It was a strangely warm day for November. The air over The Corine shimmered faintly, the kind of warmth that should have belonged to early autumn, not the cusp of winter. The square where the competitions were held was already overflowing with people—merchants, nobles, soldiers on leave, children perched on shoulders. The murmur of thousands wove into a living tide, broken every so often by laughter, cheers, or the faint sound of a drum.
Toki stood at the edge of the crowd, Tora and Kandaki at his side, all three of them staring in disbelief at the sheer magnitude of it.
"I… didn't expect this," Toki admitted, his golden eyes scanning the rows of spectators stacked high into the temporary wooden stands. "Not this many people. Not for… this."
Kandaki swallowed hard. "It feels like the whole kingdom came."
Tora crossed her arms, masking her nerves behind a scowl. "That just means there are more witnesses when I win."
Toki let out a breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. The truth was, his chest felt heavy. All these eyes… they weren't only here for sport. They were here to weigh worth, to judge potential, to whisper about failures. He knew it, and so did Bernard and Ozvold, standing a little apart, their faces steady, eyes gleaming with quiet confidence.
They had already seen what the three could do. To them, the crowd was nothing.
The sound of boots on stone drew Toki's attention. Smith approached, his frame cutting through the crowd, Lorelay gliding beside him like a vision wrapped in crimson silk, and Elizabeth walking with a measured grace that carried an edge of steel.
Smith gave Toki a nod, his gravelly voice rising above the din. "You look surprised, boy."
"I am," Toki admitted. "I didn't know it would be like this."
"That's the point of the competitions," Smith explained. "They're more than games. They're trials before the eyes of the people. You'll learn how to stand under the weight of expectation." He turned, his eyes falling on Kandaki. "As for you—your boxing match comes first. Three rounds. Endure, and you'll earn their respect. Fall, and you'll learn what it means to rise again."
Kandaki shifted nervously, his fists already clenching at his sides.
Smith's tone softened just slightly. "Don't waste your fear. Let it carry you forward. Remember—it's not just fists. It's your heart on display."
Then he turned to Toki, his lips twitching faintly beneath the beard. "You'll be running after. Tora first—she'll cover twenty-four hundred meters. Then she passes the ribbon to you. Another twenty-four hundred, and the coach who finishes first wins for himself and his apprentice."
Toki blinked. "I didn't know about the relay."
"That's why I'm telling you now," Smith said. "Don't worry. You'll manage."
Toki nodded slowly, though his chest tightened. Running was one thing—carrying Tora's pride across the finish line was another.
Smith crouched just slightly, his hand falling on Kandaki's shoulder. "Go on. The boxing begins before the race."
The boy's mouth went dry. Before he could speak, Toki stepped forward and placed his own hand firmly on Kandaki's other shoulder. His voice was steady, confident, carrying no trace of doubt.
"Give it everything you've got. I'll be there before the last round. I know you'll make it that far."
Kandaki looked up into his captain's golden eyes. Something inside him steadied. He gave a sharp nod.
From the side, Tora grunted, her voice sharp as always. "Don't you dare lose before I get to cheer for you. I'll be keeping my fists tight for you the whole time."
The words—half insult, half encouragement—hit him harder than he expected. Kandaki's stomach fluttered. He turned quickly, sprinting toward the ring, unwilling to let them see the red creeping across his face.
Behind them, the atmosphere shifted. Reginald, captain of the Second Division, approached with Lady Rosalin at his arm and his apprentice Nevil at his side. His gaze landed on Toki with a faint curl of disgust, as though the very sight offended him. Rosalin's lips twisted into a cold smile, her eyes glimmering with disdain. Nevil mirrored the sentiment, his stare sharp and dismissive.
Toki felt his jaw tighten. He remembered well the cruel words Rosalin had spat at Utsuki. The memory burned like a fresh wound. He longed to silence her arrogance, to crush her superiority beneath undeniable proof. But not now. Not here.
For now, his priority was simple: victory. For Tora.
"Captain Toki."
The voice was smooth, lilting—Lorelay. She smiled at him, every curve of her expression dripping with her usual charm.
"You look well," she said, her tone a playful caress.
Toki inclined his head politely. "Lorelay."
Elizabeth, meanwhile, had drifted toward Utsuki, her words polite but her glances razor-sharp, daggers thrown in Bernard's direction whenever his eyes met hers.
Smith nudged Toki with his elbow, his tone quieter this time. "We've got a guest. Someone very interested in seeing you run."
Toki followed his gaze upward. His breath caught.
On the balcony that overlooked the square, King Matthias himself sat, a warm smile breaking across his face the moment his eyes met Toki's.
The boy's chest tightened. The king. Watching him.
"Captain!"
The sudden chorus of voices from behind nearly made him flinch. He turned to find dozens—no, hundreds—of men in familiar uniforms approaching. His division. Two hundred strong.
They dropped to one knee as one, the movement like a crashing wave.
"Captain!" their voices thundered, joyous and fierce.
Above them, a massive banner unfurled, painted in bold strokes:
For our glorious Captain and his pupils!
Toki froze, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "You idiots… I missed you."
The men grinned, their eyes alight with loyalty and pride.
Smith clapped his hands together, his voice booming over the crowd. "Enough sentiment. To the stands! The match is about to start!"
The soldiers rose, scattering into the seats, their banner waving proudly above the crowd.
Utsuki stepped close, her hand brushing lightly against Toki's back. Her voice was soft but firm. "Good luck. All of you."
He glanced at her, nodding faintly. The warmth of her touch lingered even after she stepped away.
On the field, the apprentices lined up for the race—Tora among them, her stance coiled like a spring, Nevil beside her, and others shifting impatiently.
