Kenjiro lay sprawled on the sand, coughing as he spat out a grainy mouthful of grit. His chest heaved, lungs burning like he'd just sprinted a marathon in one breath. He turned his head and groaned when he saw the crater his body had carved into the beach where he'd faceplanted. His shoes, once decent enough for gym class, were smoking faintly at the soles again. Another pair ruined.
"Great," he muttered, flipping onto his back. "That makes… what, three pairs this month? At this rate I'm gonna have to start a GoFundMe just for sneakers."
The sky above stretched wide and pale, the ocean breeze carrying salt that prickled against his skin. He stayed there for a long moment, listening to the waves slap rhythmically against the shore. If he let himself drift, it was easy to pretend he was just another kid skipping out on homework. But his legs still tingled with static. His fingertips buzzed like he'd held them too close to an outlet. And the faint glow at the edge of his vision — that impossible sense of motion still humming through the world — never really left anymore.
This was his life now. And he had no idea how to handle it.
Scence Break
The first two weeks after the hospital had been all trial and error. Mostly error.
He'd tried sprinting across the sand and ended up tumbling head over heels, rolling until his shoulder crunched against a dune. He'd tried sudden stops and left shallow trenches gouged where his heels dug in. Once, he'd nearly run straight into the surf, skidding so hard that water sprayed into the air in a wide fan.
He wrote everything down. His notebook had become a mess of scribbled equations, lists, arrows, and notes that only halfway made sense even to him:
Acceleration feels instant but legs still move??
Shoes can't handle friction — need upgrades
Stopping distance: 20m if full speed — danger!!
Time dilation?? The world slows but not completely. Control needed.
Every mistake left another angry scrawl across the page. He hated not knowing the rules of what his body could do. He hated feeling like he was fumbling blind.
But every success — every time he caught the rhythm and managed even three clean strides before wiping out — felt electric.
By the third week, he'd started testing bursts. Not full-on sprints, but quick accelerations, just enough to blur from one point to another. He lined up rocks as markers, measuring how quickly he could cover the gaps. The sand made it tricky, but also forgiving when he inevitably misjudged a stop.
The vibration experiment had been worse.
He remembered crouching near a cluster of rocks, palm pressed against one as he tried to mimic the way speedsters in comics phased through objects. He focused on the buzzing he always felt under his skin, tried to let it pool in his hand. For a brief second, the stone blurred under his fingers. Then pain shot up his arm so sharp he yelped and pulled away. His hand had been red and tingling for hours after.
"Not ready for that," he muttered, flexing his sore fingers. "Not even close."
Scene Break
At home, Mom kept hovering.
"You're pushing yourself too much," she said one morning, setting a plate of rice and eggs in front of him. "Every time you come back, your clothes are torn or your shoes are ruined. You need to slow down, Kenjiro."
"Ironic, huh?" he tried, forcing a grin. She didn't laugh.
Dad was quieter, though his words stuck deeper. "You've always been stubborn. But stubbornness cuts both ways. Don't let it blind you."
He nodded, but inside he was already planning the next session. He couldn't stop now.
At school, whispers chased him down hallways. The quirkless kid. The lightning strike. The hospital tests. Some kids looked at him with awe, others with suspicion, a few with envy sharp enough to cut. Nobody said it to his face, but he heard enough to know the story spreading didn't feel like his. They talked about him like he'd been given a miracle. They didn't see the sandburns, the bruises, the wreckage of sneakers. They didn't feel the gnawing hunger that hit after every run, or the exhaustion that left him collapsed on his bed some nights too tired to move.
He didn't bother correcting them. What was he supposed to say? That he had no idea what was happening to him? That sometimes he woke up terrified that it would all vanish, and he'd be back to who he used to be?
It was near the end of the fifth week when something shifted.
Kenjiro stood barefoot at the edge of the beach, sneakers already trashed behind him. The sun was low, bleeding orange across the water. The tide was rolling in slow, each wave cresting with a frothy hiss.
He crouched, fingers brushing the sand, heart thrumming with anticipation. The notebook's words echoed in his head: Find the rhythm.
Then he ran.
The world stretched. Sound warped. The crash of waves became a drawn-out roar, gulls overhead frozen mid-cry. Wind tore at his clothes, sand kicking up behind him like tiny explosions. He wasn't just running — he was cutting through reality itself, everything bending around the speed.
For the first time, he didn't trip. Didn't stumble. His strides felt clean, smooth, like his body had finally remembered something ancient and true.
A laugh burst from his chest, giddy and raw. "Yes!"
But when he tried to stop, panic slammed back. His legs churned, sand flying, but momentum carried him forward until he dropped into a clumsy skid, rolling end over end until he collapsed in a heap near the tide line. Saltwater splashed his face, stinging his eyes.
He lay there, gasping, half-drowned and half-thrilled.
"Fuck yeah" he whispered.
Scene Break
He wasn't alone.
At first he thought he imagined it — faint imprints in the sand ahead of him, forming one by one with no one there to make them. His heart jerked. He pushed himself upright, wiping grit from his eyes.
The prints stopped a few feet away. Then a voice, high and slightly nervous:
"Uh… that was… wow. You were really fast."
Kenjiro froze. "Who's there?"
A pause. Then, awkwardly, "I'm here. Don't freak out, okay?"
The air shimmered faintly as though heat rose off the sand. No — not heat. Movement. A figure he couldn't see.
"Invisible," he muttered, realization dawning.
"Yeah! You're not… like, gonna run away, right?" The voice laughed, light and bubbly. "Because you'd definitely win that race."
Kenjiro swallowed. His pulse hammered harder than it had during the sprint. "I—who are you?"
"Just… someone who comes here sometimes. Saw you running. Couldn't not say something. That was insane."
He blinked at the empty space. Every instinct screamed at him to be cautious, but curiosity rooted him in place. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."
"Sorry! Bad habit." Another laugh, sheepish. "You're Kenjiro, right? The one who…" She trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.
He felt heat crawl up his neck. Of course she knew. Everyone knew. "Yeah. That's me, do i know you??"
"My name's Toru hikagure, we go to the same school" she replied.
For a moment, neither spoke. The waves filled the silence, steady and patient.
She hesitated, then said, "Uh… so, um… does it always look like that when you run? Or was that, like, a special effects test or something?"
Kenjiro frowned. "It's not… special effects. It's just… me."
"Oh." A pause, then a quick laugh. "Well, it's pretty crazy. Cool, though."
"Cool?" He raised an eyebrow, still staring at the empty space where her voice came from. "It doesn't feel cool when I'm face-planting every ten seconds."
That earned a snort. "Guess you need more practice."
Kenjiro opened his mouth to shoot back a reply, but the footprints in the sand shifted, turning away. "Wait—" he started, but the faint impressions were already fading, step by step.
By the time he stood up, she was gone, leaving only the waves to erase the last trace she'd been there at all.