Act 5: Improvement & Distraction

Getting up this morning felt oddly pleasant, more so than it had in the past few days. I had been following the same routine for a few weeks now, but today carried a different weight to it. There was a sense of anticipation lingering in my chest, though I couldn’t quite place where it came from.

Practice began like usual, but halfway through our coach gathered the runners for the 400, 800, and 1500-meter events at the edge of the brick-colored track.

He stood in front of us with his arms crossed, dressed in the familiar blue-and-gold coach’s uniform.

“With Nationals coming up next month,” he said, his voice steady, “we’re going to start timing your runs more consistently. I want to see where each of you stands and what we need to improve on.” His gaze swept over the group before briefly meeting mine. “Treat these like mock races, but don’t push yourselves into injury. Remember we’re trying to measure progress, not ruin anything.” He clapped his hands together, signaling for us to break off.

The 400-meter runners moved toward the starting line almost automatically. The rest of us waited along the sidelines as our coach raised the timer.

“Go!”

Five of us were set to run the 800. Three girls, myself included, and two boys. None of them were on scholarship like I was.

That didn’t mean I was better.

If anything, they were strong runners in their own right, athletes who had put in twice the effort I had during the past year.

“I don’t really see why this is necessary,” Arisaka Kotori muttered from the side, inspecting her nails as she spoke a little too loudly. “We already saw how everyone performed at the last meet. Some people just need to pull their weight.”

I didn’t need to look at her to know who she meant and I couldn’t really argue with her. She’d finished in the top three at the last meet, while I’d barely contributed any points to the team.

Once the 400-meter runners finished, our coach motioned for the 800-meter group to line up. I stepped forward and took my place, rolling my shoulders once before settling in.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled. The surrounding noise faded as my focus narrowed.

Let’s do this.

The moment our coach signaled the start, I pushed off the ground, arms swinging smoothly as my feet found their rhythm.

The boys surged ahead almost immediately, but I didn’t let it bother me. My mind was clear, stripped of everything but the essentials.

My stride.
My breathing.
My pace.

I had run this track hundreds of times, but this time felt different. Lighter. Sharper. It felt right.

Before I realized it, I was crossing the finish line. I came in well after the boys, but a good few seconds ahead of the other girls.

“Two ten!” our coach called out.

I slowed to a jog and then stopped, resting my hands on my hips as the number settled in my mind.

A smile tugged at my lips, one I tried to hide as the others finished behind me.

Four seconds.

I had cut 4 seconds off my last recorded time from the last meet. It was nearly a PR.

Everything I had been working toward, both during practice and on my own, was finally showing results.

The feeling swelling inside my chest was excitement. A small ember, steadily growing into a flame.

That feeling stayed with me even after practice ended. I was halfway to the library when Chiaki called out to me, jogging up beside me.

“You seem unusually cheerful,” she said, her purple gems eyeing me with amusement.

I raised an eyebrow. “What gave it away?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she teased. “Maybe the skip in your step. Did something good happen?”

“They timed our runs today,” I said, unable to keep the pride out of my voice. “I shaved off a few seconds from my last meet.”

Chiaki’s eyes lit up as if she’d received the news herself. “That’s amazing! I’m really happy for you. You’ve been working so hard.” She gave my back a firm slap.

A grin spread across my face. “Thanks.”

As we continued talking, I couldn’t help but notice how genuinely excited she seemed. Chiaki had been by my side since we were kids, since the very beginning of my track journey.

She’d been there for my first victory.
And she’d been there for my first real loss then the next, when everything started to unravel.

She’d seen all of it.

Maybe hearing that kind of news meant just as much to her as it did to me.

We entered the library side by side and made our way up to the second floor, slipping into our usual study spot tucked away near the shelves. It sat in a quiet corner where foot traffic was rare, overlooked in favor of the bustling first and third floors of the five-story building. No one really knew why those floors were more popular. It had simply become the unspoken rule.

I spread out materials for one of my general education courses, while Chiaki claimed the table in her own way, laying out swatches of brightly colored fabric alongside sheets of drawing paper. I watched as a blank page quickly transformed beneath her hands, clean lines forming the silhouette of a dress as if it had appeared out of thin air.

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work?” she asked without looking up.

Caught, I sank back in my chair and forced my gaze onto the neatly lined notes in front of me. “I can’t help it,” I admitted. “When you start designing, it’s hard not to watch. It’s…pretty amazing.”

She paused, her pencil hovering for a moment. “I’ve been into fashion for as long as I can remember. Choosing this path felt natural once we started college.” Her hands resumed moving. “We’re already in our second year. If I want a real shot at this, I need to start building a solid portfolio.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

Second year. By now, most students had committed to a major, assuming the school offered what they wanted. I, on the other hand, had left my status untouched, lingering in that uncomfortable space between choices.

