The Winner's Circle was the loudest place on Earth.
Kagura Seiran stood on the podium, holding a bouquet of flowers that she didn't know what to do with. A sash draped over her shoulder read Debut Winner.
"Look here! Kagura-san! Look here!" "Smile! Give us a victory pose!" "Can you tell us about that final burst? Was that planned?"
The flashes of the cameras were like lightning strikes, blinding and rhythmic. Click-click-click.
Seiran squinted, her ears flattened against her skull. The "quiet" of the finish line was gone, replaced by this sensory assault. She felt the urge to run again, just to escape the wall of lenses pointing at her.
A microphone was shoved into her face by an eager reporter from Twinkle Web.
"Kagura-san! You shattered the course record for a newcomer! You came from dead last to first in under two furlongs! What was going through your mind during that final stretch?"
Seiran leaned away from the microphone. She looked at Sato, who was standing off to the side, signaling her to just say something generic.
"I was..." Seiran paused. The reporter leaned in. The crowd held its breath.
"...thinking about dinner," Seiran finished honestly. "I missed lunch."
The reporter blinked. The crowd laughed, assuming it was a witty joke from a confident prodigy.
"Hahaha! A true athlete's appetite! And that running style—it's unique! You drifted through the pack like a phantom. Do you have a name for that technique?"
"Walking through the door," Seiran said.
"The... door?" The reporter looked confused, but then nodded enthusiastically. "The Door to Victory! Amazing! One last question—what is your goal for the Classic Season?"
Seiran looked at the camera lens. For a second, the grey fog in her eyes cleared, revealing that terrifying steel underneath.
"Quiet," she said. "I want it to be quiet."
She stepped off the podium before the interview was officially over, leaving the reporter scrambling.
The Next Morning: Tracen Academy Student Council Room
Symboli Rudolf, the Emperor, sat at her mahogany desk, a stack of newspapers spread out before her.
"THE PHANTOM OF KYOTO!" screamed one headline. "THE NAMELESS GALE: A NEW STORM ARRIVES," read another. "RECORD BREAKER EATS MACKEREL: THE QUIRKY GENIUS," read a third (tabloid).
Rudolf massaged her temples. Beside her, Air Groove was pacing, reading a report on a tablet.
"The data is confirmed," Air Groove said, her tone clipped. "11.2 seconds for the final furlong. On a debut. That's not just fast, President. That's... violent. The turf maintenance crew is complaining about deep gouges in the track where she kicked off."
"She runs heavy, yet looks light," Rudolf mused. "A contradiction."
"The media is already calling her 'The Gale' (Hayate)," Air Groove noted. "Because she seemingly appears out of nowhere."
Rudolf looked at the photo on the front page. It was a blurry shot of Seiran crossing the finish line, her expression blank, her jacket billowing like wings.
"This generation..." Rudolf sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. "Agnes Tachyon. Jungle Pocket. Manhattan Cafe. And now, this Kagura Seiran. The winds of change are blowing, Groove. Can you feel it?"
Air Groove scoffed, though she looked intrigued. "I feel a headache. Managing these egos will be a nightmare."
Team Fujiki Gym
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
The roar shook the windows.
Jungle Pocket was on a treadmill, running at a speed that made the machine whine in protest. She wasn't looking at the display. She was staring at a TV screen mounted on the wall, replaying the Kyoto Debut race on a loop.
She watched Seiran's burst. Over. And over. And over.
Zoom. The blue blur shot past Silent Spark. Zoom. The blue blur shot past Silent Spark.
"DAMMIT!"
Pocket slammed her fist onto the emergency stop button. The treadmill screeched to a halt, nearly throwing her off. She jumped down, panting, sweat dripping from her chin.
"Did you see that?!" Pocket yelled at the empty room (save for her terrified trainer hiding in the corner). "She wasn't even trying! Look at her face! She looks like she's waiting for a bus!"
