Act 12: 800 meters

“All runners for the women’s 800-meter race, please gather at the starting line!”

The announcement echoed through the stadium, loud enough to vibrate in my ribs. Cheers rose immediately in response, rolling in waves from every section of the stands. Friends, family, teammates, lovers. Their voices layered together into something overwhelming as I walked toward the track.

I slipped off my blue-and-gold jacket and let it fall onto the bench, the KU lettering on my jersey catching the light. Benio and Tatsumi were already on their feet, arms raised high.

“Go get them!”
“You’ve got this!”

I lifted both hands and slapped theirs hard enough to sting, the sound grounding me. I nodded, grinning despite myself.

The moment my spikes touched the track, I felt it. Not nerves. Not fear. Something sharper. A restless energy buzzing beneath my skin, every muscle primed and impatient. The air felt tighter here, heavier with intent. Eight runners, eight separate hungers converging on the same stretch of red.

My hands trembled slightly, not from doubt, but anticipation. This was what I had missed. This electric edge where everything else fell away.

I glanced up at the stands. Hana was waving wildly, my parents beside her. Chiaki too, unmistakable even from this distance.

No Natsuki.

The ache flared briefly, a quiet pulse in my chest, but I let it pass.

Akasaka stepped up beside me, her expression composed, eyes fixed forward. “May the fastest woman win.”

I could not tell if it was kindness or challenge. Either way, I smiled. “Yeah.”

We took our lanes.

I rolled my shoulders once and drew in a slow breath, eyes tracing the first curve we would hit almost immediately.

“On your marks.”

My body lowered, tension coiling tight. Every instinct screamed to explode forward. I held it in check, focus narrowing until there was nothing but the lane ahead.

The official raised the gun.

Bang.

I launched.

My legs drove hard, controlled, quick but measured. The noise vanished almost instantly, swallowed by the cadence of my own stride. As we merged into lane one, I settled into position on the outside of the pack, familiar territory.

Akasaka’s white hair flickered just ahead of me, fourth place. I locked onto her, refusing to let the distance stretch.

The pace was aggressive. As it should be.

My arms swung cleanly, breath steady, feet striking in rhythm. One hundred meters passed in a blink as we curved into the bend.

By three hundred, heat pressed against my back. Sweat slicked my skin, the track radiating warmth upward. My lungs worked harder now, but the discomfort felt earned. Familiar. Almost welcome.

Just like practice.

The repetitions I had once resented.
The days I ran because I felt I had to.
Until I learned what it meant to want something once more.

Her words surfaced unbidden.
The ones that changed everything.
The day we met.
The way she looked at me like I was allowed to want more.

Four hundred meters. Halfway.

Akasaka surged. I answered immediately.

My stride lengthened, muscles tightening as I slipped past one runner, then another. The two who had dominated the earlier heat fell behind us. My arms pumped harder now, feet striking with intent rather than caution.

Two hundred meters remaining.

The second bend closed around us. The burn set in, deep and unforgiving, crawling up my legs and into my chest. Akasaka did not slow. Neither did I.

We hit the straight together.

She pushed. I matched.

My teeth clenched, breath tearing from my lungs as I forced more from my body than it wanted to give. Every warning flared at once.

Slow down.

I ignored the sign.

I thought of her.
Of the promise I made.
Of the person I refused to remain.

I ran.

Not because I had to.
Not because of expectations or fear.
But because I chose to.

One hundred meters.

The crowd crashed back into existence, a single roaring force. Akasaka was still there, shoulder to shoulder, daring me to falter. Doubt flickered for the briefest instant—

Then resolve drowned it out.

You are allowed to reach for this.

My foot struck harder, faster. My arms drove forward. I leaned into the pain instead of away from it.

Fifty meters.

My vision tunneled. The finish line rushed toward me, stark and unforgiving. My lungs screamed. My chest burned. This pain was alive.

Twenty meters.

I surged.

The world fractured into noise and motion and light, and then the line vanished beneath my feet.

I did not know who crossed first.
I did not know the time.

I only knew the sudden release as the race let go of me.

I staggered forward, hands braced on my knees, gasping for air, heart pounding violently in my chest.

And I smiled.

Because this time, no matter what the board said, I had not run away.

I had run toward something.