The next morning, the gymnasium echoed with the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor and the clatter of metal from the equipment racks. The sun poured through the high windows, making the air shimmer with heat and energy.
It was physical education period, but today wasn't just another regular class. It marked the beginning of Class D's official Sports Festival training.
"Alright everyone, line up!" Hirata called out, his voice confident as always. "Today we're starting with the grip strength test!"
In front of him, the students lined up beside a grip strength measuring device. The machine, with its simple digital screen and metal handles, was about to expose just how strong—or weak—each student really was.
At the far end, Sudō was already stretching, cracking his knuckles like a fighter preparing for a match. "Heh, easy win for me," he muttered, grinning from ear to ear. "No way anyone's beating my record."
"Show-off," Karuizawa murmured from behind me, rolling her eyes.
"Don't waste your breath," I said with a lazy grin, hands in my pockets. "If he's got it, he's got it."
She huffed. "You're not even trying yet, Miyamoto-kun."
"I save my strength for the real show."
She scoffed but didn't reply, stepping aside as Hirata called out the first few names.
Measuring Strength
"Alright, Sudō, you're up first!"
Sudō swaggered forward, gripping the handle like it was a weapon. "Watch and learn!"
The machine beeped—72 kilograms.
A collective gasp swept through the room.
"Seventy-two?! That's insane!" one of the guys exclaimed.
Sudō pumped his fist proudly. "Told ya. All this training's paying off."
Even Suzune, standing beside Kiyotaka with her clipboard, raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. That's far above the average."
Next came the others, one by one—Hirata, Kushida, Airi, Hasebe, Yukimura, and the rest. The numbers varied, some barely scratching past 40, others lingering around 30.
When it was my turn, I took the handle casually. "Guess it's my turn to embarrass myself."
"Don't say that before even trying," Airi said softly beside me, clutching her notepad.
I squeezed. The machine beeped—45 kilograms.
"Not bad," Hirata said encouragingly.
"Yeah, but still far if we count the boys only," I muttered with a wry grin. "Guess I'll stick to running."
A few chuckles rippled through the group.
Then came Kiyotaka's turn.
He gripped the handle, expression calm as always, and squeezed. The screen blinked—68 kilograms.
The room fell quiet.
"What…?" Yukimura blinked. "That's almost as high as Sudō's."
Sudō looked surprised for half a second before grinning. "Not bad, Ayanokōji. You been hiding those muscles?"
Kiyotaka shrugged lightly. "Guess I overdid it."
Suzune jotted something down, glancing at him briefly. "Second place, then. You'll be one of our main athletes."
Sudō folded his arms, smirking. "Just don't get cocky."
Meanwhile, I leaned back against the wall and whispered to Airi, "Looks like our quiet guy's not so average after all."
Airi giggled softly. "He really surprises people, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, watching him return to his spot. "He's the type who hides storms behind calm skies."
After the tests, Suzune gathered everyone near the bleachers. "Now that we have the data, we'll decide the event participants. As a reminder, nobody is allowed to take pictures of the final list. It's confidential."
Sudō nodded seriously. "Good call. Don't want Class C or B stealing our lineup."
Karuizawa tilted her head. "You really think they'd do that?"
"Of course," Suzune replied. "Reconnaissance is part of strategy."
And indeed, across the gym, through the windows, students from Class A and B could be seen outside, pretending to "coincidentally" jog by or peek in through the glass.
"They're watching," Hirata murmured.
But oddly enough, Class C's floor—where Ryūen's group should've been practicing—remained eerily quiet. Their windows were closed. No movement.
Kiyotaka noticed it too. "They're not even pretending to spy. Strange."
"Maybe Ryūen's planning something," Suzune said thoughtfully. "He always works differently from everyone else."
"Or maybe he's just confident enough to not care," I added lazily from the back.
Suzune gave me a brief glance. "Confidence can be a mask for deceit."
"Or a bluff," Kiyotaka said.
The two of them exchanged a silent look that only they seemed to understand.
Then Sudō raised his hand. "Hey, Horikita!"
"What is it now?" she asked.
"If I get the best results in our class at the sports festival… can I call you by your first name?"
Everyone froze.
"W-what?" Suzune stammered, momentarily thrown off guard.
"You heard me!" he said with a confident grin. "If I'm the top performer, you gotta let me call you 'Suzune'!"
Karuizawa burst out laughing. "You're kidding, right?"
But Suzune, regaining composure, crossed her arms. "Fine. But only if you're not just the best in our class—the best in the entire year."
