The morning sun blazed over the athletic field, scattering golden light across the rows of white and red tents lined neatly along the track. The faint scent of grass mixed with the sound of students chatting, cheering, and stretching. Flags of the Red Team and White Team waved above the assembled classes, fluttering lightly in the breeze that cut through the early autumn warmth.
This was it—the long-awaited Sports Festival had finally begun.
Medical tents, camera towers, and announcer booths surrounded the field. Teachers stood with clipboards, checking equipment. Judges adjusted stopwatches and calibrated cameras to catch even the slightest margin in close finishes. Every event, every point, every movement today could alter the balance of the school's hierarchy.
As I looked around, I saw nearly every face I'd come to recognize over these months—students from every year and every class, buzzing with competitive energy. Some were excited, some nervous, and a few—like Ayanokōji—simply unreadable.
The Opening Ceremony
"Good morning, everyone!" a teacher's voice boomed through the loudspeakers. "Today marks the first day of the Sports Festival! Students from all three school years will compete for glory—and of course, for points!"
The field erupted in applause and cheers.
Standing in formation with Class D, I glanced at my teammates. Hirata was stretching with composed precision, his focus absolute. Sudō was already bouncing on the balls of his feet like a caged tiger. Horikita stood straight, eyes sharp and calm as ever, while Kushida waved brightly at the crowd, her practiced smile flawless.
On the opposite side, Class C students stood under the White Team flag. Ryūen lounged with his usual smirk, while Ibuki stretched her legs, her sharp gaze scanning our side. Farther down the line, Class A's disciplined formation stood silently, their stoic expressions unmoving, while Class B's Ichinose smiled warmly, greeting both allies and rivals.
I could almost feel the atmosphere crackling with tension and anticipation.
Once the opening ceremony concluded, the announcer's voice rang out again:
"First event—100-Metre Dash! Participants, please assemble at your designated lanes!"
Ten groups of boys lined up, each consisting of competitors from all four classes. The event was simple—pure athletic ability, no tricks, no strategy.
"Sudō, you're up first," Hirata said, clapping him on the back. "Don't get too fired up."
Sudō grinned. "I'll just do what I do best—win."
As he took his position, the rest of us gathered near the edge of the track. The tension was electric.
The whistle blew.
Sudō exploded from the starting line like a cannonball. His stride was powerful, rhythm perfect. Even before reaching the halfway mark, he'd already left the others trailing behind. He crossed the finish line with a massive lead, chest heaving, sweat glistening under the sun.
"First place! Sudō Ken of Class D takes 15 points for Red Team!" the announcer called.
"YES!" Sudō roared, pumping his fist. The Red Team tent erupted in cheers.
By the time it reached the seventh group, it was Ayanokōji's turn. Hirata stood beside him at the starting line, calm and confident.
"Good luck," Hirata said lightly.
"You too," Ayanokōji replied, tone flat.
At the signal, both launched forward. Hirata's form was textbook perfect, his stride balanced and explosive. Ayanokōji, however, lagged slightly, running with controlled precision—but without pushing himself.
Seconds later, Hirata crossed the line in first. Ayanokōji finished fifth, his expression unreadable.
As the results flashed across the board, the crowd cheered. But before the noise could settle, Ayanokōji's attention—and mine—snapped toward something else.
Sudō was missing.
It didn't take long to find him. Near the edge of the Red Team tent, Sudō stood face-to-face with Kōenji Rokusuke. The air between them was thick with hostility.
Kōenji, with his perfectly styled hair and arrogant grin, looked utterly unbothered. "I've decided I won't be participating any further," he said lazily, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not feeling particularly well today."
"You gotta be kidding me," Sudō growled, stepping closer. "You think this is a game? You're throwing this for us!"
Kōenji laughed softly, his golden eyes glinting. "My dear Sudō, I've already contributed enough to this school's aesthetics simply by existing. Do you truly expect me to sweat?"
"Why, you—!"
Sudō swung his fist, pure fury behind it—but Kōenji caught it effortlessly, his slender hand stopping Sudō's punch mid-air with inhuman calm.
"I would advise against violence," he said coldly, "unless you wish to be disqualified."
"Enough!" Hirata's voice cut through the tension as he rushed forward, grabbing Sudō's arm. "Sudō, stop it! We can't afford to lose points over something like this!"
Kōenji released his grip and stepped back, brushing off his sleeve as though bored. "Good boy," he murmured, walking away without another glance.
Sudō's whole body trembled with suppressed rage. "That damn narcissist…"
"Let it go," Hirata said firmly. "We need you focused on the next events. Don't let him get under your skin."
Ayanokōji stood quietly nearby, observing the whole exchange without a word. I caught his gaze briefly—calm, analytical, as if storing every detail for later.
Back at the Tent
When we returned, the girls' 100-Metre Dash was in progress. Class D's first group had just finished, and Airi Sakura walked off the track, panting slightly but smiling shyly.
