Track. Tunnel. Dressing room. The world slips in and out of her consciousness as she feels herself being carried. She slowly comes to in a soft light, Masaru inches in front of her face.

  “G-Gah!” She spooks hard and flings herself upright.

  “Goutarou-san! She’s awake!”

  The man slowly turns from the other end of the room. Masaru hands her a bottle of water, which she immediately downs half of. The sensation of cold water rushing down her throat feels like heaven.

  “If I am being honest… You’ve made the impossible happen.” Goutarou makes his way to the room. “This performance has defied all expectations. Good job. With that said…”

  He gestures to a wax-sealed letter on the desk, with Tracen’s emblem on it. Normcore springs onto her feet, her heart skipping half a beat.

  “The trainer from the other day came to visit!” Masaru grins wildly. “You were out, though, so he gave his congratulations and left.”

  “That so, huh?” Norm practically snatches the letter from the table with trembling fingers. She can hardly keep the paper clasped in her hand, practically dropping every second as she fumbles with the envelope. She delicately unfurls the wax seal, careful not to damage the print. Her eyes are glittering with the look of stars.

  “I got in!” She shrieks, a shuddering, slightly feral gasp leaving her throat. “By the goddesses! I’m in!”

  “You did it!” Masaru tackles her on the spot, a violent toppling sending them both crashing to the floor. She lets out a hearty laugh, ignoring the stinging pain in her back and pulling her closer. It was one thing to know that she was free, it was a whole other sensation to see it with her very own eyes.

  “While I hate to interrupt, I must remind you that you’re not done for the day yet.” Goutarou’s voice cuts through the air. The two lift their heads with a puzzling look towards him, ears perked up in curiosity.

  “The others are already practicing for the post-race concert. In addition, there are quite a few reporters outside who would like to get your side of the story. If you wish to be timely in sorting out these ordeals, I suggest you get a quick move on.”

  “I see…” She lets out a resigned sigh before pushing Masaru off her. She wobbles to her feet and turns to the mirror. “Guess I should sort out my appearance before I meet the paparazzi.”

  “Yup, you’re practically famous now.” Masaru grins and pops up from behind her. “Gotta look the part. Let’s get that country bumpkin vibe off ya.”

  She steps into the tunnel once more, the light blinding. The air felt clean, fresh; brimming with the scent of dew… or was it her imagination? Either way, her headache had disappeared entirely or pushed to the back of her mind. She plasters on a confident smile and barely takes one step forward before being bombarded with questions.

  “Miss Normcore! Over here!” A college-aged man with a notepad pushes his way to the front. “Congratulations on your podium finish!”

  “T-Thank you-”

  She can barely squeeze out a response before a symphony of statements boil over. She can feel the blood slowly drain from her face, her smile becoming rigid at the corners of her mouth.

  “Le Vent Se Leve was by far the favorite today, but you managed to lead for a good half the race. I think we can attribute that to the unbelievable first spurt on the turf, so what’s your secret?”

  “I-” Norm blinks, her ears going into a slow, hesitant droop. “Well, I’m… I’m usually a turf runner, so I guess you can call it home field advantage…”

  A loud gasp goes up in the crowd as reporters begin furiously scribbling on their notepads. Another reporter worms her way from the front, poking her head and arm out of the bunch, the mass making their way even closer.

  “What sensational tenacity in that final spurt! Tell us, please, how did you manage to muster the strength to make such a miraculous comeback in the dying moments?”

  “W-Well, I…” She chuckles, scratching the back of her head. “I only had one thought in the back of my head at that time, and that was to finish the race, so-”

  “I see, so you were determined to make a statement, was it?” A third reporter cuts her off. “What’s the astounding drive that pushes you forward? Is it family? Prestige? Recognition? To prove that small town runners like you can make it on the big stage?”

  “W-Whoa, hold on please-”

  Too many questions. Not enough time.

