Chapter 4 Into the wind

The training ground at Shiratori High was bathed in golden morning light, dew still clinging to the grass as the first glider of the day was rolled onto the field. Yuto stood beside it, helmet in hand, heart pounding in his chest. Today wasn’t a competition day, but it felt just as important. Today was his test flight—the final qualifier before Amano would consider him ready for the regional stage. Sora jogged over, a towel draped around her shoulders. “Nervous?” Yuto smirked. “You know I am.” “Good,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Means you care.” Coach Amano approached with a clipboard and his usual scowl. “Wind’s stable, clouds are clear. This is your window. You’ll fly the Ridgeback Route—standard entry, turbulence on descent, and a high-G turn before touchdown. Stick to it, and don’t get fancy.” Yuto nodded. He slipped on his gloves, climbed into the cockpit, and ran through the checklist: control surfaces, altimeter, comms. Everything green. “Clear for tow,” Amano barked into the radio. The tug roared to life and pulled the glider down the strip. Yuto felt the familiar resistance, then the sudden release as the wings caught wind. The world fell away. He was flying. The Ridgeback Route was notorious among trainees. Sharp cliffs jutted out like teeth, and unpredictable drafts made every second feel like threading a needle in a hurricane. But Yuto had flown this simulation a hundred times. He knew where the wind curled, where to cut altitude, where to hold back. But this wasn’t simulation. This was real. Every tiny jolt in the airframe, every unexpected gust, every faint creak of the wings filled his senses. He adjusted pitch with calm precision, banking gently around the first ridge. Sora’s voice crackled over the comms. “Looking good up there, Captain.” “Focus on your drills, Sora,” he replied with a chuckle. The descent was rougher than expected. The crosswind picked up midway, pushing him off course. He fought it, realigning with the ridge edge by pure instinct. He tightened the high-G turn just above the treeline, the glider vibrating under stress. Too fast, too tight— He eased the throttle gently. The glider groaned, then smoothed out. And then the landing strip appeared. He nosed down, flared perfectly, and touched down with a bounce and slide. Silence. Then applause from the observation deck. Amano was the first to speak. “About damn time.” That afternoon, Yuto found an envelope in his locker. Inside was his registration form—now officially submitted. A note was paperclipped to the back: “Prove to yourself what you already know. See you in the sky.” – Amano. The next week passed in a blur of preparation. Yuto, Sora, and Riku became a tightly synchronized trio, running maneuvers as a unit. They practiced formation flying, evasive drills, and navigation sprints. But as Skyfire preliminaries approached, something shifted in Riku. He grew distant. Quiet. Refused feedback. Yuto noticed it during a break. Riku sat apart from the group, staring at his glider like it was a puzzle missing a piece. “You good?” Yuto asked, tossing him a water bottle. Riku caught it, nodded vaguely. “Just… pressure. Family expects me to win. No room for second place.” Yuto sat beside him. “Winning’s not everything.” “For you, maybe. For me, it’s survival.” Yuto didn’t know how to respond. Skyfire preliminaries arrived like a summer storm—fast, loud, full of static. The venue was a sprawling airfield in Aomori, with dozens of teams from across the nation. Corporate scouts, drone-cameras, even media crews buzzed through the crowd. Shiratori’s team wore deep blue jackets with white wing crests on the back. Sora looked like she was born to wear hers. Yuto adjusted his collar and stared at the sky. Today, he would fly for real. Their heat was third in the rotation. The course was brutal: a vertical drop start, followed by three maneuver zones, and a double wind tunnel finish. It was designed to break rhythm, punish mistakes, and reward instinct. As Riku prepared to launch, Amano pulled Yuto aside. “You’ve got talent,” he said. “But today, I want you to fly with something more.” “Like what?” “Conviction. You’ve buried your past in fear. Dig it out and use it.” Yuto nodded, jaw clenched. Riku’s flight was sharp, as expected. But on the final dive, he pushed too hard, clipped a thermal wall, and tumbled into a flat spin. He recovered—barely—but it cost him. Sora was next. Her flight was electric. Bold lines, tight spins, and a gutsy finale through the tunnel that earned roaring applause. Then came Yuto. He took the cockpit slowly, savoring the hum of the canopy, the rush of wind, the way the horizon stretched forever. “Clear for launch,” the tower called. The world tilted. The drop opened like a mouth. And Yuto dove. Everything vanished but the air, the wing, the pulse in his ears. He banked perfectly through the first zone, danced through the spirals, and hit the double tunnel with smooth, even hands. Then he did something insane. He triggered the Spiral Phoenix. The crowd gasped. Amano stood. Sora screamed into her headset. Yuto spun, climbing upward in a fiery spiral, wings flashing gold in the sun. At the apex, he righted, descended, and landed like a whisper. Silence. Then—thunderous applause. The scoreboard lit up. He’d scored highest in the preliminaries. That night, under the stars, Sora punched him in the shoulder. “You absolute idiot,” she said. “What were you thinking?” He laughed, wincing. “That I needed to stop flying in fear.” She looked at him a long time, then said, “Welcome back, Yuto.” He looked at the sky, and for once, it didn’t feel like a memory. It felt like a beginning. [End of Chapter ]