Dong… dong… dong…!
"School's out. Be careful on your way home."
As the dismissal bell rang, Nobe closed her Japanese language textbook, stepped off the podium, and quickly left the classroom.
The once-quiet room instantly burst into noise.
Shouko slid her textbooks into her bag and glanced at Akira.
"Akira, you should report to the Track and Field Club first. I'll go to the Art Club and tell Naruko-sensei and the others for you."
"Uh-huh, ma—"
"I don't want to hear that last part." Shouko clapped her hand over his mouth before he could say more.
Akira sighed, gently pulling her hand away. "Alright, alright, I get it."
"Then I'll wait for you in the Art Club."
She broke free of his grasp, stood, and waved. "See you tomorrow," she called to the two classmates behind her and to Atsuya Ayumi, who had just walked up. Then she slipped out the back door.
"See you tomorrow, everyone."
Akira rose as well, gave a quick wave, and followed her lead.
"Bye-bye." ×3
Earlier at lunch, Ayumi had been curious about why Akira was with Mr. Sakai for so long yesterday. With his permission, Shouko explained everything. So now, when the two—normally inseparable—left school separately, no one was surprised.
Outside, the late-summer cicadas buzzed, their chorus blending with sharp whistles from the sports field.
Akira followed the map in his head until he reached the far left wing of the first floor of Teaching Building No. 1.
A silver plaque above the door read: Track and Field Club Room.
Knock knock knock.
The door was open, but Akira still knocked politely.
The fifteen-tatami-mat room was lined with worn tatami mats. Along the east wall stood six blue lockers, spiked shoes piled haphazardly on top. The west wall displayed black-and-white photos from the Showa era, their frames yellowed, next to tattered championship banners. A modern heart rate monitor in the corner looked oddly out of place among them.
On the north wall, a training schedule was pinned up, September filled with dense notes in fluorescent pen.
"Student, what are you doing?"
A boy with tanned skin and a buzz cut glanced over curiously. "Why are you just standing there? Come in already."
Before Akira could answer, Mr. Sakai appeared behind him.
"This is the Miyamura Akira I mentioned yesterday," Sakai said, leading him inside.
The two third-year students blinked in surprise, then smiled and introduced themselves. They'd already heard of him from Mr. Sakai. With graduation only half a year away, their minds were less on competition and more on simply passing the torch. Having a capable junior to take over brought them relief rather than rivalry.
After some brief introductions and chatting, they left for the field to begin their own training.
"How does it feel?" Mr. Sakai asked once they were gone, smiling. "Similar to what I told you?"
"Mm… not bad, not bad," Akira said vaguely, still taking in the room.
His eyes caught on an iron box by the windowsill filled with old relay batons, each once held by a captain. Pasted on the lid was a note in fading ink:
"When you hear the sound of spikes on the curve, that is the rhythm of our heartbeat."
Mr. Sakai quietly let him read without interrupting.
Soon, more members began filing in, greeting Akira warmly. By the time the room was full, he'd shaken nearly everyone's hand.
Finally, with a farewell to Mr. Sakai, he excused himself and headed toward the Art Club.
Their arrangement was simple: Akira would keep up with daily morning runs, gradually increasing distance. Once a week, on Fridays, he'd join the Track and Field Club for training and a small supervised test.
If his performance slipped too much, the training load would increase. Otherwise, he'd be free to balance both clubs.
It was the only reason he'd agreed—joining two clubs full-time would have been impossible.
Knock knock knock.
This time Akira stood before the Art Club door.
"The door's not locked, come in," Naruko-sensei's voice called from inside.
He entered, greeting the seniors politely before immediately spotting the empty seat beside Shouko. She patted it invitingly.
He also noticed a new face—the first-year who had been absent yesterday. Definitely not who Shouko had suspected.
After a polite nod to the unfamiliar classmate, Akira slid into the seat next to her.
"Akira, Akira, look! How's this?" Shouko eagerly showed him her drawing.
He blinked at the chaotic lines and curves, unsure how to comment. "…It's nice."
"Slap." She smacked his arm lightly, scrunching her nose. "Nice what? This is just a line exercise Naruko-sensei gave me—straight lines, curves, parallels. You can't just say 'nice' like that!"
"…" Akira fell silent. No wonder it didn't look like anything.
"Anyway, I can teach you what Naruko-sensei just explained, so she won't need to repeat it for you."
Her irritation faded quickly into enthusiasm.
"Okay, thank you, Shouko-sensei," he teased, playing along with her favorite role.
"Keep it down!" she hissed, glancing around. Only after confirming that the seniors were all busy did she relax.
When it was just the two of them, she loved hearing him call her that. But in front of senpai she barely knew? She wanted to melt into the floor.
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