  She gives an awkward chuckle, stepping back with her ears pinned to her skull. Her eyes dart around desperately, looking, searching for anything- before finally turning towards Goutarou, who stood at the far end of the tunnel.

  With a sigh, he comes up and steps beside her.

  “One at a time, please. She’s had a rough day.”

  She finally manages to catch her breath. “Thank you.” Norm whispers.

  “So, about that-” The reporter begins again.

  “Y-Yes… I suppose it’s about proving myself to the world.” She nods. “The result mattered less than the resolve I mustered to get there. I wanted to prove to myself that I could make it to the end and that I have what it takes to make my way to the top.”

  “Where do you plan to go next, Miss Normcore?” A loud mouthed reporter yells from the back. “Do you plan to return to Nationals? Do you plan to apply to more prestigious academies?”

  “I…” She gulps, clenching her fist in front of her chest, her heart pounding. Returning to Nationals was far too low a bar. Winning a G1 race sounded like the reasonable answer to give. Telling the world that she was now Tracen’s student sounded like a reasonable thing to do.

  But she was not a reasonable person.

  “...Will become the next Triple Tiara winner!"

  A genuine flinch of astonishment runs through Goutarou as he turns to face her. A collective hush rushes over the reporters… before the noise explodes tenfold.

  “Do you think you have what it takes to beat the best runners of this generation?”

  “Yes! I do!”

  She bites back without hesitation. She had worked up the crowd into a frenzy now, the excitement erupting like an active volcano. The reporters were furiously scribbling now, cameras flashing against her from every direction. She musters a big, brimming smile and raises her hand for the photos, praying to the Three Goddesses she didn’t look like an idiot.

  “Sir! You must be her trainer. Tell me, do you-” A zealous reporter rides the chaos like a surfboard as he turns towards Goutarou.

  “I am not.” He raises his hand and slowly ushers Norm behind him. “I am her chaperone for this trip.”

  “I-I see. Is her trainer not available to make the trip?”

  “He is currently… indisposed.” Goutarou replies. A hushed silence rushes over the crowd again, drawn to the drama like sharks to blood. “It is an internal matter in the academy.”

  “You mean because he FORGED MY RACE RECORDS!”

  Norm suddenly shoves past him, her eyes burning with a spiteful hatred. A third gasp goes up the crowd again, and this time… Goutarou lets out a long, long sigh.

  “The fact that I am even HERE is his fault! I won today with NO THANKS to him! Of all the people I’ve met, he’s the worst, most incompetent trainer in the history of-”

  “That’s enough.” Goutarou wraps an arm around Normcore and tries to pull her back into the tunnel.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  “No! The world needs to know the piece of-!” She squirms free and rushes to the front of the tunnel. With one hand, she reaches to her right shoulder, grasping her trackwear tightly before-

  WHOOSH.

  She lifts the tracksuit off with one fell swoop and slams it onto the floor, wind rushing over her pristine white skin. A mortified silence washes over the crowd as streaks of bright red welts line her body in patches of scarred skin, practically glowing with the anger that was making her see red.

  “Here! Here! And here!” she yells, pointing to her shoulders, then her back. “I had to endure this abuse every day for the last six months! I have a limp because of him!”

  She catches Masaru’s worried look in the corner of her eye. She ignores it.

  “I’ve been silent! For years!” She screams, to nobody in particular. Her voice cracks with emotion as she lifts her watering eyes. “Eating cold vegetables! Sleeping outside on the benches! Running laps at two in the morning! The school knew! And they did nothing about it!”

  Her voice was starting to draw attention from around even the stadium.

  “No more! I’ll be silent no more-”

  Normcore suddenly tilts forward in a lightheaded daze. She stands there, chest heaving, the defiance in her eyes flickering, only to be replaced by a shell-shocked thousand-yard stare. Goutarou, sensing the stunned silence, slowly reaches a hand out and ushers her back.

  This time, she doesn’t refuse.

  “I’m sorry, everyone. She’s in shock at the moment.” He gives an apologetic wave. “No further questions, please.”

