CHAPTER 1 Grounded Dreams

The wind howled outside the Asahina household, rattling the windows like a restless spirit seeking entry. Inside, however, all was quiet—save for the soft, repetitive scratch of pencil on paper. Yuto Asahina sat hunched over his desk, the pale glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls of his cramped bedroom. Books lay open around him, most of them on physics, aerodynamics, and flight theory, but tonight, his eyes only skimmed the pages. His thoughts drifted elsewhere—upward, beyond the pages, beyond the ceiling, and into the sky he once loved. His room was a modest one, decorated with the relics of a past he no longer spoke of. A model glider hung from the ceiling by fishing wire, its once-bright paint now faded. Trophies—some shining, others dull with time—lined the shelves near the window, their engraved plates quietly reminding him of competitions won and challenges conquered. But the most prominent item in the room was a poster on the wall above his bed. It showed a glider soaring above the clouds, wings gleaming in the sun, with bold text at the bottom: "Fly higher than your fears." Yuto stared at it now, his pencil stilled in his hand. That poster had been a gift from his father, Captain Hiroshi Asahina, five years ago—the night before his fatal flight. He could still remember his father's voice, deep and calm, saying those same words as he ruffled Yuto's hair. At thirteen, Yuto had idolized him. At eighteen, he still did—though now that admiration was laced with grief. A knock broke the silence. "Yuto? Dinner’s ready," came his sister Airi’s soft voice. "Not hungry," he replied without turning. She paused. "It’s your favorite. Chicken katsu." He hesitated. She always cooked his favorites on hard days. She didn’t say it aloud, but she knew what today was. The anniversary. The day the sky stole their father. "I’ll be down in a minute," he said, forcing a lighter tone. As her footsteps faded, Yuto looked at the small photo frame on his desk. It held a picture of the three of them—his father in his flight uniform, smiling with an arm around each child. That smile haunted him. It was the last thing he saw before the crash. The accident had made headlines: Veteran Glider Pilot Dies in Exhibition Mishap. A sudden crosswind, they said. Mechanical failure. No one blamed him, but that didn’t stop Yuto from blaming himself. He had begged his father to perform the Spiral Phoenix Maneuver during the show—a trick so complex only a few in the world could execute it. His father agreed with a wink. "Only because you asked, Captain Yuto." He never made it to the landing strip. Since then, Yuto hadn’t set foot in a glider. Not once. Not even in simulations. He buried himself in academics instead. His grades were stellar, his grasp on aerodynamics unmatched, but when it came to flying—actually flying—he was a ghost of who he used to be. At school, he kept to himself. He didn’t mind. The sky had once been his world; now, the world was a quiet desk, quiet thoughts, and the quiet hum of ceiling fans. The next morning, Yuto biked to school with a routine precision. Same route. Same time. Same effort to ignore the sky stretching endlessly above him. He kept his eyes forward, grounded, literal. His school—Shiratori High—was perched on a hill overlooking the city. From its rooftop, you could see the bay, the airport, and on clear days, even the faint silhouette of Mount Fuji. Yuto never went up there anymore. Classes passed in a blur. He answered questions without thought, equations rolling off his tongue like poetry memorized too long ago to forget. No one noticed him. He preferred it that way. Until lunch. He was eating alone on the courtyard bench when a shadow fell over him. He looked up to see a girl—new, unfamiliar. Her hair was a fiery red, tied up in a spiky ponytail that defied gravity. She had a glint in her eyes like someone who had just challenged a storm and survived. "You’re Yuto Asahina, right?" she asked, hands on hips. He blinked. "Yes?" "I heard you know flight theory better than anyone in this school. That true?" He hesitated. "I guess." She grinned and plopped down beside him. "I’m Sora Takamine. I just transferred here. My dream is to compete in the Skyfire Grand Prix and win it." Yuto blinked again. That name—Skyfire—rang in his chest like a warning bell. The Grand Prix was the most elite youth glider competition in Asia. "And?" he asked cautiously. "And I need someone who knows the science behind flying. I’ve got guts and talent, but I need brains. You’ve got the brains, right?" He stared at her, unsure how to respond. No one had talked to him so directly in months. "I don’t fly anymore," he said flatly. Sora tilted her head, studying him. "Why not?" "It’s personal." "You afraid?" He didn’t answer. She smiled, but it wasn’t mocking. It was… understanding. "That’s fine. I just wanted to see for myself. They say fallen pilots are the ones who understand the sky best." She stood up. "If you change your mind, come to the hangar after school. They’re letting us use the old simulators." And with that, she walked away. Yuto watched her go, bewildered. She had dropped into his life like lightning—bright, loud, and impossible to ignore. That night, he couldn’t sleep. He found himself staring at the ceiling, where the model glider still hung. The room felt too quiet. He got out of bed, pulled open an old drawer, and retrieved a dusty flight manual—his father’s. His fingers traced the pages slowly, reverently. A note fell out. "Even when your wings burn, keep flying. That’s when you really soar. – Dad" The next morning, Yuto stood at the gate of the school hangar. And he walked inside. [End of Chapter 1]