A bright Saturday morning dawned over the Advanced Nurturing High School. The sprawling sports grounds were decorated with banners fluttering in the gentle wind — vivid splashes of red and white marking the two sides that would clash for glory.
Rows of tents lined the fields, each labeled with a class and team color. The faint smell of sunscreen, dust, and freshly cut grass filled the air. Teachers and medical staff stood ready with clipboards and first-aid kits, while cameras on tall tripods tracked every corner of the track to capture any judgment calls.
Students from all three years gathered before the central podium for the opening ceremony. Their voices formed a sea of chatter and nervous excitement.
Principal gave the opening remarks, his voice booming over the loudspeakers. "Compete with fairness. Strive with sincerity. The festival is a chance to grow together."
But everyone knew the truth — this wasn't just a festival. It was another special exam, another measure of strength that could shift class standings.
Among the sea of red uniforms, I stood stretching my legs beside Sudō, the morning sun glinting off his short red hair.
"You ready for this, Miyamoto?" he asked, grinning fiercely. "Don't slack off. We're gonna crush those White Team punks."
I smirked. "Relax, I'm not the one you should worry about. Just make sure you don't trip over your own ego."
Sudō barked a laugh. "Ha! Watch and learn."
The first event of the day began soon after. The 100-Metre Dash — short, explosive, and perfect to set the tone for the festival.
Each class sent out ten groups of runners. The cheering from the crowd was deafening.
Sudō was in the first group. When the whistle blew, he exploded off the line like a cannon shot. His speed was overwhelming — he left the others gasping behind him and crossed the finish line in first place, pounding his chest like a victorious warrior.
"Hell yeah!" he shouted, pumping his fist.
The next few groups followed in quick succession.
I was set for the second group.
The moment I took my place at the starting blocks, my pulse quickened. The heat from the asphalt bled through my shoes. The world narrowed — just the lane ahead, the faint sound of wind, and the referee's whistle.
"On your marks.""Get set—"Peeeeeep!
I bolted forward, every muscle in my legs coiled like a spring. My arms pumped, my breath came sharp and rhythmic. For those few seconds, the world blurred into streaks of color.
And then—the finish line.
"First place, Red Team!" the announcer's voice called.
I slowed to a stop, panting lightly, a grin breaking across my face.
If Ibuki had been here watching… I probably would've hugged her out of pure adrenaline. The thought made me chuckle.
When the seventh group lined up, Kiyotaka stood next to Hirata.
From the start, Hirata took off like a bullet, smooth and practiced — the ideal athlete. Kiyotaka, meanwhile, ran at a measured pace, neither fast nor slow. When they crossed the finish line, Hirata took first, and Kiyotaka finished fifth.
Even then, his expression didn't change. He simply walked back toward the tents, as if noting data points in his head.
Back near the Red Team tent, Sudō was nowhere to be found.
Kiyotaka's sharp eyes caught him storming across the field toward Kōenji Rokusuke, who stood leisurely beneath a tent pole, his golden hair shimmering in the sunlight.
"Oi, Kōenji!" Sudō shouted, grabbing his shoulder. "Why the hell aren't you warming up? You're next!"
Kōenji smiled faintly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "Ah, Sudō-kun. I'm afraid I'm not feeling particularly well today. I'll be sitting out."
"What?!" Sudō roared, his face turning red. "You think this is a joke? We're counting on you!"
Kōenji's smile widened. "My dear boy, if my body demands rest, who am I to argue?"
The next instant, Sudō's fist shot forward — but before it connected, Kōenji's arm moved with effortless grace, blocking the blow with one hand.
"Violence? Tsk, tsk," he said mockingly.
"Sudō!" Hirata's voice cut through the noise as he rushed in, grabbing Sudō's arm. "Stop! You'll get disqualified before the festival even starts!"
Kiyotaka approached quietly, watching the two.
It took Hirata's strength and calm words to finally pull Sudō away. Kōenji just laughed, brushing his hair back. "Do enjoy the rest of the festival, gentlemen."
The tension broke only when they returned to the tent.