  The moment they round the corner, Goutarou positions himself in front of Normcore, retreating back to the dressing room like he had a live grenade in his hands.

  “Masaru,” he says quietly, “get her a robe.”

  She darts ahead, snatching up a spare garment hanging on a wall hook and draping it gently around Normcore’s shoulders. Normcore doesn’t even notice how badly she’s shaking until the robe starts trembling over the skin. Her eyes are wide - unfocused, lost, drifting somewhere between fury and void, her breath coming in short, unsteady gasps.

  “...Norm?” Masaru whispers softly. “It’s… It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  Her ears give a soft, twitching spasm. She slowly pulls the coat closer, her ears plastered to her skull.

  “That was,” Goutarou begins, his back pressed to the cinderblock wall, arms folded tightly across his chest, “an ill-advised outburst.” He doesn’t flinch from the glare Masaru shoots him—a look sharp enough to draw blood. “Albeit an understandable one.”

  “You spoke the truth, Norm.” Masaru softly runs her hands over her shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’ve got your acceptance letter.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” Goutarou sighs.

  The two girls turn towards him at once. One with a look of confoundment on her face, the other looking like she’s ready to commit murder.

  “This story,” he says, his voice devoid of all judgment, “will be on the front page of every major sports magazine by next morning.”

  “So? She’s right!” Masaru protests.

  “No doubt. Kentaro’s career is now conclusively forfeit. But understand this- your proclamations have just moved the investigation from closed offices to the eyes of the public. ” He adjusts his glasses with a slow, deliberate push of one finger. “Tracen will no doubt learn of this. While I doubt it would void your admission, it was…”

  He lets the sentence die, a long, controlled exhale hissing through his nose. The fluorescent light washes over the lenses, turning them into twin, opaque sheets of white. He finally pushes off the wall and gestures toward the exit with a sharp tilt of his chin.

  “Come. She needs space.”

  Masaru turns towards Norm, opening her mouth to argue. Goutarou doesn’t respond, simply shaking his head in one final gesture. Reluctantly she stands, her tail giving one last, agitated swish as she funnels herself out the door after him, leaving Normcore alone with the click of a door.

  “Subtle as a brick.” Steam practically billows out Masaru’s ears as she stomps down the tunnel, her voice dripping with venom. “Couldn’t even wait five minutes to start chastising her, huh?”

  “She is strong, but she is not untouchable. She needs to know that continuing down a path of a standout, even if she is correct, will only bring trouble.”

  “So?!” Masaru’s voice rises an octave higher than usual. “What’s she supposed to do? Stay silent just like you always did, huh?”

  “The investigation is underway. Kentaro has already been removed from his job.” Goutarou doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t acknowledge her charged spear thrust of a challenge. “The matter is simple- She performed an act of catharsis for her own wellbeing off an impulsive instinct. And now she will have to deal with the fallout.”

  “You…” The two make their way out of the tunnel and by the track, continuing past the stands and where the crowd of reporters once stood. Masaru races to catch up, a surge of red hot rage bubbles up from beneath her eyes as her bangs fall over them in shadows. “Don’t you see?! That’s what lets them keep getting away with it! That’s what always lets them cover things up! That’s what they want us to do, to be obedient, to be all nice and compliant and-”

  Gouratou’s voice drops to a sudden hush.

  “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.” His jacket billows in the wind. Silently. “Normcore lashed out at not just Kentaro but also the academy, and she will by no means come out unscathed. It is something that I have seen time and time again, and I will not allow it to happen under my watch.”

  He reaches out a finger, pointing his index finger square towards her hairpin.

  “Drastic measures come with drastic consequences, and you both need to understand that before either of you makes a decision that ruins your life.”

  Silence. A soft breeze runs through the air, Masaru’s words dying in her throat.