Chiaki glanced up at me then. “Have you figured out what you want to focus on next year?”

I didn’t answer.

That silence was enough. She gave a small nod and let the topic drop, returning to her sketch as if she hadn’t asked at all.

We fell back into our work not long after, the quiet of the library settling around us again. Just as Chiaki began packing up, a voice spoke from behind me.

“Is this seat taken?”

I turned to see Koba standing there, unmistakable even in disguise–to me at least. The familiar blue cap sat low over her eyes, her golden hair pulled into a neat ponytail. She wore light blue jeans and a black sleeveless blouse, casual enough to blend in, though her smile alone felt out of place in the hushed space.

Surprise froze me in place. My first instinct was to look past her, half expecting a crowd to trail behind.

No one.

“Someone you know?” my childhood friend asked, her gaze narrowing with curiosity as she studied the stranger.

I hesitated, caught between the two of them. Letting Koba’s identity slip would be disastrous. Chiaki was a fan, and a loud one at that. The longer I stayed silent, the harder it was to come up with a lie.

Before I could scramble for an excuse, Koba spoke easily. “I’m just exploring campus while I’m here.” She lifted the brim of her cap just enough for a flash of emerald green to show.

That was all it took.

Chiaki went completely still, her color draining as recognition dawned. Her mouth opened, the name clearly forming on her lips.

Koba raised a finger to her own, smiling gently. “It’d be great if you could keep this a secret.”

The fashion major nodded so fast I worried she might pull something. I had never seen her that obedient before, and I had to bite back a laugh.

Koba took the seat beside me, her attention drifting to the scattered papers on the table. She reached out and picked up one of Chiaki’s sketches, studying it in silence long enough to make both of us squirm.

“Did you draw these?” she asked.

Chiaki nodded, still stunned.

“They’re incredible,” Koba said warmly. “I love these designs.”

Chiaki looked at me like she was short-circuiting, silently begging for help. I only stuck my tongue out at her, enjoying this far too much.

Koba set the sketches down and turned to me, and I straightened without meaning to.

“This is my only break before Miss Velvet realizes I’ve been gone too long,” she said, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out two laminated tickets and pressed them into my hand. “I want you to have these. They’re for my next show. Good seats.”

She curled my fingers around them before I could react.

“You can bring your friend,” she added with a wink toward Chiaki.

Before either of us could say a word, she was gone, slipping back into the library like she had never been there at all. The faint scent of coconut and cream lingered in her wake.

I stared down at the tickets in my hand, reading the fine print twice just to be sure.
“September 6. Still, I wait for You”

When I looked up to show Chiaki, she was no longer sitting across from me.

She was right beside me.

Before I could react, her hands were on my shoulders, shaking me hard enough to rattle my teeth. “HOW?! How do you know Koba Natsuki?! This is the second time she’s walked up to you!”

Panic surged through me. I clamped a hand over her mouth and leaned close. “Shhh! Are you trying to get us kicked out?!”

Her eyes were wild, but she nodded, forcing herself to calm down.

“It was just a coincidence,” I whispered. “I swear.”

“Coincidence?” she hissed the moment my hand moved. “Koba Natsuki personally approached you. Twice. And you’re calling that a coincidence?! Plus, those tickets are to her new show! You know how much those are going for right now?!”

Even lowered, our voices still carried. I caught movement between the shelves as a few heads turned in our direction.

That was enough.

I hurriedly packed my things and stood. “I’ll explain later. And preferably somewhere that doesn’t involve the entire second floor listening in,” I said, jerking my chin toward the nearby shelves.

Chiaki glanced around and finally seemed to register the attention we were drawing. She nodded stiffly.

The moment we stepped outside the library, all restraint vanished.

Questions came flying at me from every angle, one after another, but I ignored them as best I could and kept walking toward my first class of the day. I knew she wasn’t going to let me live this down.

My second class was cancelled, leaving an unexpected gap in my schedule before afternoon practice. Somehow, without thinking too hard about it, I found myself standing in front of the auditorium, pretending I didn’t know why I’d come.

I didn’t really know her schedule beyond the fact that she rehearsed here in the mornings. It was already past noon. Maybe she’d left for the day.

I reached for the door handle, then hesitated. A click sounded from inside and I quickly pulled my hand back, shoving it into my pocket as a wave of students poured out of the building.

Theatre kids.

“Koba Natsuki is incredible!”
“She really is the star of our generation.”

Their voices overlapped with excited chatter as they passed, most of them dressed in outfits similar to hers. I slipped through the thinning crowd and headed inside.

Passing through the same double doors as before, I braced myself, but when the bodyguards met my eyes, they only gave a brief nod and stepped aside. No questions this time.

Inside, I walked down the aisle and spotted Koba sitting on the edge of the stage, talking with her coaches. The moment she noticed me, her expression lit up. Even from a distance, I could see her smile grow as she waved me over.

