The metallic bars fell the very moment Smith's pistol cracked through the air. The sound was sharp, final—like the start of something irreversible.
Toki's first step without the heavy restraints that had weighed him down for months felt unreal. His feet met the earth with such lightness that for one fleeting second, he thought he might lift off and never come back down. The air whipped past him, clean and bright, as if the entire world was holding its breath.
I'm… free.
But there was no time to marvel. Reginald was already a blur ahead of him—one hundred meters from the finish line.
Toki drove his heel deep into the dirt and launched forward, the impact cracking the ground beneath him. His speed rose sharply, dangerously, and the crowd erupted in a roar that shook the stands. But the faster he went, the more the air fought back, pressing against him like an invisible wall. His legs tore into the ground, carving deep gouges as the uneven terrain struggled to bear his weight.
Every muscle screamed. Every heartbeat felt like a hammer striking molten steel. The world itself seemed to resist him.
It was as if invisible chains tried to drag him back to the earth.
No, he thought, his teeth gritting, not today. I'm not running from something this time—I'm running toward it.
He didn't need to look behind to feel the crowd's pulse. His spiritual senses captured every emotion—hundreds of voices unified, thundering his name with a ferocity that made his chest ache.
"TOKI! TOKI! TOKI!"
He could feel Smith and King Matthias watching from the balcony above. He felt the old general's faith burning like fire, and the king's curious gaze—half awe, half disbelief—cutting through the air.
He felt the soldiers of his battalion stomping their feet in rhythm, their trust pouring into him like a tide of raw emotion.
He could feel Leonard's excitement, the triplets' playful screams, Suzume's trembling hands clasped in prayer. Even Yuki—cold, detached Yuki—was leaning forward, breath caught, her eyes wide with something dangerously close to hope.
Utsuki's voice was silent, but her heart roared through him.
Ozvold. Bernard. Elizabeth. Each carried worry and pride in equal measure.
And among them all, two presences stood out.
Kandaki—his fists still bruised from victory—watched with blazing eyes, sweat dripping from his chin, whispering through clenched teeth, Come on, Captain.
And Tora. Her gaze trembled between pity and pride, her fingers gripping her grandfather's sleeve.
So many people… all of them believing in him. It was overwhelming.
His heart throbbed violently. Happiness. Sadness. Frustration. All at once, like a storm ripping through him.
Reginald and the others were already closing in on the final fifty meters.
Toki inhaled sharply and lowered his body, shifting his weight forward until his knees nearly brushed the ground. His arms thrust out like twin pistons.
From the balcony, King Matthias's brow furrowed. "That posture…"
Smith's lips curved slightly, pride glinting in his eyes. "A good teacher doesn't just teach what he knows. He learns from his students. He takes what's best in them—and becomes stronger for it."
Then Toki moved.
The ground buckled under him as he tore forward, closing the distance faster than anyone could follow.
At the 2000-meter mark, his body screamed for mercy, but his eyes were fixed only on the man ahead. Reginald was ten meters from the finish line now. Ten meters from victory.
Toki pressed his right foot into the earth with everything he had. The soil cracked, sinking twenty centimeters beneath the force.
Then it happened.
Golden footsteps erupted in front of him—thousands of glowing imprints stretching across the air itself, like bridges between moments.
The wind split around him. Time itself seemed to bend.
He saw a silhouette running ahead—graceful, radiant, just beyond reach. Around it, faint notes shimmered like droplets of light, each one humming a melody too beautiful for mortal ears.
Smith's words echoed in his skull: Sparks of light… golden footprints… the world slowing down. A figure just ahead.
A song of speed.
For a moment, Toki wondered if this was the sound of death—the gentle tune the world sings before it lets go.
The pain hit next.
His body was disintegrating from the strain. His right leg burned white-hot, veins bulging like lightning beneath the skin. His vision darkened at the edges. Blood streamed from his eyes and nose.
His heartbeats vanished.
He felt like a ghost—running without a pulse.
Then—
A soft, green glow wrapped around him.
Toki.