  Clank, clank, clank. The sound of an aluminum can hitting the floor echoes through the air. She spooks hard, spinning on a pivot to watch an empty coffee can roll across the cement; the one she had bought for Normcore. It had been idly placed on the trash can when she had finished it. Wordlessly, Masaru walks over and puts it back in the bin.

  “This problem is hers to handle, and I believe in her as much as you do.” She watches as Goutarou pulls out his phone. “I’d prefer it, however, if she didn’t raise more trouble for herself than she needs to handle.”

  He picks up the call and puts the phone to his head. Masaru turns on her heel, the rubber soles of her sneakers squeaking softly on the concrete floor as she stalks down the tunnel towards the dressing room.

  “Norm?”

  She pushes the slightly ajar door open, its hinges whining softly.

  The crumpled robe lies in a heap on the floor where Norm had let it fall, the half-empty water bottle gone from the bench. The letter and her belongings were nowhere to be found. Masaru’s heart skips half a beat- she had been gone for three minutes tops. She had pulled off another disappearing act and evaporated from existence.

  “Where the hell can she be…” Masaru softly rubs the bridge of her nose.

  There was only one possible answer.

  The soft singing flows through the air followed by the hum of music. Masaru gingerly peeks through the doorway where she could see a large mirror against the far wall, where the racers were now dressed in their stage uniforms.

  “Ichiban mezashite… next challenge, kasoku shite yukou-”

  She could spot Le Vent Se Leve leading the vocals in the front, her eyes sweeping across the dim-lit room. Normcore was a podium placer, she should’ve been singing to her right, and yet…

  “Shouri no megami no-”

  Her eyes settle on a patch of silvery gray in the far corner.

  “-muchuu ni saseruyo…”

  There she was, already dressed in her stage costume and struggling to do the splits. Cold sweat covers her forehead as she strains against the floor, straining her body even further past its protesting creaks.

  “Norm.” She hurries over, the gaze of several confused onlookers piercing into their backs. “What are you doing back here? You’re supposed to be up front.”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice comes back in a strained gasp as singing continues in the background. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

  “Y-You sure? You don’t need help with the music?”

  “-Make Debut!” Le Vent Se Leve’s voice echoes through the stage.

  Norm didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the mirror, where Le Vent Se Leve was performing. The spot to her right gaped like an open wound.

  “Look. I’ll just practice my routine from back here.” Norm mutters, lowering her gaze against the floor. “It’s fine. I’ll get it right when the performance comes.”

  She was too far to reach in the race and she didn’t feel like being any closer now.

  “Wh- no! That’s not how it works, Norm! You need to-” Masaru hisses, only to be cut off as a shadow falls over her.

  “Who’s this? I thought only performers were allowed in the practice area.”

  The city girls had formed a proper barricade around the two, their gazes dripping with pure contempt and venom.

  “C-Can I help you?” Masaru stutters.

  “Yeah. Scram.” The lead girl puffs her chest out with the air of a prideful peacock. “You’re not allowed to be here.”

  “Hey. Leave her alone.” Normcore springs up almost immediately, only to clutch the backside of her thigh as lets out a wince. Her stage uniform rustles as she shields Masaru behind the impractically big skirt.

  “Doesn’t matter, rules are rules. If she won’t leave, we’ll call the-”

  The city girl’s snide remark is suddenly cut through by a loud clap. The sound of footsteps echo against the floor as the stage manager comes into view.

  “Positions, everyone! What’s the holdup? You! Why are we all gathered at the back?”

  The barricade parts like the red sea. The city girls were barely concealing their grin now, a glistening dose of schadenfreude plastered on their faces that practically screamed “you’re in so much trouble”.

  “You!” He points at Norm, his arm crossed. “The performance is starting in two hours. We need to get our rehearsals out, stat! You’re supposed to be by the lead!”

  His voice falters as his gaze settles on Masaru.

  “You. You’re not stage personnel or a performer.

  “I-” Masaru frantically scurries away. “Sorry. I’ll leave!”

  The last thing she sees as she approaches the door is Norm being led up next to Le Vent Se Leve.