"Miyamoto-kun!" she called, jogging over to me. "Were you… watching?"
I smiled and nodded. "Yeah. You did well out there, Sakura. Your start was clean, and your form's gotten smoother."
Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she bowed her head, smiling faintly. "Thank you…"
Behind her, Kei Karuizawa and Kushida cheered loudly for the next group, waving small Red Team flags.
The final girls' group lined up, featuring Suzune Horikita and Mio Ibuki from Class C.
"Go, Horikita!" Sudō shouted from beside me.
The starting signal blared. Both girls sprinted forward—Ibuki's explosive acceleration giving her a brief lead. But Horikita's rhythm was sharper, her expression one of fierce focus. Step by step, she caught up, their strides perfectly synchronized until the very last moment—Horikita crossed the finish line just half a breath ahead.
"Winner of the final group—Horikita Suzune of Class D!" the announcer declared.
Applause erupted through the Red Team side. Suzune simply brushed back her hair and walked calmly to our tent, her usual composure unbroken.
Reflections and Rivalries
Ayanokōji approached her quietly. "Good race," he said. "Looks like all that practice paid off."
Horikita nodded, catching her breath. "It's only the first event. There's still much to do."
"True," Ayanokōji replied. "By the way… any luck convincing Kōenji to participate?"
Her expression hardened. "No. I've tried, but he refuses to listen."
Ayanokōji's eyes flicked toward the far end of the field where Kōenji lounged beneath the tent, sipping from a bottle of water with absolute indifference. "Then we'll just have to account for that variable," he murmured.
Before they could continue, the loudspeakers crackled again.
"Next up: the Hurdle Race! Participants, please prepare!"
Manabu Horikita's name appeared on the board for the third-year group, and the crowd immediately grew louder. Suzune looked up, expression unreadable, as her brother took to the field. He moved like a seasoned athlete—confident, balanced, unflinching. When his group started, he took the lead immediately, clearing every hurdle with perfect precision and finishing far ahead of the rest.
No wasted motion. No hesitation. Pure discipline.
Suzune's hands clenched faintly at her sides.
The Hurdle Race – First-Years
When it was Ayanokōji's turn, he stood at the starting line beside Ryūji Kanzaki from Class B.
"I heard from Ichinose that you're quite fast, Ayanokōji," Kanzaki said politely.
"I'm not," Ayanokōji replied, his tone flat. "You saw the 100-Metre Dash."
Kanzaki smiled faintly. "Maybe. But I don't think you were being serious."
The signal blared.
Both launched forward. Kanzaki moved with refined athleticism, clearing each hurdle cleanly. Ayanokōji kept pace for the first few, then subtly slowed—just enough to place third, not enough to draw attention. Kanzaki crossed first, earning 15 points for Class B.
When the race ended, the announcer tallied the total first-year results so far:
Red Team: 215 points
White Team: 180 points
We were ahead—but not by much.
Back at the tent, Yukimura sat down beside me, wiping sweat from his forehead. His face was pale.
"I'm… completely hopeless at this," he muttered. "Even in practice, I barely finished mid-tier."
I handed him a bottle of water. "Just focus on finishing your events. Everyone's got strengths in different areas. You've got the brains—let others handle the physical side."
He looked at me, hesitating. "…You make it sound easy."
"Nothing about this school is easy," I replied. "But that's why we keep pushing."
Nearby, Ayanokōji and Horikita were quietly discussing their next matchups. I could sense a kind of silent coordination forming between them—an understanding built not from trust, but necessity.
When it was time for the girls' Hurdle Race, Suzune once again found herself facing fierce competition from Class C. Ibuki glared at her across the lane, wordlessly promising payback for her earlier defeat.
The whistle blew.
The two surged forward, clearing the first hurdle in perfect sync. For a moment, it looked as if Suzune might take the lead again—but as they reached the final stretch, one small misstep cost her a fraction of a second. Ibuki blazed ahead, and another Class C girl overtook Suzune right at the finish.
Result:
Ibuki – 1st, Class C (White Team)
Horikita – 3rd, Class D (Red Team)
Suzune exhaled sharply as she returned to the tent, frustration evident despite her composed exterior.
"Don't overthink it," I said as she passed. "One race doesn't decide everything."
She glanced at me briefly, then nodded. "I know. But I can't afford to lose focus now."
By the end of the morning session, the Red Team held a slight lead. Lunch break began, and students scattered across the field—some to rest, others to strategize.
Sitting beneath the tent's shade, I watched the other teams. Ichinose's Class B was organized and supportive, their camaraderie strong. Katsuragi's half of Class A worked efficiently, while Sakayanagi's faction barely moved, observing everything quietly.
Ryūen's Class C, however, remained an enigma. They didn't cheer, didn't coordinate, didn't even seem to care—and yet, every result they posted was calculated. Every placement seemed intentional, as if following a pattern only Ryūen knew.