Utsuki's voice—calm, commanding, filled with a power that reached beyond flesh.
Toki, push. Don't fight the world. Listen to it. Listen to us.
And suddenly, he could hear them all.
Tens of thousands of voices from the outskirts rose in perfect harmony. The entire square was screaming his name, not as a demand—but as a gift.
"TOKI! TOKI! TOKI!"
The sound filled his lungs, filled his heart.
Thank you, he whispered inwardly, his lips barely moving. Thank you for lending me your strength.
His muscles coiled. His spirit ignited.
He pushed.
The earth shattered beneath him.
A deafening crack split the air as a sonic boom rippled through the square, shattering windows and shaking banners from their poles. Dust and debris spiraled into the sky.
Reginald, only five meters from the finish, turned his head in confusion—just in time to see two blazing golden eyes closing in, and a grin stretched wide across a blood-streaked face.
"What—?"
He never finished.
Toki's next step landed with such force that the entire track heaved. The shockwave hurled Reginald and the runners near him off their feet, tossing them aside like leaves in a gale.
"Out of my way!" Toki roared, his voice breaking through the chaos.
He tore through the finish line a heartbeat later.
Utsuki's instincts flared the instant she saw him approaching. She thrust out both arms, summoning dozens of translucent mana nets that bloomed like spiderwebs of green light. Each one absorbed a fraction of Toki's momentum, slowing him down layer by layer until he collapsed to his knees just shy of the concrete barrier.
The smell of scorched fabric and iron filled the air. His uniform was nearly carbonized. His arms and legs were blackened and bruised, the skin cracked and blistered. He was trembling violently, eyes dazed, breath shallow.
The square fell silent for a single second.
Then it exploded.
Cheers, screams, applause—all at once. The people erupted into a frenzy, chanting his name.
"TOKI! TOKI! TOKI!"
Dozens of his soldiers rushed the field, lifting him into the air. He barely managed a weak laugh as they tossed him upward again and again, shouting, weeping, laughing.
On the balcony, Bernard's eyes shone wet. He exhaled a laugh through clenched teeth. "Damn him… he did it."
Ozvold crossed his arms, grinning faintly. "He's insane."
Elizabeth turned her face away, pretending to wipe something from her eye.
Utsuki stood frozen, trembling. Her lips quivered between a smile and a sob. "You fool…"
Leonard chuckled softly, eyes gleaming with mischief and pride. You're a man full of surprises, Toki, he said. Just when I think I've seen everything you can do… you make me believe again.
Gerald's voice rumbled behind him. "He's done more than win. He's set a new standard for all who follow." The old man placed a heavy hand on Toki s shoulder, his expression glowing with paternal pride.
Down below, Kandaki pushed through the crowd, still wrapped in sweat-stained bandages from his earlier fights. "Captain!" he shouted, grinning wide. "You made it! You actually made it!"
Toki turned toward him, his vision swimming, but he smiled. "Wouldn't… want to miss your next match."
Laughter and tears mingled in the air.
From the edge of the field, two figures approached slowly—Tora and Archibald.
The old man's steps were measured but sure, his eyes gleaming with pride. "You've done something remarkable, son," he said, his voice rough with age and emotion. "It's not every day one sees a man outrun the sound itself."
Toki smiled faintly. "I only ran because she led the way."
Tora's throat tightened. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering. "Toki…"
Toki tried to stand. His legs trembled violently.
Utsuki was instantly there, reaching to stop him. "Toki! Don't—your muscles—"
Smith's arm intercepted her gently. "Let him."
Utsuki looked up, startled. "He'll hurt himself!"
Smith shook his head slowly. "He needs to finish it his way."
Toki forced himself upright, his body shuddering with effort. The air around him shimmered faintly with heat. He took one step toward Tora and extended his trembling hand. In his palm, the victory ribbon glowed faintly, dusted with gold.
"You won," he said, his voice hoarse but warm.
Tora stared at him, tears streaming freely. Then she shook her head, her voice cracking. "No… we won."
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Toki smiled—soft, genuine, exhausted. He bent, lifting her easily onto his shoulders.