"Pocket, calm down," her trainer squeaked. "It's just a debut. The level is low—"
"IT'S NOT ABOUT THE LEVEL!" Pocket kicked a towel across the room. "It's the disrespect! She runs like the other girls don't even exist! 'Quiet'? She wants 'Quiet'?!"
Pocket grabbed a water bottle and crushed it in her grip.
"I'll give her quiet. I'll scream so loud she won't be able to hear herself think! I'm going to tear that calm look off her face!"
She pointed at the screen, right at Seiran's pixelated face.
"You're on the list, Gloomy! Right under Tachyon! I'm going to crush you both!"
The Library: The Occult Corner
It was the quietest place in the academy, which was why Seiran was there.
She wasn't reading. She was napping. Her head was resting on an open book about "Advanced Turf Maintenance," utilizing it as a pillow.
She was drifting in that pleasant space between sleep and wakefulness when she felt a drop in temperature.
The air grew cold. The smell of old books was replaced by the scent of... coffee? And incense?
Seiran opened one eye.
Standing over her was a girl with long, black hair that seemed to absorb the light. She was dressed in the standard uniform, but she wore it like a shroud. Her eyes were dark, shadowed, and fixed on the space slightly above Seiran's head.
"You..." the girl whispered. Her voice was barely audible, like dry leaves skittering on pavement.
Seiran lifted her head, wiping a bit of drool from her cheek. "Do you need this book?"
The girl shook her head slowly. She pointed a pale finger at Seiran.
"Not you," the girl said. "The thing behind you."
Seiran turned around. There was nothing there but a bookshelf.
"There's nothing there," Seiran said.
"There is," the girl insisted. "A wind. A very... lonely wind."
She clutched a cup of black coffee to her chest.
"I am Manhattan Cafe. My... 'friends'... told me to stay away from you. They say you run too fast for the spirits to catch up."
Seiran blinked. "Spirits?"
"The ghosts of the track," Cafe murmured. "But you... you leave them behind. It makes them sad."
Seiran sat up straighter. This girl was weird. Weirder than the loud one (Pocket) and the science one (Tachyon).
"I don't like ghosts," Seiran said. "They're noisy."
Cafe's eyes widened slightly. A connection, faint and eerie, snapped into place.
"Yes," Cafe whispered. "Noisy. Always whispering."
She took a step closer.
"If you run fast enough... do they stop whispering?"
Seiran thought about the last 200 meters. The silence. The void.
"Yes," Seiran said.
Cafe stared at her for a long moment. Then, she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
"I see. Then... I must run fast too. To outrun the shadows."
Cafe turned and drifted away into the stacks, leaving a chill in the air.
Seiran watched her go.
"Everyone here is weird," Seiran muttered, putting her head back down on the book.
Team Capella Office
Sato slammed the phone down.
"That was Weekly Gallop," he said, looking at Seiran who had just wandered in from the library. "They want a feature. 'The Girl Who Outran the Sound.' Catchy."
"No," Seiran said, sitting on the floor and stretching her hamstrings.
"I told them no," Sato assured her. "I told them we're focusing on training."
He walked over to the whiteboard. He picked up a marker and wrote a date and a name.
JANUARY 8TH. G3 SHINZAN KINEN.
"Listen up, Gale," Sato said, using the nickname testingly. Seiran didn't react, which he took as approval. "The debut was a surprise attack. You were an unknown variable. Now? You're a target."
He drew a diagram of a race track.
"In the next race, they won't let you sit in the back comfortably. They'll try to box you in. They'll try to block your path. That 'Slip' technique of yours? You're going to need to refine it. Because next time, the door won't be open."
Seiran looked at the board.
"I'll just open it myself," she said.
Sato grinned.
"That's the spirit. Now, get up. Tachyon sent over some 'nutritional supplements' she claims will increase your red blood cell count. We're going to throw them in the trash and go eat steaks instead."
Seiran stood up immediately. "Steaks. Good."
The Classic Season was approaching. The wind was picking up. And Kagura Seiran was hungry.