Smith pulled a revolver from his belt, raising it skyward. His voice rolled across the field like thunder.
"Ready yourselves!"
The crowd fell silent.
Toki's heartbeat echoed in his ears. Kandaki's distant figure climbed into the ring. Tora leaned forward, every muscle alive.
Smith fired.
"Start!"
The crack of the gunshot shattered the air, and the competition began.
The ground trembled beneath hundreds of pounding feet. Dust rose in thin clouds, the sound of lungs pulling air blending with the roar of the crowd. The apprentices were off—every child running with all the fire of their youth.
Nevil surged ahead quickly, his long legs chewing the track with practiced rhythm. Tora held behind him, her eyes sharp, but his stride was merciless. Each time his foot slammed against the dirt, clumps of earth kicked back, spraying into her path, forcing her to veer aside or lift her knees higher. Every evasive movement stole energy she could not spare.
Her breaths were already sharp. "Damn him…" she muttered, jaw clenched. If she continued like this, she'd burn out before the finish.
The halfway mark came. The herd behind her was thinning, the weaker ones falling away. She pressed harder, muscles screaming as she broke free from the pack. Now it was only her and Nevil—two figures cutting through the air like blades.
Tora leaned forward, trying to pass on his right. Immediately, he shifted, blocking her lane with a casual cruelty. She tried the left. Again, he moved, his back broad and unyielding. Her throat burned, sweat dripping down her temples, her vision shaking with each pounding step.
"Move!" she hissed, pushing herself harder. But Nevil was a wall. He would not give her the chance.
Her chest rose and fell like a bellows, every inhale ragged. Four hundred meters left. Her vision blurred. She couldn't break through.
Her confidence cracked, regret sliding in like ice. I came in too bold. Too proud. I thought… I thought I could just win.
Then—
"Tora!"
The voice tore across the field, louder than the crowd, louder than her doubts. Toki's voice.
"Look at me!"
Her head jerked up despite herself. The finish line loomed ahead, only three hundred meters away. She forced her eyes toward the stands—and froze.
There, beside Toki, stood a man she had not dared to hope for. Archibald.
Her grandfather.
The world narrowed. She saw only him, his weathered face softened by the warmth of his smile. His arms were spread wide—those same arms that had caught her when she was a child and the world felt too heavy, the same arms that had lifted her up after she lost her parents, the same arms that, until she met Toki, had been her whole world.
Tears welled instantly, spilling down her cheeks as her legs carried her forward. I can't stop now. Not when he came here for me. Not when he's watching. Not when he's waiting with open arms.
Her lungs screamed, but something inside her snapped loose. She leaned low, her muscles exploding with raw power.
"Go, Tora!" she heard faintly—Toki's voice again, fierce and certain.
Nevil glanced back, his smirk vanishing as she surged. He shifted, throwing his shoulder toward her path to block again.
But this time she did not slow. She brushed his arm aside, her speed tearing past him. He stumbled, lost in the cloud of dust she left behind.
The stands erupted. Soldiers of Toki's division unfurled their banner again, their roar like thunder.
"For our Captain's pupil!"
Tora flew across the line, first place hers. She didn't even stop—she leapt into Archibald's embrace, his arms closing around her as if no time had passed at all.
"I knew it," he whispered, voice trembling. "I knew you'd do it."
She sobbed into his chest, her heart pounding harder than ever.
But the race wasn't done.
Toki stepped forward, hand outstretched. She drew back from her grandfather just enough to press the ribbon into his palm. But before he could run, Smith's hand clamped down on his wrist.
"Wait."
Toki's head snapped to him. "What?!"
"You'll start when I say," Smith replied calmly.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Toki barked, his voice cutting through the crowd. On the track, Reginald already had the ribbon, sprinting forward with brutal strength, his head turning just long enough to throw a mocking glare over his shoulder.
All around them, the other coaches were already running, the relay alive again. And Toki—Toki stood still, teeth bared, his whole body demanding to move.
"Why are you stopping me?" he roared.
Smith's eyes glimmered strangely, his hand still heavy on Toki's arm. "Because you'll start when Reginald has run twenty-three hundred meters."
"What?!" Toki's fury shook his chest. "That's insane! You want me to chase him with a head start that huge? I'll never catch him!"
Smith leaned close, his voice low but carrying the weight of memory. "Listen, boy. When I was your age, I tried to break every limit I knew. They say the first king, Rindal, had strength beyond men and a speed faster than sound itself. I believed it was more than legend. I tested everything—stances, techniques, movements. And one day…" He pointed to the scar on his leg. "…I reached something. The world slowed. Sparks of light danced before me. Golden footprints stretched ahead like a corridor. And I saw a figure running there, just beyond my reach. I tried to follow. But when my foot struck the ground, my tendons snapped. I fell. I never reached that speed again. But I know it exists. And if anyone can reach it now—it's you."
The words sank into Toki's bones like fire. His fists tightened.
From the side, Tora broke free from Archibald, her face still wet with tears. She walked to Toki, laying a trembling hand against his chest.
"Don't… don't worry about losing," she whispered. "I had fun. And I'll always be grateful for the blood you've spilled for us. Winning doesn't matter. Having you here… that's already the greatest prize."
Her fingers brushed his hair gently, her voice cracking.
Toki turned from her slowly, stepping into position at the line. His back was to her, but his words carried, steady and deep.
"If you were the lightning," he said, "then I'll be the thunder that follows—announcing your presence to the world."
Today I run just for you.
Smith raised the pistol again, his eyes sharp.
"Toki," he said, his tone like stone. "Tell me what you see when you get there."
The world fell silent. The crowd leaned in. Reginald's stride thundered down the track, the finish drawing near.
Smith fired.
"Start!"
Toki launched forward.
The world roared with him.