The murmur of classroom chatter filled the air, bouncing off the walls in waves that made it hard to concentrate. Desks creaked, papers rustled, and a group of girls near the windows giggled over something on a phone. Noboru rested his head sideways on his arms, the wood of his desk cool against his cheek. His eyelids felt heavy, the lingering burn of sleep deprivation clinging stubbornly to his eyes. His limbs ached with that dull fatigue only early morning training could bring.
"Damn, they are so annoying," he muttered under his breath, the corner of his mouth barely moving. "Can't they see that I'm trying to sleep? Waking up so early for training is not an easy task." His voice was low and coarse. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and his breath came with a slight drag, like each exhale tried to push out the fatigue stuck in his chest.
Across the room, the energy shifted toward the track team. "Naomi, the track meet is in two weeks. How are you feeling?" asked Sachiko, leaning slightly forward on her desk with curiosity lighting her eyes.
"I'm alright, just a little anxious, that's all," Naomi said, her hands folded in her lap. Her expression was calm, but her fingers tapped lightly against each other. "I mean, it's my first time competing at the high school level."
"That's true, anyone would be nervous," Sachiko replied with a nod.
"No, I'm actually not nervous," Naomi added, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just curious about my competition, that's all. Plus, my new hundred-meter record is ten point two seconds, so I'm feeling really confident." Her voice was light but firm, and a small, self-assured smile curved on her lips.
"Whoa, that's amazing!" said a girl near the front, eyes wide with awe.
"You'll definitely do well in the race. Have more confidence, Naomi!" another chimed in.
"You're incredible, Naomi. I'll be cheering you on from the stands. Go break a leg, not literally though," said a boy, laughing sheepishly.
"Thanks, everyone," Naomi responded, her smile warm and genuine. The way her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners gave her a gentle charm that made the rest of the room seem to glow.
Noboru's breath caught for a split second. He peeked from under his arm and found himself staring at her again. "She's so cute when she smiles," he whispered to himself, feeling the dryness in his throat as he gulped. Then his brow furrowed. "Wait, what am I thinking? I can't revert back to my old self. It would seriously cause her trouble like back then, but… I can't keep lying to myself forever. Being so far away from her made me so miserable."
A few desks away, the topic shifted.
"So tell me, Sachiko, what's it like being the vice president of the student council? It must be pretty amazing working alongside Hitomi Yoshida. She's so beautiful and well-educated," said another girl, resting her chin on her hand.
"To be honest, it's actually fun," Sachiko said with a shrug. "But it's a lot of paperwork. Not only do we have to find ways to mitigate issues faced in the school, but we also have to file reports to both the head of the department and the principal. It's really tiring."
"Don't worry, you'll get used to it after some time," Naomi said, her voice soft but encouraging.
Noboru closed his eyes again but couldn't shut out the buzzing in his head. "When did the two of us become like this?" he thought, pressing his forehead harder into the desk. "We were much closer before…"
His thoughts drifted to a memory burned into the back of his mind.
"On your mark… get set… go!"
The coach's voice echoed across the open field, and a group of runners burst forward, shoes pounding against the red rubber of the track. Dust lifted from the edges where some shoes skidded briefly before settling into a rhythm. Seven boys and one girl sprinted forward, arms pumping, chests rising and falling with the effort.
From the side, teachers and students stood behind a low fence, watching intently.
"Wow, that girl is fast for her age," said a teacher, folding his arms with interest.
Within moments, the girl weaved through the boys, her strides long and deliberate. Her body leaned forward just enough to carry her momentum, feet hitting the ground with near-perfect rhythm. She crossed the finish line well ahead of the others.
"Naomi Nakamura," one of the men watching said, a pleased smile on his face. "She surely has a bright future ahead of her."
"She's so cool," Noboru said to himself, cheeks burning as he watched her cool down. Her breathing was steady despite the run.
He walked up nervously. "Hey, you there, what's your name?" he asked, scratching the back of his head, his voice half-lost in the breeze.
"My name is Naomi Nakamura, and you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"My name is Noboru Takemoto," he replied, his heart thudding. "Um, how can you run so fast despite being my age? You're even faster than the boys."
"Well, that's simple. I'll be the fastest woman in Japan, just like Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce. Just you wait and see." Her eyes gleamed with ambition, and her smile hit him like a gust of summer wind.
"Whoa, she's so amazing." His fingers tightened around the strap of his backpack. "From that moment, I fell for her…"
Back in the classroom, the memory lingered.
"I joined the track team to get closer to her," Noboru thought, turning his head slightly on the desk, "but I wasn't athletic, so I fell behind the others. Just seeing her every day was enough for me to not quit."
After a few months, he discovered Naomi had a knack for baking. She brought snacks to school sometimes, and the smell of freshly made pastries seemed to follow her like a comforting trail.
"I decided to join the baking club she's a part of, in an attempt to impress her." He grimaced inwardly. "But I immediately realized how horrible I was at it… I quit after three days."
In junior high, he kept dragging himself through training despite having no real progress. Naomi often left early to hang out with Takumi—a tall, sharp-looking basketball player who had an easy smile and effortless charm. The sight of them laughing together stirred something bitter and sharp in his chest.
"So, I decided to take up basketball even though I didn't know a single thing about it."
Sweat rolled down the back of his neck as he sprinted across the hardwood court, shoes squeaking with each step. His arms burned from the drills. Every night, he stayed up watching training videos. For a month straight, he pushed himself until he could barely lift his arms.
"Noboru, catch!" a teammate shouted.
He leapt forward, caught the ball on instinct, and scored a layup. The net snapped as the ball passed clean through.
"Whoa, this guy is amazing. He scored twenty-four points already," someone on the opposing team muttered, watching him with wide eyes.
"Nice one, Noboru. I'm really glad you're here. We're up by thirty-eight points," said the captain, slapping him on the back.
In the end, he had thirty points—all from fast breaks and clean layups. The court echoed with sneakers scuffing, teammates laughing, and the final whistle.
But Naomi wasn't in the stands. That emptiness weighed heavier than any victory.
A couple of matches later, they advanced to the third round—up against a top-tier team. This time, Naomi came to watch. But not for him.
"She came to see Takumi," Noboru thought bitterly. "Our opponent."
"Rebound! Noboru, catch!" his captain shouted again, tossing the ball.
He scored the opening point. That was the last one.
Takumi dominated the game—impossible jump shots, smooth passes, effortless dunks. Noboru could only watch in stunned silence, heart sinking with each possession.
By halftime, the score was 62–2. By the final whistle, The scoreboard read: 104–2.
As the final buzzer blared, Noboru's legs gave out beneath him, and he sat hunched near the bench. Naomi stood at the court's edge, chatting with Takumi, smiling like nothing else existed.
The sting was unbearable.
"From that day onwards, I decided to quit all the sports clubs I had joined," he thought now, his eyes open but unfocused. "It was all for nothing. No matter what I did, I couldn't get her to notice me."
His seniors tried to convince him to stay, but eventually they gave up. He stopped going to practice. Stopped going to club meetings. His days became a blur of empty hours at school and silence at home.
Until one rainy afternoon.