“Yukinaaaa!”

She hopped down from the stage and hurried toward me.

“I wish you’d come earlier,” she said. “We’re on break right now.”

“I passed a bunch of students outside gushing about your performance,” I replied with a small laugh. “Sounds like I missed something amazing.”

She shook her head, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It wasn’t much. I still have a lot to work on.”

I glanced toward the older woman seated nearby, then back at Natsuki. “Would it be alright if I borrowed her for a minute?” I asked, unable to hide the plea in my voice. “Just briefly.”

The woman studied us for a moment, then gave a single nod.

Before Natsuki could say anything, I caught her wrist and guided her toward the far side of the seating area, away from anyone who might overhear us.

“What were you thinking earlier?” I hissed once we were alone. “Are you out of your mind?”

She blinked at me, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“None of my friends know that I… that we…” I faltered, the words tangling in my throat. “This is harder to explain than I thought.”

“That we know each other?” she said smoothly.

I nodded. “I didn’t see a reason to tell them. We kept our distance, so I figured everything was fine. And then you show up in the library and hand me those tickets like it’s nothing.”

She puffed out her cheeks. “It wasn’t suspicious. I really wanted to give them to you.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the sincerity in her voice stopped me short.

“Listen, Koba—”

“Natsuki,” she corrected immediately.

I met her gaze, those bright green eyes unwavering.

“Koba—”

“Natsuki.”

I let out a sharp breath and gave in. “Fine. Na-tsu-ki. Our worlds are completely different. If people found out you were hanging out with a track nobody like me, it could hurt your image. So it’d be better if you—”

She flicked my forehead, and I instinctively released her wrist, lifting a hand to the spot she’d struck.

“First,” she said, counting off on her fingers, “you’re not the boss of me. Second, you’re not a track nobody. And third, I can spend time with whoever I want, whenever I want. Is that clear?”

I turned my head away, shrinking slightly. Giving her an immediate response. “Yes, ma’am.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her smile as she spun on her heel.

“Good.”

That was it.

The argument ended before it had truly begun, swept aside with the same confidence she carried everywhere else. One look at her told me there was nothing I could say that would change her mind. She had already decided, and somehow, she had made it feel final without raising her voice.

I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The tight knot in my chest eased, the worry I’d been clinging to loosening all at once. She had handled it, effortlessly, brushing away my doubts as if they had never stood a chance.

I shook my head, a small smile slipping onto my lips.

We walked back together, and Miss Velvet rose from her seat as we approached. Her expression remained neutral, but her gaze lingered on me a second longer than necessary—measured, appraising. That’s right. Aside from that brief encounter days ago, Natsuki hadn’t properly introduced us.

“Sorry for not doing this earlier,” Natsuki said easily. “This is Miss Velvet. She’s been my personal coach since I was a child.”

She didn’t elaborate, but she’d already said as much the other day. I offered a small bow, hoping formality might soften the moment. Instead, the air only seemed to grow heavier.

“And this is Tsukishiro Yukina,” Natsuki continued. “She’s a runner on the track team—and my friend.”

The word friend still made me hesitate. I couldn’t tell if she truly meant it, or if it was just a convenient explanation. Acquaintance would have been closer to the truth, but I didn’t correct her.

“N-Nice to meet you,” I said, extending my hand.

Miss Velvet didn’t take it.

“For someone Natsuki calls a friend, I assumed you had some kind of prodigious acting background,” she said coolly. “But I see now that I was mistaken. You’re nothing more than a distraction from her rehearsals.”

The words struck harder than I expected. My fingers curled back toward my side, heat creeping up my neck.

“Miss Velvet.”
Natsuki’s voice cut in sharply—firmer than I’d heard it before.

“I understand your concern for my rehearsal,” she continued, stepping slightly forward, “but Yukina is not a distraction. If anything, she’s the reason I’ve been able to get as far as I have in this role.”

I turned toward her, stunned.

I hadn’t realized I mattered that much. The things I’d said to her that day, words I’d almost dismissed as insignificant—suddenly felt heavier. Something in my chest tightened, then eased, as if it had finally found its place.

Miss Velvet said nothing in response. Instead, she glanced at the clock and reminded Natsuki that her break was nearly over.

Natsuki’s expression shifted immediately. The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something quieter—something I’d seen before, back in the park when she struggled with her lines.

“I’m sorry about what she said,” Natsuki murmured, turning to me.

I wanted to say something—anything—to lift that shadow from her face, but no words came. So I stepped back instead.

“I-I’ll come back some other time,” I said softly, before she could return to rehearsal.

As I walked away, I couldn’t help but glance back once. Natsuki stood where I’d left her, gaze lowered, shoulders drawn in.

The bodyguards nodded as I passed. I returned the gesture without slowing, the weight of the moment following me all the way out.