Tracen Academy's central training field was slick with rain and spattered with muddy cleat marks by mid-morning. The clouds hung low and gray, smothering the sun like a wet towel laid over a flame.
Most students were still warming up, but the wind had returned in full force, threading through the grandstands and billowing the flags along the inner rail.
Kagura Seiran stood in the infield, hands behind her back, calmly observing the formation drill.
She wasn't in the original lineup.
Not until now.
"Alright," Coach Misaki called, clipboard raised, "listen up!"
The runners lined up at attention five per relay unit. All mid-level Class 1-B racers, mostly names known for form and pace consistency.
"The original schedule had Team 3 sitting out today," Misaki said. "But we've got a late field test incoming. You'll rotate Kagura Seiran into the middle leg. Tempo match required. No surging. No deceleration."
There were subtle shifts in the group eye twitches, a sharp inhale, one shoe scuffing the turf louder than it needed to.
No one objected out loud.
But no one smiled, either.
Jungle Pocket was stretching near the sideline and muttered under her breath, "Of course they put her in ours…"
Dantsu Flame adjusted her gloves but said nothing.
Erimo Excel, seated nearby, glanced up once when she heard Kagura's name but quickly looked away.
Team 3's new lineup:
Nanakorobi
Jungle Pocket
Kagura Seiran
Erimo Excel
Dantsu Flame
Five racers. Four who knew how each other moved.
And one anomaly in the center.
Misaki walked past Kagura without slowing, her tone neutral. "You're not here to prove anything. Just keep pace. That's all."
Kagura gave a short nod.
"Understood."
She didn't ask questions. Didn't glance at the others.
She simply walked to her designated marker at the 400-meter mark and waited, arms at her sides, body still as stone.
The Whistle Blew.
Nanakorobi launched first explosive, overcompensating. A strong front-runner, often a bit overeager. Her handoff to Jungle Pocket was smooth, and Pocket immediately transitioned into his long-legged stride.
The wind began picking up along the south curve, tugging against the runners as they pushed into the back half.
Pocket rounded the bend, knees high, chest leaning into the turn.
Kagura watched him approach.
No shift in her stance. No preparatory motion.
Pocket saw her ahead and instinctively tightened his core, as if bracing for something. His foot skidded slightly on the handoff, but the baton slapped into Kagura's glove cleanly.
And then
She moved.
No kick. No surge. Just motion.
From the stands, it looked unremarkable.
But for the runners behind the handoff zone it felt different.
Pocket stumbled slightly even after handing off. Flame's eyes narrowed. Excel blinked once, chest already tightening.
Kagura ran her leg at exactly 16.6 m/s, matching the team's training tempo.
And yet, the others couldn't breathe properly.
Her feet barely thudded against the track.
Her hair didn't even sway with her motion.
Like she was running underwater and somehow faster than anyone above it.
When she reached Excel for the next handoff, Excel's palms were slick with rain but also sweat.
The baton hit.
Kagura slowed with precision. No overlap. No hesitation.
Excel's form broke almost instantly.
A misstep.
Stride off-center.
She recovered, but the rhythm was off.
The whole field saw it.
By the time Flame took the final handoff, she already looked pissed.
They crossed the finish line in 1:43.74.
Still fast.
But not clean.
Coach Misaki blew her whistle sharply. "Team 3. Front and center."
The group approached.
Kagura stood at the back.
"Who felt the shift?" Misaki asked.
No one answered at first.
Then Jungle Pocket raised a hand.
"I'll say it. That felt wrong. Not off. Wrong. I lost pace right after handoff."
"Could be wind," Misaki replied.
Pocket pointed at the flagpole. "Wind was from the left. I stumbled forward."
Misaki turned to Excel.
Excel didn't speak.
"Your tempo collapsed halfway," Misaki said. "Why?"
Excel opened her mouth. Closed it. Then finally: "I don't know."
Misaki nodded once, slowly. Then looked to Kagura.
"You ran clean. Any input?"
Kagura paused.
Then said simply: "I kept pace."
"Anything else?"
"No."
Misaki gave the slightest frown.
"Team 3 dismissed. Kagura, stay."
The others scattered.
Kagura remained.
Hands still behind her back.
"Did you feel anything?" Misaki asked, voice low now.
"No."
"No change in pressure? Tempo?"
"No."
Misaki nodded again.
Then, after a long pause: "They're going to keep blaming you."
"I know."
"And if it keeps happening?"
Kagura's answer was instant:
"I'll keep running."
Back at the locker wing, Jungle Pocket threw her towel down hard onto the bench.
"I'm telling you, this is stupid," she said to anyone who would listen. "She's not even running fast. She just breaks things."
"Maybe she's just different," Excel offered quietly.
"She's different and dangerous," Pocket shot back. "We're going to lose real races if they keep pairing her."
Flame didn't speak but her jaw was tight.
The ripple wasn't gone.
It had spread.
Later that evening, a digital report quietly pinged Misaki's inbox.
Subject line:
Field Disturbance Inquiry – Relay Test 6B
From: Training Oversight Committee
Message:
"One of your students has raised a concern regarding interference effects caused by racer #610 – Seiran, Kagura. Please submit environmental telemetry and footage within 48 hours for review. An impartial assessment will be conducted to determine if racer #610's participation warrants event pairing limits or pacing group isolation."
– T.O.C.
Misaki stared at the message.
Then closed the lid on her laptop without replying.