Act 13: 2:05:23

Sweat slid down my face, stinging my eyes as I forced them upward toward the electronic board near the finish line. The numbers were still cycling, lights blinking as if they were deciding my fate.

My chest burned.

Every part of my body was screaming, but I managed to keep myself up.

What was…my time?

The dots on the display settled, one by one, forming a time.

2:05.23

My first thought wasn’t disbelief.

It was, ‘That’s Akasaka’s’.

Of course it was. Akasaka had flown through the last stretch like she always did. That kind of number belonged to someone like her. She’d beaten her record again.

I kept staring, already measuring myself against it out of habit.

Six seconds faster than anything I had ever run.

My personal best from freshman year echoed in my head without warning. 2:12.12. That time had nearly broken me back then. I remembered collapsing at the line, lungs burning, legs shaking, convinced I’d squeezed out every last ounce I had.

There was no way I’d jumped that far.

No way I’d closed that kind of gap.

My eyes drifted back to the board, scanning for the name beneath the time, already bracing myself for the familiar sting of second, third, or fourth place—

And then my gaze stopped.

The letters didn’t rearrange themselves.

They didn’t change.

They just sat there.

Waiting for me to catch up.

Tsukishiro Yukina.

For a moment, my mind refused to connect the two.

My knees buckled and I dropped onto the track, palms pressed flat against the red surface as if it might steady me. My breathing came out uneven, half-laugh, half-gasp.

"That’s… mine?"

I blinked. Then again. The name stayed exactly where it was.

It didn’t change.

It was really my own.

“Nice race.”

I looked up to see Akasaka standing a few steps away, sweat darkening her uniform, her expression calmer than I expected as she held out a hand.

“T-Thanks…” My legs felt hollow as I took it, using her grip to pull myself upright.

She studied me for a second, then smiled. “You’ve changed. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have imagined losing to you.”

My thoughts were still miles behind the moment. “I… I guess I just got lucky.” The words tumbled out clumsily.

Akasaka laughed softly. “You don’t win races like that by luck.” She turned away, then paused. “I’ll beat you next year.”

With that, she jogged back toward her team, where cheers immediately swallowed her.

I stood there longer than I meant to, staring at the track beneath my feet, as if it might confirm what had just happened.

When I finally started toward our tent, my steps were unsteady. I barely made it three strides before colliding with something solid.

“Oof—”

I rubbed my nose and looked up.

“There she is!” Benio burst out from behind Tatsumi, who was grinning so wide it looked painful. “Our women’s 800-meter national champion!”

Before I could react, Benio wrapped me in a crushing hug. “You beat your rival and shattered your personal record! Do you have any idea what you just did?!”

Her words hit in pieces.

National champion.

PR.

Something warm spread through my chest, slow and disbelieving.

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Because for some reason, even now—

It still hadn’t fully sunk in.

“I—” I barely managed a step before my legs gave out.

A hand caught me just in time. Tatsumi steadied me for half a second, then without warning hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I didn’t even have the energy to protest. Honestly, it beat walking.

By the time he dumped me back at the team tent, the noise hit all at once. Cheers, laughter, someone crying outright.

Coach was wiping tears from his face, shoulders shaking as he pulled me into a tight embrace. “You did it,” he kept saying, voice thick. “You really did it.”

I was only the second person from our team to win an event today. The first was the muscle-headed culprit who had just carried me back, fresh off his own hammer throw victory and a new personal best.

My eyes drifted to the stands.

My family was there, all of them crying just as hard.

“You’re all such crybabies,” I said with a weak laugh.

Hana tried to respond but only managed broken fragments. “B-But… after… so long… we’re just… really happy.” She wiped her face with her sleeve, sniffling. I made a mental note to hug her later, properly.

Chiaki stood beside them, quieter than the rest, but smiling in that way that meant she already knew.

“I knew you could do it,” she said simply.

“Thanks,” I replied, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “I really couldn’t have done this without you.”

Her eyes glossed over as she looked away. “Don’t make it all sentimental, idiot,” she muttered, though her voice wavered at the end.

I let go, breathing a little easier.

That was when it clicked.

The words she had said back then, after Natsuki’s first play. A change of pace. I hadn’t understood it at the time. I hadn’t realized she’d invited me along not just to watch, but to pull me out of the place I was stuck in.

She’d seen it before I had.

And because of that single, ordinary invitation, everything had started to move again.

I didn’t say it out loud.

But I was endlessly grateful.

Over the speakers, the announcer called for the top three finishers of the women’s 800-meter to report to the center of the field.

The podium waited beneath the open sky. Three blue pedestals, staggered in height. Third place low and modest. Second, a step higher. First rising above them all, unmistakable even from a distance.

We lined up behind our placements, jackets pulled on to fight the lingering chill that clung to sweat-soaked skin. Our coaches approached from behind, medals cradled carefully in their hands as if they carried something fragile, something earned.

When we turned to face the stands, the sound hit me all at once.

