“Well, now, what a nostalgic face. Long time no see, Mizuki.”
“—Noma, new captain.”
“We’re getting close to another handover soon. I’d appreciate dropping the ‘new’ already.”
After school, Aya, heading alone toward the entrance hall to go home, ran into a familiar face already changed into practice gear, getting ready for club activities. Noma, a third-year on the track team.
The generational handover had happened around last autumn; having caught wind of it only in passing and never bothered keeping up with club news since, Aya had zero updates beyond the bare fact that he was now the new captain.
“How’s the team doing?”
Aya narrowed her eyes with a touch of nostalgia, hands in her blazer pockets, stopping in place.
Noma, arms crossed against the cold, looked pleased. “Oh, curious now?”
“Well, the new first-years still have a ways to go, but eager and coachable, every one of them! Good things to expect next year and the year after. Second-years are growing steadily, mostly on track. You remember Takada?”
“Same class as me.”
“Ah, right. Takada competed in the heptathlon at nationals this year. Says the results weren’t great by his own account, but he put in the work! Bound to post a good record next year.”
Noma spoke with arms crossed, clearly proud, and Aya murmured “oh, nice” with genuine warmth.
She and Takada talked reasonably often, but she’d never heard any of this. Had he been holding back out of consideration? Oddly reserved of him, but both the consideration and the fact that he’d kept pushing himself made her happy.
“So, what about you? Knee doing okay now?”
“No issues at all with light activity. Just don’t want to push it to full-out sprints.”
“…I see.”
Noma dropped his gaze, a little wistfully, then shook his head and shifted topics.
“Oh right, you used to date Yaehata, didn’t you? How’s she doing?”
The unexpected name caught Aya off guard. Now that he mentioned it, right — even off playing around all the time, she was technically still a third-year at this same school. She’d been in the same year as him until last year, and given how well-known Aya’s relationship with her had become, of course the name would come up.
“We still see each other regularly even now that we’ve broken up. I’d say — same as ever.”
“I can picture it exactly, that breezy attitude of hers. She’ll at least show up for graduation, right?”
“Who knows, free spirit that she is. Doubt she’s eager to specifically come see you either, senpai. Wouldn’t get your hopes up too much.”
“Her classmates miss her plenty, though.”
Reconfirming, in some roundabout way, that Mahiru really was loved by people despite everything, Aya let out a wry laugh.
Then the topic ran dry, and a few seconds of silence passed. Just as it seemed like a natural point to wrap things up—
“You could come back, you know.”
Noma said this with a teasing look. Aya raised an eyebrow and fell silent.
“Even if you can’t participate in practice. I’ll get everyone on board with that. Not that I think you’d need convincing anyone — I think everyone would welcome you back. The current second-years would probably find more motivation with you around, and there are first-years who look up to you too. Your discipline would rub off in a good way, and your experience would definitely help.”
Coming back now, there’d be almost no time left to actually spend with the third-years anyway.
Still, was this invitation for the sake of the members left behind, or for Aya’s own sake? As always, he was someone who tried to pull people toward something positive from the center of the group. Aya closed her eyes and laughed back.
“Since I quit, my body fat percentage’s gone up a fair bit.”
Meaning: the disciplined Mizuki Aya who’d thrown herself into training was already just a figure in his imagination now.
“I’m not part of track anymore. But thanks for the thought.”
Aya said it with a resolved expression, and he didn’t push further.
“I see. I’m not going to force it. If you’re moving forward toward something else, that’s good enough. …Alright, I’m off to enjoy what little’s left of my track career.”
Noma laughed lightly, gave a thumbs-up, and changed his shoes. As Aya called out “see you,” he grinned back with a “yeah!” and jogged off toward the field. Watching him head toward the familiar faces already warming up for practice, Aya closed her eyes fully, then opened them again.
Saying she had no lingering attachment at all would be a lie. But that was purely an emotional matter.
Rationally, she’d made peace with it, fully convinced. So Aya changed her shoes without hesitation and headed home.
She walked the paved path from the entrance hall to the school gate, looking up at a sky mixing blue with a faint tinge of orange. Autumn was starting in earnest; winter would arrive before she knew it.
This time next year — entrance exam prep, or job hunting? What would she even be doing?
Lost in that thought, a familiar face entered her field of view.
Tokiwa Sakura, school bag set on top of her shoes, leaning against the gate wall, staring blankly into space. Aya’s eyes widened, wondering what she was doing there, and soon Sakura noticed her and shot her a glare.
Not sure what had prompted it, Aya read it as a clear “don’t talk to me” signal.