The roar that followed nearly shook the sky.
The entire crowd stood as one, their voices a single tide of triumph as Toki raised his fist high.
"FOR OUR CAPTAIN!"
"FOR HIS PUPIL!"
"FOR THE Forth DIVISION !"
The sound rolled like thunder through The Corine.
Toki laughed weakly, his voice lost in the noise. But in that moment, he felt the same thing he had felt when he first joined them—not command, not duty, but belonging.
Reginald pushed through the crowd, his expression twisted with rage. Rosalin and Nevil followed at a distance, their faces dark with humiliation.
He stopped in front of Smith, his words spitting like venom. "He cheated."
Smith arched an eyebrow. "Cheated?"
Reginald jabbed a trembling finger toward the track. "He used teleportation magic! No one can move like that—no one!"
Smith sighed, almost pitying him. "Reginald… before the race, I placed a network of magical barriers around the entire field. Each one recorded movement, velocity, and spatial distortion. If anyone had used teleportation, I'd know."
Reginald's glare faltered slightly.
"When Toki crossed the finish line," Smith continued calmly, "he was moving at two thousand four hundred kilometers per hour."
The words hit like stones. Even the crowd's cheering dimmed.
"At that speed," Smith said, folding his arms, "everything else slows down. The air itself becomes heavy. The laws you rely on stop applying. If a body moves fast enough—it defines the speed of its own world."
He turned slightly, meeting Reginald's eyes. "He didn't cheat. You simply weren't fast enough to exist in his world."
For a moment, silence.
Reginald's face flushed red. His fists clenched. Then he turned sharply, stalking toward Rosalin and Nevil. Their expressions—disgust, disbelief, bitterness—met his for only a second before they turned away together, disappearing into the departing crowd.
Smith watched them go, his eyes narrowing. "Some people only learn when they lose."
Then he exhaled deeply and turned to the others. "All right. Enough celebration."
Toki, still holding Tora on his shoulders, blinked through his exhaustion. "What's next?"
Smith smiled faintly. "The last match of the day—Kandaki's final bout. You three should head ahead."
Utsuki frowned. "And you?"
Smith's smile faded, his tone shifting to something quieter. "I have something to resolve first."
Utsuki's brows drew together. "Something to resolve?"
He didn't answer right away. His eyes lingered on the balcony where the king had been watching, then drifted toward the horizon where the banners of the other divisions fluttered.
Finally, he said, "Go on. I'll join you soon.
The arena had fallen silent.
Only the whisper of the wind moved through the broken stands. The cheers that once shook the heavens were gone now, leaving behind a hollow echo that trembled in the dust-filled air.
The track — once a pristine ribbon of pale sand — looked like a scar across the earth. Deep gouges marked the ground where Toki's feet had struck, each crater steaming faintly in the sunlight. The smell of burnt soil and iron hung heavy, mingling with the sharp scent of sweat and ozone. Even now, the air still hummed faintly with the remnants of divine energy.
King Matthias walked slowly across the ruined field, his royal cloak trailing through the dust. Behind him, at a respectful distance, came Gerald Smith — the man who had trained the young racer whose power had just shaken the entire kingdom.
For a while, neither spoke. Their footsteps crunched softly in the silence.
Then the King exhaled, a sound between a sigh and a laugh.
"Remarkable," he murmured. "It's as if the battlefield of gods touched this place for a moment."
Smith's voice was quiet but steady. "That's what happens when a man refuses to accept his own limits."
They stopped beside the deepest mark in the track — a hole nearly half a meter deep, shaped like the impression of a foot. The earth around it had melted and cooled again, glassy in places. Above it, faint traces of gold still shimmered, fading but not gone.
Matthias crouched to study it, his reflection bending in the faint sheen of the crystallized dirt. "He did this with a single step."
Smith nodded. "That was his final push — the one that broke the sound barrier." He paused, adjusting his monocle. "At that speed, anything slower bends around him. He defined the speed of the race for an instant."
The King rose slowly, dusting his gloves. "A frightening thought… and a fascinating one. You've created quite the monster, Smith."
