The midmorning sun blazed down on the fields, and a heavy silence fell over the stadium as the next event was announced.
"Next event — Capture the Flag! Commonly known as Pole Toppling!"
The students stirred with excitement. This was one of the most physical, chaotic events of the Sports Festival — a mixture of raw strength, coordination, and nerve.
Four classes. Two teams. One tall bamboo pole planted in the center of the field, wrapped with the Red and White banners fluttering like war flags.
Class A and Class D would fight as the Red Team, while Class B and Class C formed the White Team.
The whistle blew, and the first match began.
Our group gathered in a tight circle before the match began — the same boys who'd survived every chaos the school had thrown our way.
"Alright, listen up," I said, tightening my headband. "We're going full charge. Wataru, you're the tank — take the front and bulldoze anyone who gets in the way."
The towering Wataru Ijuin cracked his knuckles, his grin feral. "Heh. Leave it to me."
"Akito," I continued, glancing at Miyake, "you and I are the spears. Open up space for Kyosuke and Yukimura to slip through. Once they get the flag, we back them up."
"Got it," Akito said, rolling his shoulders. "Don't fall behind, leader."
Yukimura adjusted his glasses nervously. "I'll… do my best."
"Don't do your best, just don't die," I said with a grin. "This ain't math class."
Our laughter broke the tension, but only briefly. When the whistle blew, the air split with shouts and pounding feet.
We rushed forward in perfect formation. Wataru was a human tank, plowing through the first wall of Class C defenders. Akito and I followed close, pushing through the chaos.
"Push right! Open space!" I yelled, shoving an opponent aside.
Yukimura and Okitani surged through the gap, reaching the base of the White Team's pole — but before they could climb, Albert Yamada appeared, towering and terrifying, like a wall of muscle forged in fire.
"Move, damn it!" Wataru growled, pushing against him — but Albert didn't budge an inch.
Albert's sheer power sent Wataru sliding backward through the dirt. Then, with a roar, the giant hoisted up one of our boys like he weighed nothing and tossed him aside.
"Retreat!" I shouted. "Pull back!"
But it was too late. The White Team's formation stabilized, and Albert's strength dominated the center. Within minutes, the flag was seized, and the referee's whistle confirmed it.
"First round — White Team victory!"
We regrouped, panting, sweat dripping from our brows.
"Damn, he's a monster," Akito muttered.
"Yeah," I said, catching my breath. "And Ryūen's using him perfectly."
The second match began. This time, Class D and Class A switched to defense, while Class C and Class B went on the offensive.
"Alright," I said quickly, kneeling in the dirt with Wataru and Akito. "Our job's simple. You two block Albert, no matter what. I'll lead Yukimura and Okitani to flank and pin him down."
"Roger that," Wataru said, cracking his neck.
As the whistle blew, the field descended into chaos again. The ground trembled with the pounding of feet.
I saw Albert charging through the line like a wrecking ball, his teammates following close behind.
"Go! Stop him!" I yelled.
Wataru and Akito met him head-on. The sound of impact was brutal — like thunder colliding with the earth. They pushed, strained, and gritted their teeth, but Albert's raw strength was on another level.
In the chaos, Sudō came flying in from the side, his roar echoing. He slammed into Albert, trying to knock him off balance.
But Class C's team swarmed him. Punches, kicks — all disguised as "accidental" hits in the struggle. The referees couldn't call a foul; it all looked like legitimate contact in the melee.
Sudō gritted his teeth and swung back, but Albert shoved him into the dirt.
"Sudō!" Hirata shouted from the sidelines, but there was nothing anyone could do.
Within seconds, the Red Team's defense crumbled — and once again, Albert slammed his hand on the pole, toppling it over.
"White Team wins the second round!"
We were drenched in sweat and dirt, exhausted. The referee blew the final whistle, ending the match.
I dropped to my knees, breathing hard, and turned to the White Team's side — where Ibuki stood among Class C's cheering group, smirking faintly.
I stumbled up, walked over, and dropped to one knee dramatically, hugging her waist. "Ibuki… comfort me, please. I've been crushed — body and soul."
She flushed instantly, shoving at my head. "Idiot! Get off me!"
"Just a little pity?" I pleaded in mock despair.