Sudō's grin didn't falter. "You got it. A deal's a deal!"
Kushida giggled. "You two are really funny sometimes."
Funny wasn't the word I'd use. Dangerous, maybe.
The following week, training started in earnest.
Sudō quickly took charge, his natural athletic ability and loud energy turning him into an impromptu coach. He ran laps with the others, corrected their forms, even gave small pep talks. For once, no one complained—his passion was contagious.
"Keep your knees up, Hasebe! Faster strides!"
"Yukimura, don't look down when you run, you'll lose balance!"
Even Airi, shy as she was, managed to keep up with the lighter drills. She looked adorable in her gym uniform, her hair tied back, determination in her eyes.
I was partnered with her for the three-legged race, and to my surprise, we clicked immediately.
"One, two, one, two—!" we chanted in sync, our steps matching perfectly.
When we crossed the line with a decent time, Hirata smiled. "Great coordination, you two!"
Airi blushed slightly. "It's… thanks to Miyamoto-kun's rhythm."
I grinned. "Nah, it's your balance that kept us steady."
Meanwhile, Suzune was struggling with her own partner. Her movements were stiff, precise, but not fluid. Her partner tripped once, twice, until they both fell.
Sudō burst out laughing. "Hahaha! C'mon, Horikita, you call that teamwork?"
Suzune glared at him, brushing dust off her knees. "It's only the first day."
Kiyotaka, who'd been observing, approached quietly. "Your pace is too rigid," he said simply. "You're forcing your partner to match you instead of moving together. Try adjusting to them instead."
Suzune frowned, but didn't argue.
Later, when she tried again, her rhythm improved—slowly but surely.
I couldn't help but notice the faint smile on Kiyotaka's face as he watched.
Two Weeks Later
By mid-September, the sun had softened and the mornings grew cooler. But Class D's spirit burned hotter than ever.
Training had become routine. Every afternoon, the gym, the track, and even the courtyard buzzed with students pushing themselves.
Sudō was relentless, barking orders like a professional coach. "No slacking! Come on, if you can't handle this, Class C will crush us!"
He was harsh, but effective. Even the least athletic students began showing visible improvement.
Hirata often met with Katsuragi from Class A after school, discussing strategy and team alignment between the Red Team's classes. Their cooperation seemed genuine, though Kiyotaka doubted how long that would last.
Meanwhile, I wasn't always so diligent.
Some afternoons, I'd sneak away and wander toward the Class C floor, where I knew I'd find Ibuki either reading or napping against the window.
When she saw me the first time, she frowned. "What are you doing here again, Miyamoto?"
I grinned, holding up two cans of soda. "Peace offering."
She snatched one. "You're lucky I was thirsty."
"Say," I said, leaning against the wall beside her. "You gonna cheer for me at the festival?"
She looked away, sipping her drink. "Why would I?"
"Because your cheering will be my doping pill."
She nearly spat out her soda. "You're ridiculous."
"Maybe," I said with a wink, "but you didn't say no."
She turned away quickly, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Idiot."
Back at Class D's side, Suzune continued struggling with her three-legged partner. Kiyotaka, seeing her frustration, finally stepped in.
"You're still trying to lead," he said. "You need to synchronize, not dominate."
"Easier said than done," she muttered.
"Then let me show you."
He tied the band around his own leg and demonstrated—moving in harmony with his partner, adjusting speed and rhythm effortlessly. The result was smooth, efficient, almost mechanical precision.
Watching from the side, I whistled. "Guy's like a machine."
Airi nodded. "He's really amazing."
When Suzune tried again, it went better. Slowly, her movements matched her partner's pace instead of dictating it.
Kiyotaka gave a faint nod. "That's the rhythm you want. Keep practicing like that."
As the day ended, the red-orange sky framed the exhausted but satisfied faces of Class D.
Sudō leaned on a bench, sweat dripping from his chin but smiling. "We're gonna win this thing. I can feel it."
Suzune closed her notebook. "We'll see. Just don't get overconfident."
As the others left, Kiyotaka lingered by the window, watching the last rays of sunlight fade. His expression was calm, but his eyes were distant.
He thought of Kushida, her friendly smile that hid something deeper. Her influence ran through the class like invisible threads—connecting, manipulating, balancing.
And eventually, those threads would tangle with Suzune's steel determination.
A confrontation was coming. One that could shatter the fragile unity Class D had built.
For now, though, the only thing that mattered was the approaching festival—and the battles waiting on the field.