Applause rolled across the stadium like a wave, thousands of hands clapping in unison. Faces blurred together into a sea of color and motion, banners waving, phones raised, voices calling out names. My heart thudded hard against my ribs as my eyes searched instinctively, scanning row after row, section after section.

Anywhere.

“Third place in the women’s 800-meter…” the announcer began.

I barely heard it. My focus kept slipping, pulled outward, looking for something that wasn’t there. A familiar shade of gold. A pair of green eyes. Nothing.

“Second place in the women’s 800-meter, Akasaka Nina!”

The roar was immediate. Akasaka stepped forward, composed as ever, climbing onto the second pedestal as her coach draped the silver medal around her neck. I clapped along with the crowd, my hands moving on instinct, my pulse still racing.

Then it was my turn.

I drew in a slow breath and straightened, rolling my shoulders back. The exhaustion was still there, heavy in my limbs, but beneath it burned something steady and unshakable.

Pride. Disbelief. Gratitude. All tangled together.

“Finally,” the announcer continued, voice booming through the stadium, “your new national champion in the women’s 800-meter race, with a personal best of two minutes, five seconds, point two three…”

The pause felt endless.

“Tsukishiro Yukina!”

For a heartbeat, everything went quiet inside my head.

Then I stepped forward.

The moment my foot touched the highest platform, the world shifted. The stadium seemed brighter from up here, the sky wider, the crowd closer somehow. I lifted my gaze, taking it all in, letting the sound wash over me. This was real. I was standing here.

My coach approached, eyes red, nose flushed, hands trembling as he lifted the gold medal. I bowed slightly, and the cool weight of it settled against my chest, the ribbon brushing my collarbone.

“Congratulations, Tsukishiro,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you. You earned this.”

“Thank you, Coach,” I replied, voice unsteady. “Thank you for giving me another chance. I’ll still be in your care.”

That was enough to undo him. Tears spilled freely now, and he turned away quickly, laughing through it as the crowd continued to applaud.

“Let’s hear it one more time for these incredible athletes!”

The clapping surged again, louder than before.

That was when I saw it.

A flash of blue near the edge of the stands. A familiar cap moving against the current of people.

My heart lurched.

Before I could think better of it, I stepped down from the podium and broke into a run, weaving through staff and athletes, the gold medal bouncing against my chest with every step. I dodged around the team tent and rounded the corner toward the tunnel entrance.

There, just ahead of me, stood a single figure.

I stopped short, breath catching in my throat.

“Natsuki?” I called.

The person froze.

My heart thundered in my chest, something wanted to get out, now. I felt the back of my neck heat up and it wasn’t from the sun. I had opened my mouth a few times trying to get the words out, these unspoken feelings.

These words meant for her.

I wanted her to hear them.

“Natsuki, I–” I clenched my hands, took a brave step forward and with my burning chest unleashed the words I had kept sealed ever since my realization with Sterling. “I want to be by your side!”

I saw her body wince.

“I know we live in completely different worlds, but I want to be with the Koba Natsuki that I’ve known off-stage,” I could hear my pulse in my ears, “I want to be with the girl that means so much to me!”

She turned slowly.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath with us. The distant cheers from the stadium faded into something far away, muffled, like they belonged to another place entirely. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, knuckles pale beneath the fabric of her jacket.

The brim of her blue cap hid her eyes.

“…Yukina,” she said quietly.

That single word almost undid me.

I swallowed hard, my voice trembling despite how badly I wanted it to stay steady. “I don’t know how to say this properly,” I admitted. “I’ve thought about it, and every time I get scared I’m overstepping.”

I took a step closer before I could lose my nerve.

“I like you,” I said. The words were simple, but they hit harder than any finish line I’d ever crossed. “I like you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself anymore.” My hands clenched at my sides. “It’s thrown me off balance. Made me reckless. Made me want to be better, stronger, and become someone who could actually stand beside you.”

For a moment, she didn’t move.

Then her shoulders rose with a slow breath.

She lifted her head, just enough for me to see her eyes beneath the cap. They were shining, caught somewhere between surprise and something far deeper. She took a step toward me, then another, until the space between us vanished.

“You’re really unfair, you know that?” she murmured, a small, shaky laugh escaping her. “Saying something like that right after a race like this…”

Her hand reached out, fingers curling into the fabric of my track jersey, right over my racing number. “I’ve been trying so hard not to pull you into my world,” she confessed softly. “I’ve told myself that our current relationship was okay the way it was, so I never pushed, but...”

She looked up at me then, truly looked at me. “But every time I watch you run… I remember the words of that person from the park, vulnerable, passionate…I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to be closer to you.”

My breath caught.

“I can’t promise it’ll be easy,” she continued. “And I can’t give you a proper answer right now.” Her grip tightened, steady and sure. “But if you’re asking whether I want you by my side…”

She smiled, small but genuine, the kind she never wore on stage.

“I already chose you.”

The medal at my neck felt heavier, warmer, as if it had finally found its meaning. And in that quiet space between the stadium and the world beyond it, I realized—

This wasn’t the finish line.

It was the start of something beautiful.