The relay practice field smelled different in the early morning.
Not of sweat yet.
Not of competition.
Just grass damp with dew, chalk lines still untouched, and the quiet hum of anticipation that settled into the lungs before anyone dared to run.
Eadlyn arrived before most of the team.
Not because he was eager.
But because he needed to observe the silence before it filled with noise.
He stood near the third exchange mark, eyes tracing the curve of the track, calculating distances, wind direction, and most importantly—
People.
The relay team trickled in one by one.
Some stretched too aggressively.
Some joked too loudly.
Some stayed quiet, conserving something they didn't yet understand they would need.
Manami arrived last.
She jogged lightly toward the group, ponytail bouncing, face composed. Anyone watching would think she was confident.
Eadlyn didn't.
Her shoulders were relaxed—but too relaxed.
A deliberate calm.
Not fear.
Not injury.
Control.
She had decided not to let the race decide her worth.
That choice mattered more than speed.
The Relay Is Not a Team Yet
The coach clapped once, sharp and efficient.
"Positions as listed. Warm up. We'll do baton drills first."
Groans rippled through the group.
Baton drills were boring.
Precise.
Unforgiving.
They exposed weak coordination instantly.
Eadlyn took his place at third leg, rolling his shoulders slowly.
The first few passes were sloppy.
Too rushed.
Too hesitant.
Too individual.
A dropped baton here.
A mistimed reach there.
The coach frowned but said nothing.
He was watching something else.
So was Eadlyn.
The problem wasn't technique.
It was trust.
Every runner was accelerating as if they alone needed to compensate for the team.
Which meant the team didn't exist yet.
Manami's Inner Line
When it was Manami's turn to receive the baton, she hesitated for half a heartbeat before extending her hand.
The baton slapped into her palm late.
Not enough to fail.
Enough to rattle.
She didn't look back.
Didn't apologize.
She finished her leg cleanly and slowed down at the curve, breathing controlled.
Eadlyn jogged up beside her as they reset.
"You adjusted mid-stride," he said.
She blinked. "Was it obvious?"
"Only if someone was watching for it."
She nodded, eyes forward.
"I didn't want to rush," she said. "Rushing feels like begging."
That was the most honest thing she'd said all week.
Eadlyn didn't counter it.
Didn't correct it.
He simply said, "Then we'll build timing that doesn't require rushing."
Her fingers flexed unconsciously.
Relief—not gratitude—passed through her posture.
Good.
Rin Watches From the Wrong Side
Rin wasn't supposed to be there.
She had swim practice.
Yet she stood near the fence, hoodie zipped up, stopwatch hanging unused from her neck.
She watched the relay with a detached focus that fooled no one who knew her.
Eadlyn caught her reflection in the glass of the equipment shed.
She flinched when she realized.
He didn't wave.
Didn't call her over.
He turned back to the track.
Giving space was part of paying attention.
Rin needed to decide whether she wanted to be seen as herself today.
Not as an athlete.
Not as a statistic.
As a person standing still while others ran.
The Second Drill Changes Everything
"Third exchange only," the coach ordered."Again."
This time, Eadlyn did something different.
He didn't look at the baton.
He watched Manami's shoulder angle.
Her foot placement.
Her breathing rhythm.
He adjusted his acceleration by instinct, not instruction.
When the baton landed in his hand—
It felt inevitable.
Clean.
Natural.
Almost quiet.
The coach's head lifted sharply.
"Again."
Same result.
Again.
Again.
The difference wasn't speed.
It was alignment.
The rest of the team began adjusting unconsciously, mirroring the exchange.
Not because they were told to.
Because something finally worked.
Pressure Tries to Enter
A few students gathered near the fence.
Whispers started.
"That was smooth."
"They might actually pull this off."
"He's stabilizing the team, isn't he?"
The attention crept closer.
Eadlyn felt it—like heat on the back of his neck.
This was the dangerous part.
Where success tried to turn into expectation.
He slowed his breathing deliberately.
Did not look toward the crowd.
Did not react.
Sayaka, passing by with council paperwork, noticed immediately.
He's shutting the noise out, she thought.Not by force. By refusal.
She didn't interrupt.
She knew better now.
Manami's Moment Alone
After practice, Manami stayed behind.
She stood at her lane, staring at the chalk line marking the start.
Eadlyn approached, careful not to startle her.
"You ran clean," he said.
She shook her head. "I ran carefully."
"That's not a flaw."
She hesitated.
"People think courage is pushing harder," she said."But for me… courage is stopping before I disappear."
That sentence stayed with him.
"You won't disappear," he said."Not if you decide where you stand."
She looked at him then—not emotionally, not gratefully.
Resolutely.
"I want to run this relay," she said."Not to prove I'm strong.But to prove I'm still here."
Eadlyn nodded once.
"That's enough."