She raised a hand lightly and tried to slip past silently.
But the instant she passed, Sakura’s eyes went wide, and she raised her voice, grabbing Aya’s arm.
“Wai— why are you ignoring me?!”
“Huh? What? No, I mean—”
Aya, flustered, repeated a few meaningless words before staring at Sakura, unable to hide her confusion.
“I promised not to talk to you first… did you actually need something?”
“No one just stands around here for no reason.”
“Fair, but I wouldn’t have guessed it’d be for me. Not after that conversation earlier.”
Aya recalled the lunch break conversation and hinted at it obliquely. Sakura looked ready to argue back, but seeming to concede Aya had a point, swallowed her words and stayed quiet.
So then, what did she actually want? Aya waited without rushing her, and Sakura, noticing, held her breath, turned her reddening face away, worked through some deep hesitation, and finally squeezed out an apology.
“…I said too much, not really knowing you, senpai. I’m sorry.”
Aya stared at her, dumbfounded. Sakura, apparently displeased with that blank expression, narrowed her eyes.
But her usual sharp comebacks didn’t come; instead, looking away, she piled on more apology.
“Given everything with track, I… I just assumed you were someone privileged.”
With that continuation, Aya finally understood.
Probably, through some connection, she’d heard about Aya’s track days. And maybe decided her earlier words — “don’t act like you understand, what do you even know about me” — had missed the mark.
Still, going out of her way to lie in wait for an apology like this — quite the troublesome personality.
Aya sighed, scratching her head, and, noticing Sakura’s face tense up at the sigh as if bracing for something, said:
“Make up your mind whether your nature’s rotten or painfully earnest. Hard to know how to deal with you otherwise.”
“Wha— what?! What’s with that attitude, when I’m going out of my way to bow my head like this—”
“Right, exactly. Easier to deal with you when you’re like that.”
At that, Sakura’s lips twisted into a pout, and Aya felt some of the tension ease.
“You don’t need to apologize, really. What you said wasn’t wrong, and there’s no need to take it back. Whatever I’ve been through, whatever position I’m speaking from, your situation, as I see it, is still ultimately someone else’s story to me. So I’m just a meddling senpai who thinks she understands you when she doesn’t, and it makes total sense you’d be angry at someone talking like they get it.”
Sakura’s eyes wandered, and she fell silent, apparently unsure how to respond.
Someone able to accept that statement plainly probably wouldn’t have come to apologize like this in the first place.
“It’s fine, you’re not wrong. I’m not angry either.”
Leaving just that, Aya waved and started to walk off.
But this time, a small hand grabbed the hem of Aya’s blazer. Turning around, she found Sakura looking down. Still something she wanted? Worried that asking directly might come off too pushy, Aya searched for words.
“…You don’t need to feel bad about it. If anything, I’m the one who overstepped, sticking my nose in.”
Saying this, she placed a hand over Sakura’s, meaning to gently pry it loose, but the grip only tightened.
Thinking she might have more to say, Aya stayed quiet and waited, but Sakura just kept looking down. Desperation flickered in her wavering eyes. But — even if she still felt guilty, her apology had already been accepted. Aya had already made clear there was nothing to apologize for. Was there really anything left to discuss?
A dozen or so seconds of silence. Students passed by, glancing at them with curious looks.
Eventually, at a loss, Aya let out a breath and gestured toward the road home.
“Want to walk together?”
After a few seconds of silence, Sakura gave a small nod and let go.
They walked toward the station in single file, like a Dragon Quest party. “Take the train?” Aya asked, and got a small “yes” in response. Same route — no need to be overly careful about it, probably.
“…I’ll keep my promise not to talk to you first. That said, if there’s something you want to say, feel free. I’ll listen properly.”
Aya, guessing at the reason behind Sakura’s silence, said this, and felt the breathing behind her go quiet.
Hopefully this would loosen her tongue a little. But she really was surprisingly earnest — which was probably exactly why she’d ended up crushing her own dream, carrying all this alone.
Just as Aya, feeling a helpless kind of sympathy, tilted her face up toward the sky and let out a breath—
“—My mom said it.”
The murmur reached her. Aya’s eyes widened, and she closed her mouth, blinking slowly.
Then she slowed her pace slightly, falling into step beside Sakura, and looked into her eyes.
Feeling a quiet admiration for her having worked up the courage to admit that, but knowing Sakura wasn’t the type who wanted praise for it, Aya asked instead.
“That you don’t have to be the one to become a fashion designer?”
Sakura’s eyes wandered, hesitating even now — but eventually, she nodded.
