My hands are clammy. I tighten my grip on the baton, trying not to look across the field.
But I already know he's there.
Kaito Hideaki. White team anchor. Smirking. Relaxed. Like he has all the time in the world.
Back home in Tokyo, we never had festivals like this. It was all about tests and cram school. No colors, no cheering. Just pressure. But here at Aokaze High, the whole school feels like it's buzzing with wind and energy.
Why am I even nervous? It's just a school event. It's just Kaito.
"Red team! Ready!"
I step into position at the start of the second leg, baton in hand. Nanami-san shouts my name from the crowd. I catch a glimpse of her—class president sash slipping off her shoulder, pom-poms in hand, waving like it's the Olympics.
She's ridiculous. But I'm glad she's here.
The first runner sprints toward me, kicking up dust as he closes the gap.
Okay. Focus. Take the baton. Run. Pass it off.
"Go, Mizuno!" someone calls.
I breathe in.
One step.
Two steps.
My fingers wrap around the baton. My legs move on instinct. The track stretches ahead of me—blazing white lines, stomping feet, and cheers that blur into static.
But all I can think about is Kaito waiting at the end.
Why does he keep teasing me? Why does he always show up at the weirdest times? Like a stray cat, slipping into my life like he belongs.
Wind brushes my cheeks as I run. I tighten my jaw, push forward harder. Every breath is sharper than the last.
He doesn't even look serious about the race. Just leaning against the post with that stupid grin like he's already won.
I round the corner.
The third runner's hand is stretched out. We're neck-and-neck with the white team.
My arm flings forward—clean pass. I slow to a jog, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. And then I glance down the field—
Kaito's already moving.
Of course he is. Fast. Effortless. And annoying.
Cheers erupt around us. His teammates scream his name. Mine are yelling too, but all I hear is my heartbeat.
Then—his voice.
"Not bad, Ayu-chan!" he calls, mid-stride. "You've got speed after all."
I straighten up. Glare. Cup my hands around my mouth.
"Still gonna lose!"
He laughs—actually laughs while sprinting. "You sound nervous!"
I'm not nervous.
...Am I?