One of the girls' heats had just ended by the time we returned. Airi Sakura came jogging off the track, her face flushed but smiling shyly.
"Did… did you see me, Miyamoto-kun?" she asked, clutching her knees.
I gave her a thumbs-up. "You did great out there, Airi. Nice form."
Her cheeks reddened even more. "Th-thank you!"
The final girls' heat lined up. I leaned forward when I saw the match-up.
Horikita Suzune, our ace.Ibuki Mio, from Class C.
The two stood side by side, stretching. Ibuki glanced at Suzune, a faint smirk curling her lips. "Try to keep up, princess."
Suzune shot her a cold glare. "I intend to do more than that."
When the whistle blew, both girls launched forward — perfectly synchronized. For the first half, they were neck-and-neck. But at the final stretch, Suzune leaned just slightly ahead, her determination flaring.
She crossed the finish line barely a step before Ibuki.
I jogged over as Ibuki caught her breath, crouching beside her with a grin and a bottle of water. "Hey, you almost had her."
"Don't patronize me," she snapped, snatching the bottle but still drinking from it.
"See? You do listen when I tell you to hydrate," I teased.
She glared, but her lips twitched — the tiniest smirk. "Shut up."
Once the event concluded, the results for the first-years' 100-Metre Dash were tallied and announced.
The Red Team — which included both Class D and Class A — came out ahead. Cheers erupted under our tent.
Kiyotaka stood beside Suzune, who was adjusting her ribbon. "About Kōenji," he said quietly. "Still no progress?"
Suzune frowned. "I've tried reasoning with him. Nothing works."
"Then perhaps he's already decided how useful he wants to be," Kiyotaka murmured.
Their attention shifted as the next event was called: the Hurdle Race.
The sun had climbed higher, baking the red dirt track.
I stretched beside Kiyotaka and Ryūji Kanzaki from Class B. Kanzaki turned to us, smiling politely. "Ichinose-san told me you're pretty fast, Ayanokōji-kun."
Kiyotaka shook his head. "She's mistaken. My ranking in the dash speaks for itself."
Kanzaki chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think you were trying your best."
Before anyone could respond, a voice rang out from the stands — sharp and unmistakable.
"Ibuki: "Go, Miyamoto! Don't embarrass yourself, idiot!"
I blinked, then broke into a grin.
The whistle blew.
Adrenaline surged through me. My feet struck the ground in perfect rhythm — one hurdle, two, three—each jump smoother than the last. The wind roared in my ears as I overtook Kanzaki on the fifth hurdle.
"Too slow, sucker!" I shouted, not even glancing back.
When the finish line came, I crossed first — by a clean margin. Kanzaki second, Kiyotaka third.
I slowed down, grinning as I turned toward the crowd. Ibuki stood with crossed arms, trying (and failing) to hide a small smile.
I gave her a thumbs-up. "Told you I'd make it worth your cheer."
She rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable."
Quiet Reflections
Back under the tent, Yukimura slumped beside Kiyotaka, groaning. "Ugh… I hate sports. My legs feel like jelly."
"You did fine," Kiyotaka said calmly. "Just pace yourself in the next one."
"I'm just hoping not to humiliate myself," Yukimura sighed.
I tossed him a bottle of water. "Here, drink. Hydration is key, man."
"Thanks…" he muttered, wiping his glasses.
On the track, the girls' hurdle race began. Suzune lined up again, her focus razor-sharp.
This time, the competition was tougher — several strong runners from Class C and B. When the whistle blew, she kept steady form but couldn't quite keep up with the top two, finishing in third place.
Still, the class clapped when she returned, and even Sudō gave a rare, approving nod.
As the sun dipped lower, the scoreboard flickered with the updated totals.
Red Team: 1,025 pointsWhite Team: 890 points
Cheers erupted again. But amidst the celebration, Kiyotaka remained calm, observing the other tents. His gaze lingered briefly on Class C — where Ryūen sat smirking, arms folded, watching everything unfold with a predator's calm.
Beside him, Ibuki glanced up, met my eyes across the field, and mouthed something silently.
Don't lose tomorrow.
I grinned back. Wouldn't dream of it.