong way every time they saw each other (which was, unfortunately, every day). Jim had long since stopped trying to make amends with (Y/N) after putting them both out of favour of the Sergeant. Instead, preferring to annoy her at every opportunity. He was especially talented at that.

As they were at similar skill levels and (Y/N) was a highly driven individual, a strong rivalry formed. This aforementioned rivalry naturally turned everything into a competition between the two: both incredibly eager to rub the other's face in their superiority.

~~~

"So, cadets, your ship has failed due to engine problems in dead space. Your primary tool kit is lacking the necessary tools to fix it. Using the Xorbutar method of naval problem solving, what do you do?"

(Y/N)'s hand shot up immediately.

"(L/N)," The instructor said. She stood by the dusty blackboard with crossed arms.

"First I'd check the engine integrity, and if it's at risk of exploding I evacuate the crew. If it's not at risk I contact command with the communicator in the captains' cabin and wait for assistance." She said and heard Jim's faint snicker from the desk behind her.

"Noble to take care of your crew, but that is incorrect." The instructor said. Jim lazily put his hand up and sighed.

"Yes, Hawkins."

"Obviously I'd use the communicator to tell command that I'm held up, then I'd use the secondary tool kit in the storeroom to fix the engine." He smirked as the teacher nodded, nudging (Y/N)'s chair leg with his foot to silently gloat.

"Correct. To reiterate, the Xorbutar method is a very important process when facing ship difficulty in situations like --" The instructor droned. By now the majority of the squad had tuned out in the hazy midsummer heat that breezed through the open windows.

(Y/N) turned around and shot a glare at the nuisance kicking her chair. Said nuisance feigned innocence and retracted his legs back under his desk.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed loudly at his antics. Unfortunately, the instructor stopped talking and stared indignantly at her.

"(L/N), are my lessons not up to your standard?" Instructor Zepar's warning tone made (Y/N) flush in embarrassment. She could feel Jim smirking at he back of her head.

"Sorry Miss, I had something in my throat."

~~~

Jim's muscles screamed as he climbed the rigging for the fifth time -- up and down and up and down. Cadets to his left and right were also faltering in their climb. The day was cool, yet the sticky physicality uniform clung to his body. Beads of perspiration dripped uncomfortably down his nose and accumulated into the corners of his grimacing mouth.

From his periphery he glimpsed a nimble figure advance to his side with little exertion.

"Getting tired yet?" (Y/N) said. Jim glanced at her and saw a cheeky grin on her face, which over time he had come to discern as the face that preceded his humiliation.

"No," He grunted, straining to reach the next level of rope.

"Then why don't you pick up the pace, slow poke!" Her pace quickened and she overtook him with ease. He sighed in irritation but silently marvelled at her graceful movements akin to a spider. Though, unlike a spider, Jim found she was much nicer to look at from behind.

When he looked up again she was already sitting at the top on the supporting post where the crows' nest would normally be on a ship.

"Aw Jim, you're almost there. Just a few most ropes!" (Y/N) cooed.

"Don't patronize me." Jim puffed, rolling his eyes at her.

~~~

The rowdy babble in the mess hall was characteristic of dinner time, and (Y/N) was having a laugh with her friends at their table.

Dinner consisted of roasted vegetables and corned beef: a common staple in the academy due to the high prestige (and monetary prosperity) the school possessed. Plus, with the majority of the students coming from a noble background, their taste buds were more refined to the decadence of rich food instead of the bland scraps the less fortunate were accustomed to.

(Y/N) was laughing at something her friend Sarah Trast said when another friend mumbled a warning.

"Hawkins, 9 o'clock," Ezree Molphar, an elephant-looking girl, said. (Y/N) instantly quietened and dropped her eyes to the plate. Just as (Y/N) was lifting her fork to her mouth, Jim and his buddies passed behind her and she felt someone bump into her sharply. Her fork clattered to the plate. She shot a glare at the back of Jim's head -- undoubtedly the culprit.

"She still glaring at me?" Jim asked his friend Petar Zygon with a cheeky grin.

"Yeah man, daggers!" Petar snickered as he looked to (Y/N)'s table, where she was indeed glaring ferociously at Jim.

"Ugh, he's such an imbecile!" (Y/N) turned back to her friends and stabbed a potato aggressively before popping it into her mouth.

