Episode 5: Star Sprint: The School Relay Showdown
The city was waking up. At Seigetsu High, halls buzzed with plans for the big event: the annual inter-school relay. Many hoped to impress, boost class rank, or enjoy a free afternoon out in the fresh air. But for Karin Tachibana, a girl with a hidden fire and blue-streaked hair, this competition meant redemption. Had she let her dream die after losing last year, or was this her chance to run without regret?
Her best friend, Yuuto, slid into her desk from behind. “You running this year? Or is last spring haunting you again?”
She forced a smile. “It’s different now, Yuuto. I’ve been practicing. I can’t joke about this.” Yuuto knew she never did. He studied her face. “You nervous because of Saki? Or ‘him’?”
She looked at her hands. Did you friend, like Yuuto, ever sense more than you let on?
Selections for who would race started after class. As homerooms walked out onto the sunlit field, old rivalries rose. Captain of last year’s winning runners, Ryo from Aoba West, made his bet: “Seigetsu won’t get past this round. Not while I’m here.” Saki, sharp and competitive, locked eyes with Karin from the other school’s outfield. Was this root of rivalry or respect?
Do you recall a time when something looked out of reach, but deep inside, you just couldn’t give up?
Hideki, the PE coach, posted the lineup: each school fields four each, two boys and two girls, all must run. Rain or shine. Karin held her breath as names unfurled. “I made anchor,” she whispered, stammer mixed with pride and doubt. “Is this chance? Or pressure you can’t back out from?” 
Building tension, Hideki met with team reps. “Win or lose isn’t only what folks will remember,” he said, clipboard clenched. “It’s how you push forward once excuse to drop out feels so good. Think about that.”
Even students least fond of sports took his words. That rare hush settled over the grass.
Training hours stacked up. Karin forced herself on predawn runs, knees raw, dreams stubborn. Yuuto biked behind on some days. Their talk, sprinkled with soft rivalry, often finished in breathless challenge. “No way I let you lag,” he’d tease. She stack a pebble on a ledge at every finish: her strange ritual. Would it mean luck or just stubborn hope?
Saki, for her part, stared at seagulls on the Aoba track. “Karin’s got talent, but can she handle pressure?” she told herself.
Team debates at class meetings showed even bystanders wanted a point to prove, or someone to root against.
Liora, Karin’s calm friend, offered blunt wisdom: “Don’t trip—the arguing will be online faster than the race from here to the city. Smile at it, even if you fall.” Karin vowed not just to run faster, but truer. Which would carry her through: speed or will?
The day broke with mist and noise. Teams filed out in fresh uniforms; faces painted, cheers loud. Girls in baggy sweaters, boys tossing water at each other, teachers tight lipped, their own silent wagers clear. Hideki barked: “Line up. It’s more than running—a story in four laps!” Nerves sharpened into hard focus.
First leg: Yuuto thundered off the mark. Seigetsu held close, tension sharp as a blade. His chest burned halfway, old injury flaring, but pride tightened his jaw.
Would you have finished, pain be damned? Or paused? 
Saki’s school leapt ahead on the third turn, pace relentless. Yuuto caught breath, letting the next runner take baton—his eyes glued on Karin. “It’s all you, captain,” he hissed.
Seigetsu’s second kept pace, not shining but not slipping. A grip misstep, but she kept there, resin of will over skill. The crowd swelled like rising rain: full of noise you couldn’t quite tune out.
By the third, Saki shot down the fleet track, shoes flashing. The world slowed for Karin as Hideki tapped her back. “Go,” he said, calm like a bell. Might this second change fate for more than one onlookers?
She ran, form blurred by nerves. All she saw was the red-flecked baton, her feet on dirt, faces lost in a stretch of disbelief and hope. With each stride she closed the gap on Saki.
“Karin!” Yuuto yelled, voice stiff from worry.
Would Saki glance back? Would Karin’s old wound pull?
Saki looked over in the last meters; breath gone, body spent, fear raw in flash of her eye.
“Now or not at all,” Karin growled in her mind. She reached, clenched, flung herself, passing bones and the baton past the line.
Final call, blurred line, a hush. No clear winner. Judges hunched.
Hundreds, both rivals and allies, crowded the finish for verdict. Phones shot, friends froze, a memory created in two breaths. Hideki refused, for now, to show result. Then sirens of the school bus, not the result, broke the silence. The entire field stayed waiting, hopes hung wild in post-race stillness. 
Cliffhanger: Who’s on top? And if Karin, did it fix the void in her last loss, or shape a new one?
Will she dare to run again tomorrow?
