Episode 7: Ripples of Resolve – Dive Into the Blue
Opening
Korai Kana stands at the edge of the school pool. Ripples spread, moving the sun, shifting shadows over blue water. Is there time to feel calm right now? Perhaps you’ve asked yourself that, on hard days. His hands shake – just a bit. But he tells his mind it’s only nerves. Just the tryouts, just some water, and yet, this decides everything for Korai.
Main Cast
- Korai Kana – 15, quiet, curious. Trying to prove to himself he can finish what he starts. Will he find new friends, or will he lock them out again? Ans to that, Korai doesn’t know yet.
- Yuu Shiranami – School’s top swimmer, always smiling, but fierce when it counts. Yuu calls Korai “rookie” and bumps fists in the hall. He’s more than just fast; he pulls others with him.
- Michi Oka – Trainer & outsider, always scolded for helping too much. Michi won’t quit even when the old coach shouts. It’s her third time making the relay cut. Why does she try so hard for others?
Conflict Setup
This isn’t a normal week in the swim club. The regional relay is ten days away. Only the fastest four get named. Many want those spots—Korai is the only first-year and the slowest. The upperclassmen, some not kind, wonder what he’s got. Korai holds hope close, like breath before water. If you’d tried out before, did you ever grip the blocks and wonder—am I one second too slow to belong?
At practice, times rise and fall. Korai glances at the lane. Whenever Yuu laughs at a joke, or helps another, Korai whispers, “He’s a real leader, not me.”
Coach Atamo calls out: “Four for the relay! Don’t pull teammates into your nerves!” The mood tenses. Someone coughs. Nobody moves. The minutes drag until drills start. What’s the best way: clear mind or blind will? Ever felt lost between both?
Development
Evening falls. Michi walks up to Korai with wet hair clipped up, holding a timer. “How much does being new bother you?” she asks. Korai shrugs. He doesn’t know what words won’t show. She says, simply, “When I swim, I turn fear off, on purpose. Try it. Use rhythm—the water can fall away, at least for a lap or two, don’t you think?” His laugh is weak but true.
Then the club races. Everyone lines up at lanes. Atami grills them: “This round, picture a goal.” Simple, cruel, fair. Yuu does the butterfly and looks almost bored with his own speed. Michi focuses on every stroke. Korai dives slow, nearly late, but he starts to catch up. Can willpower slice through that blue wall or not? Is luck even real, when your arms go empty?
Halfway, Korai’s goggles slip, world turning lines and foam. Is it over? He can’t see, can’t blink it clear. He beats on, arms lost, half-choking as he kicks. He finishes last by nearly a length.
There’s no laughter. Nobody mocks him. Coach drops the clipboard and leaves the numbers unsaid.
Michi hands Korai a towel. She won’t offer pity; that’s not her way. “You didn’t get out. Everyone wants to get out of the pool after that. But you finished the whole way. That’s half the game, you know?” Would that make you feel any lighter?
Yuu nods seriously. “Tryouts aren’t over—last test is tomorrow before school. I call it the sunrise set. Be there? You might be ready. Felt the water enough yet?” There’s hope in that invite, even if small. Korai nods. In his diary, he writes: ‘First time not wanting the day to end.’
Night Before the Sunrise Set
He dreams that he’s in the sea. There’s no ground. Mum calls him for breakfast, but he’s alone in blue light, chasing someone who is faster, laughing ahead. Is that his brother, gone a year now? Days with family at the beach trickle through: buckets, shoes, calloused feet and stuck zippers in old bags.
His alarm rings before dawn. Cold floor jars him. Shoes on. Korai walks through grey streets, ahead of sunrise, pool bag banging his leg. Does morning smell like hope or fear for you, when you’re chasing a place you care about?
Climax
The whole sunrise, sky bleeding light, lays across the water. The gates are unlocked by Michi. She yawns. Yuu offers canned coffee with paint on his hand (“Signs for tomorrow’s prep – help wanted!”). There, on a plastic chair, Coach Atamo grumbles. “Two reps, then you’ve finished,” says Coach.
First attempt, Korai slips clean. Memory lines up arms, legs, breath. Nothing fancy. A lane away, Yuu goes twin fast—he taps the end nearly before Korai breaks the wall at seventy seconds. Still, nobody cheers or spits. Coach looks at his stopwatch, quiet, not smiling.
After ten minutes, cold creeps again. Korai lunges a second try. This time, with no one pushing him, he loses sight—strokes blend. And then, the clear clutch, something lets go. The fear? His bad dreams? Water is water, no more. He strokes to the end; when he stands, he’s shocked to see Michi clapping above her head.
An hour before class begins, everyone lines up. Coach calls out results. Yuu, as always, is the final relay leg.
“Last spot… goes to Korai Kana. Earned.”
Cliffhanger
That night, at home, Korai goes for a walk. City lights pool like stars. His phone beeps. It’s a message: “Tomorrow @ Gōshi stadium. It starts early. Big news soon.” But it isn’t from Yuu or Michi—it’s a hidden number. There’s no sign-off, just a wave emoji. Problem is, only one person ever sent him that wave before. His older brother hasn’t messaged since moving out last winter.
What’s waiting on the other side of the pool? Is Korai about to find the piece of his past that never left, or just another test in clear water?