She kicked me lightly in the shin, though I could see the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "You're impossible."
Next came the Tug of War, a test of coordination and endurance. The boys lined up, gripping the thick rope, while the girls moved off to the side for their Tamaire event.
Katsuragi and Hashimoto from Class A were already arguing before the match even began.
"Our left flank's unbalanced," Katsuragi said firmly.
Hashimoto shrugged. "Relax, man. Just pull hard."
Katsuragi scowled but said nothing more.
The whistle blew.
Every muscle in my body screamed as we pulled. The Red Team roared in unison, shoes digging into the dirt. Inch by inch, the rope shifted in our favor.
"Red Team wins the first round!"
But Ryūen wasn't done. He grinned from the sidelines, calling out new orders to his classmates. The White Team swapped positions — heavier students moved to the front, faster ones to the back.
The whistle blew again.
This time, the rope barely moved. Then, slowly, the White Team gained ground. I dug my heels in, gritting my teeth, but it was no use. The whistle sounded.
"White Team wins the second round!"
It came down to the third and final match.
The air was thick with tension. We took our positions again, the rope biting into our palms.
"Pull!" Katsuragi shouted.
The ground shook with effort. Muscles strained, shouts filled the air. Then, suddenly—
The rope went completely slack.
Everyone stumbled backward as the White Team let go all at once.
With no resistance, half of Class D and Class A toppled into the dirt, collapsing in a heap. I'd seen it coming, though — I'd kept my grip light, stepping back before I fell.
"Red Team wins the third round!"
Technically, we'd won. But as I looked around at the exhausted faces and the fallen bodies covered in dust, it didn't feel like a victory. The White Team had humiliated us by design.
The Obstacle Course Race came next.
Sudō was in the same group as Sō Shibata from Class B, along with two unathletic Class C students. The whistle blew — and Sudō dominated from start to finish, vaulting over walls, crawling under nets, sprinting through sand traps.
He finished first by a wide margin, chest heaving with pride. "That's how it's done!" he yelled.
The boys' Three-Legged Race was next. I wasn't in this one, but I cheered from the sidelines as Sudō and Kanji Ike stormed through their course, perfectly in sync. They came in first place, shouting in triumph.
Kiyotaka and Hirata ran next, and with their effortless coordination, they too crossed the line in first.
Then came the girls' turn.
Suzune paired with Kushida — an unlikely duo.
At first, they looked strong, legs moving in perfect rhythm, Kushida's bright voice calling out, "Left, right, left—"
But halfway through, Suzune's earlier injury from the Obstacle Course began to show. Her rhythm faltered, her expression tight with pain.
They stumbled near the final turn and crossed the finish line last.
The air went quiet for a moment.
Suzune stood straight despite the pain, her pride not allowing her to show weakness. She turned down help, walking off the track.
Kiyotaka watched silently.
"She'll be fine," Hirata murmured beside him.
Kiyotaka's eyes narrowed slightly. "Maybe. But Class C's timing is… too perfect."
During the break, Suzune excused herself to get a cold compress for her leg.
Kiyotaka remained seated under the Red Team's tent, eyes tracking the movement of other classes.
Across the field, Sakayanagi sat gracefully beneath her parasol, smiling faintly while her subordinates argued nearby. Katsuragi, ever the tactician, was clearly frustrated. The rift in Class A was widening.
Hirata sat beside him. "Kiyotaka, do you think Class A will collapse?"
"Not yet," he replied. "But cracks have formed. And Class C… they've already caused damage to us. Ryuuen's tactics are dirty, but effective."
He looked over to the White Team's tent, where Ryūen lounged casually, watching the festival with that same predatory grin.
Meanwhile, Class B — Ichinose's class — was laughing, cheering, and actually enjoying themselves. There was no scheming, no deceit.
It made the contrast between them all the more striking.
As the afternoon shadows stretched across the field, the announcer's voice echoed:
"That concludes the morning events! After a short break, the next round of competitions will begin!"
Students dispersed, collapsing under tents or heading to the refreshments stand.
I sat cross-legged on the grass, sipping from a cold bottle, watching Ibuki and the White Team across the field.
She caught my gaze, gave me that familiar glare, and mouthed, Don't lose again.
I smirked. Wouldn't dream of it.