Author's Note
In this chapter, I wanted to capture the spirit of resilience and unity—the idea that even those who are overlooked or underestimated can create something unforgettable. The story of Section C in 1960–61 is more than just a classroom tale; it's about courage, friendship, and the power of believing in yourself when everyone else doubts you. Through Ryu's eyes, we see how history and legacy can inspire a new generation to find pride in their own journey.
Blurb
A dusty classroom. A group of misfits. Mocked and underestimated by the rest of the school, Section C was destined to be forgotten—until they dared to defy expectations. Through laughter, mistakes, and relentless practice, they discovered the strength in unity. As Ryu reads their story decades later, she witnesses the first victory that turned misfits into legends—and realizes that every mark left behind is a testament to courage, determination, and pride.
Ryu turned another yellowed page and found herself drawn into the classroom of 1960. The words leapt off the paper, painting a vivid picture of laughter, whispers, and tension.
Section C wasn't known for excellence. In fact, most students in the school barely noticed it—except for Sections A and B.
Ryu's POV:
Ryu's eyes lingered on the page, but her mind wandered to her own school. Even today, Section C wasn't known for excellence. Some students in Sections A and B still whispered, still glanced with a mix of pity and amusement, as if nothing had changed. Yet here, in this book, she could see that the perception had been challenged long ago. The misfits of 1960 had fought to be remembered—and somehow, their courage made the present feel a little less intimidating.
The book described one chilly morning in early 1961. Section A's toppers strutted down the corridor, their polished shoes tapping against the floor. Section B followed, balanced and confident, carrying books and smirks in equal measure. Together, they had found their target: Section C.
"Look at them," sneered Rohan from Section A, pointing at a group of boys huddled near the blackboard. "Even tying their shoelaces takes longer than finishing a test."
"Ha! And do you see them practicing for sports day?" added Manish from Section B. "They'll be last in every race. Why even bother?"
The book didn't shy away from the humiliation. It described how the boys of Section C felt a knot of embarrassment tightening in their stomachs. Whispers of doubt spread like wildfire: Are we really that weak?
But then, something shifted. The boys glanced at each other and, instead of lowering their heads, a small, determined smile appeared on Aditya Mehra's face—their class president.
"If they think we're weak," Aditya said quietly, but with fire in his voice, "let's show them they're wrong. Not just in words, but in action. We'll train. We'll run. We'll win."
The page described how Section C students spent the following weeks practicing in the dusty playground, laughing at their mistakes but never giving up. They ran laps, perfected relay passes, and encouraged each other when someone stumbled. Slowly, the impossible began to feel achievable.
Ryu's fingers lingered on the words, imagining the boys sweating in the afternoon sun, their faces streaked with dirt and determination. She could picture their laughter mixing with grunts of effort, their energy filling the empty playground.
And then came the note about sports day. The book mentioned a single photograph at the bottom of the page—Section C holding a trophy, faces shining with pride. Ryu's heart skipped a beat. The boys who had been mocked, teased, and doubted had done it. They had defeated everyone's expectations, leaving behind a mark of courage and unity.
Ryu closed the book gently, her mind buzzing with the image. Section C wasn't just a classroom for misfits—they were a testament to resilience, a story waiting to inspire future generations.
Ryu turned the page, her eyes widening as the words pulled her deeper into 1961.
The annual sports day had arrived. The school grounds buzzed with excitement—students from Sections A and B flaunting their confidence, coaches clapping, and the air thick with competition. Section C stood at the edge of the track, hearts pounding, muscles tense, and eyes bright with determination.
The book described how Aditya Mehra called his classmates together before the race. "Remember," he said, "they can mock us all they want. But we run for ourselves. For each other. For Section C."
The starting whistle blew. Section C's boys surged forward, legs pumping, breaths ragged but steady. Section A and B students raced ahead initially, laughing at their supposed easy victory. But the book captured the turning point—how Section C refused to give up, pushing harder with every stride.
Ryu smiled as she read the description of the final lap. A sudden burst of energy, teamwork, and sheer determination carried Section C across the finish line. They had done it. Against all odds, they had won the race. The cheering of teachers and students echoed through the page, almost like music.
And then came the photograph. The book described it in vivid detail: a small, black-and-white snapshot pasted carefully at the bottom of the page. Section C stood proudly, holding a modest but gleaming trophy. Their faces shone with sweat, dirt, and uncontainable joy. Some grinned cheekily; others laughed, leaning on each other for support.
Ryu's fingers hovered over the photo, imagining the energy of that moment—the pride, the unity, the triumph over doubt. It wasn't just a victory in sports. It was the moment Section C had earned their place, not as misfits, but as a family who refused to be forgotten.
The book's last line on the page read:"Section C may have started as the overlooked, the underestimated, the forgotten—but today, we are remembered."
Ryu closed the book, her chest warm and her mind alive. She could almost hear their laughter, feel their pride, and sense their determination.
"If they could leave a mark," she whispered, touching the photo gently, "then maybe… maybe we can too."