Seeing that, Aya nodded a few times too, taking in the fact anew. If she’d told her own family about a future dream and been told something like “it doesn’t have to be you,” she might’ve lashed out physically. But Sakura, surprisingly earnest, had probably taken it honestly and let it break her.
“A little after starting high school, we talked about university. That’s when I first told her I wanted to pursue fashion, which I’d only ever done as a hobby before… and she said, what if you go into a specialized field and it doesn’t pan out? What if you learn skills with no other application and then want to quit?”
Sakura said this with tears welling at the corners of her eyes. Aya didn’t interrupt, quietly listening to her confession.
“I couldn’t say anything back.”
Calling it a cruel thing to say might be too simple a take. Her mother’s feelings were, honestly, understandable.
Chasing a dream might be noble and beautiful, but reality wasn’t built out of beauty alone. Sakura was struggling now — but what if her mother had let her go down that path unchecked, and she’d broken partway through as an adult? Someone who’d only learned one specialized skill set would have fewer options than most.
“It couldn’t be helped. My dad failed at expanding his business and racked up a mountain of debt — we were hanging by a thread — and my mom clawed her way to an executive position at her company and managed to turn things around… so she had no choice but to become someone fixated on stability. That’s how she protected the family.”
Aya put a hand on her hip and looked up at the sky. A quiet sigh slipped from her twisted mouth.
Part of her wanted to root for Sakura. But she couldn’t irresponsibly cheer her on either.
And she couldn’t be foolish enough to dismiss a lesson taught by someone who’d once seen hell and clawed her whole family out of it, meant to keep her daughter from falling into that same hell.
Aya groaned, arms crossed. “Mm.”
“Emotionally, I want to be on your side here, Tokiwa. But… I’m really sorry to say this, but I get where your mom’s coming from too. Someone who fought tooth and nail to secure her family’s next meal — of course she’d give a harsh opinion out of concern for her family’s future.”
Aware this might discourage her further, Aya still delivered her honest opinion sincerely.
Worried she’d disappointed her, Aya stole a glance at her face — but surprisingly, there was no trace of ill feeling in Sakura’s expression. She looked at Aya, a little dazed, and murmured, “yeah, you’re right.”
There was a faint color of relief in her eyes. Something like being saved, or reassured.
Noticing this, Aya raised an eyebrow, studying Sakura’s expression, thinking it through.
Relief, from someone not taking her side. Her behavior at lunch. Digging up those memories one by one, Aya realized these seemingly disjointed pieces connected along a single line.
“Ah, I see.”
The murmur slipped out unintentionally, and Sakura’s puzzled eyes turned to her. “…Something wrong?”
“No, nothing major. Just realized I’d misunderstood something.”
To Sakura, tilting her head even more confused, Aya explained.
“I just said I couldn’t fully take your side, and yet, somehow, you looked a little relieved. Same thing happened during our lunch conversation. You never told me who’d said those words to you. I thought that was strange — because you seemed to be defending the very reason you gave up on the fashion path you’d worked so hard toward. But I had it backwards. I misread it.”
Not expecting to be caught, Sakura stared at Aya, startled.
“—You didn’t want me to make your mom out to be the villain.”
How’d you figure that out. Her wide eyes seemed to ask exactly that.
Reading confirmation in that reaction, Aya added, “She’s your precious family. Not an enemy,” and Sakura, hiding her twisting face, looked down. She bit her lip hard, and tears welled at the corners of her eyes.
Wiping her eyes repeatedly with both sleeves, she admitted it in a muffled voice. “Yeah.”
Everything connected in Aya’s mind, and she finally felt her shoulders relax.
“Now I get it. Because your mom matters to you — you wanted to properly take in and face what she said. But you couldn’t find your own answer inside it. So, by giving up your dream yourself, you tried to give it an ending you could accept.”
The moment she’d decided to be on Sakura’s side, Aya had assumed there was some enemy who’d crushed her dream, some cruel words from that enemy causing her pain. But the truth had been different.
When someone you respected raised a problem grounded in real, lived experience, and you had no answer for it — that would naturally curdle into self-denial. Realizing this, Aya felt the problem grow even more complicated in her mind — but also felt relief that Sakura had finally managed to let her feelings out, and gave her back a light pat.
“It’s okay. Nobody’s the bad guy here.”
The moment Aya said this clearly, Sakura grabbed the hem of Aya’s clothes as if clinging to a lifeline, pulled herself close, and hugged her, shoulders trembling in small tremors. Caught off guard by the surprisingly direct display of emotion, Aya still waved off the curious stares from passersby with one hand, and gently patted her back with the other.