~~~

"Cadet Kraft, widen yer stance. Same wit' ye, Parsons! Ye look like a bunch o' lame chooks!"

Sergeant Fernsby was placed in charge of teaching Squad B the art of fencing. The majority of the cadets were finally getting the hang of it and, much to Sir's satisfaction, a few fencing prodigies were discovered.

"Ex'llent form Cadet (L/N), keep it up-- PARSONS WHAT DID I JUST BLOODY SAY!" (Y/N) hid her pleasure at Sir's praise and continued to run through the choreographed movements. It was like second nature to her, the drills. As if the brain didn't need to function at all because her muscles recalled every fluid movement on cue. This was due to the rigorous programme that her stepmother had assigned for each morning: 2 hours of fencing training every second day and 30 minutes sparring each morning, ever since she was 10 years old. Her step-mother was never unkind to (Y/N), but had high expectations.

After another set of drills, Fernsby called everyone to him so he could introduce the next exercise.

"Fer the next exercise ye'll be in pairs. 'Ave a clean game between ye, then the winner versus some'un else an' loser is out of the game. Eventually there'll be an overall champ who gets winners privileges for the evenin'. Got it?" The cadets shouted in affirmation. "Then pair up 'n' start!"

(Y/N) and her friend Julie Parsons looked at each other the moment he mentioned pairs. When he blew the whistle, they readied their stance.

Jim partnered with his friend Petar (though it was well known that Petar was inept at fencing, or any kind of sword fighting).

"I hope me winning won't damage our friendship." Jim saluted and put on his mask.

"Don't sweat it." Petar bent into en garde position, as did Jim, and they commenced when the whistle blew.

Jim did win and not just due to the clumsiness of his partner. He was quite skilled with the sabre; winning all of his games right into the final round.

Jim and the other cadet stood facing each other in the centre of a wide circle the rest of the squad had formed. As was customary for the beginning of a game, he and the other cadet took off their mask to salute.

"Jeez, it had to be you." Jim groaned which earned an eye roll from his partner, (Y/N).

"You wound me, Jim. You wound me." They put their masks back on and assumed en garde as they waited for the bout to begin.

Sergeant Fernsby blew the whistle. Instead of leaping into action, the opponents circled slowly around each other like a pair of tigers stalking prey, sabres twitching.

"Are you ready to lose, Hawkins?" (Y/N) asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing." He retorted. They both leapt into action and their sabres clashed in the middle.

"In that case: no, I'm not." She feinted back and jabbed at him, but he engaged her and they locked blades.

Both cadets were skilful in the technique so the bout endured for longer than most, though eventually in the final 20 seconds (Y/N)'s higher skill began to overpower her adversary. While their blades were locked, (Y/N) stamped at the ground to startle him and his grip loosened on the blade for a split second. Using this to her advantage, she flicked his sabre up into the air where it landed a couple of metres away, sticking into the floorboards.

She second-guessed Jim by pretending to jab at his left, which he fell for, and then took the final move by touching his right shoulder with the point of her sabre: the deciding point. Sergeant Fernsby blew the whistle to cease the game and the two cadets saluted each other again.

Taking off their masks, they met in the middle for the customary handshake. Both cadets' hair was plastered to their flushed faces.

"Good game." Jim begrudgingly said as they shook hands. (Y/N) half-smiled at the formality, echoing his words, and was about to say something else but was interrupted by compliments from the friends that had walked over to congratulate her.

It was for the best, because the comment she had lined up would've annihilated his will to live.