"I only gave him the tools," Smith said. "The rest was his will. And the voices that called his name."
Matthias gave a knowing smile. "Yes, I saw them — all those people shouting for him. It was as if the whole arena lent him its heartbeat." He turned toward the empty stands, now quiet but stained with the memory of human passion. "You know, I've seen champions and knights, mages and warlords, but very few men who can move the hearts of others like that."
Smith folded his hands behind his back. "He's learning that strength isn't just muscle or mana. It's connection."
The King tilted his head slightly, observing the mentor. "You sound proud."
"I am," Smith admitted. "But also wary. When the crowd gives you their strength, they also give you their expectations. If you fall, they fall with you."
Matthias gave a low, approving hum. "A wise teacher indeed." His gaze wandered again over the battlefield-like field. "It's been years since I've seen a display like this. Tell me, what drives him to such extremes? Ambition? Fear? Rage?"
Smith's eyes softened. "Regret," he said after a long pause. "And a promise he's still too young to understand."
The King chuckled under his breath. "How poetic. You've always had a taste for mysteries." He turned to face him fully. "And what of you, Smith? How long do you intend to watch from the shadows while your students become legends?"
Smith gave a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "As long as I'm needed."
"Hmm." Matthias studied him, thoughtful. "You've changed. The last time we spoke, you were colder."
Smith didn't reply immediately. He looked at the track instead — at the long, charred trail that ended in that single, divine footprint. "Perhaps," he said finally. "Perhaps he reminded me of what I lost."
The King's expression softened for a moment. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk again, his heavy boots leaving measured prints in the dust. "You know," he said, "I didn't come here expecting to witness history. I thought it would be another routine demonstration of young talents. Instead, I saw a shadow devour the sun."
Smith's brow furrowed. "A shadow, sire?"
"Yes." The King's lips curved slightly. "That's what it looked like to me — the silent shadow of humility consuming the arrogant flame of pride. The boy Reginald ran with arrogance; your Toki ran with purpose." He looked toward the horizon, where the sky blazed gold. "Today, the silent shadow swallowed the sun. A spectacle for the ages."
Smith lowered his head respectfully. "You honor him, Your Majesty."
The King smiled. "Don't mistake poetry for mercy, Smith. I'll be keeping an eye on your student. Men like him… they shake the world when they move. And the world doesn't forgive that easily."
Smith nodded slowly. "I'll make sure he's ready when that time comes."
"I hope so," Matthias said. "Because I intend to speak with him myself one day — when his name has outgrown the walls of this kingdom."
For a moment, the two men stood in the open air, silent. The wind stirred the dust between them, and sunlight glinted off Smith's monocle, hiding the weight in his eyes.
In the distance, faintly, a trumpet sounded — the signal that the final boxing match was about to begin. The crowd was gathering again.
Matthias looked toward the sound, smiling faintly. "Are you staying to watch the finals?"
Smith shook his head. "yes, Your Majesty. This is something I must attend to."
The King gave him a sidelong glance, amused. "Still the same — never content to rest while the story continues."
Smith's smirk returned, subtle but genuine. "Rest is for those who've already said what they needed to say."
Matthias gave a single nod of acknowledgment. "Very well. Go, then. You've earned your silence."
Smith bowed low. "Your Majesty."
As he turned to leave, the King's voice followed him, softer now but carrying across the ruined field like a benediction.
"Remember, Smith," he said, "a teacher's shadow is long. Every step your student takes will trace yours. Make sure the path is one worth following."
Smith stopped briefly, his back to the King. The afternoon light painted him in gold and shadow. "That's why I chose him," he replied quietly. "Because he's not afraid to run alone."
The King smiled. "Then may he run far — and may the world tremble to keep up."
Smith inclined his head once more, then walked away toward the exit, the dust curling in his wake. Behind him, the King stood alone in the golden ruin, looking down once more at the footprint that had scarred the earth.
He whispered to himself, almost reverently:
"Who are you really, Toki? A knight, a commander, a leader or a god?."