The rest of the day passes in tranquility, undisturbed by the ramblings of the Student Council, or any other students, for that matter. Lunch went about as I expected: Miki and Suzu's “friends” didn't show up, leaving me alone to chat with the ladies. I'm not certain I would enjoy their company, anyways. From what rumors I've heard, Takeshi can be a bit of an ass, and Lelouch doesn't do much to suppress him. Not that I'm falling prey to the gossip brigade or anything.
Suzu talked surprisingly little. She seems more like the modest type, preferring to sit back and analyze the situation from afar. I'm not sure why I expected any different, given her membership with the literature club. She tried her best to get me to join, after finding out how much I had read. I politely declined, claiming that it was more a hobby than a real passion. And it was. Just something to pass the time during my stay at the hospital. I can't remember the last time I read anything seriously.
Miki supported my decision, boldly proclaiming her distaste for all things academic. I expected little else, to be honest. As nice as she is, she never seemed to be the studious type; on the contrary, exuberance and a rebellious nature practically oozed from her pores. Admirable, to some extent. It helped her take each day in stride, something I grew increasingly jealous of.
Out of the blue, she asked me the question on our way back to class. “You're coming to the track meet in a couple weeks, right?” There it is again, only making it seem like I have a choice. She'd beat me to a pulp if I said no.
“Uh... yeah, I suppose so,” I answer. “When is it again?”
She taps her chin, counting on her fingertips. Her eyes brightened soon after. “Two weeks from yesterday. If I remember right. Today's the 11th, yeah?”
I check my watch, noting the small date indicator next to the 3 o'clock marker. “Yep, right on the mark,” I respond.
“Awesome, I was right,” she says affirmatively.
Suzu doesn't hesitate at the chance to pick on her. “Doubt? That's a bit odd, coming from you.” Maybe not -exactly- picking on her, but something close enough.
She winks, mouth slightly open in a snarky grin. “Never a doubt, just have to make sure the universe is right for once.”
We waltz into the classroom, taking our seats at our respective desks. Miki grabs at my arm before I manage much farther than her station. “Hey,” she interjects, “running. Today. 15:30 sharp.”
Wait. “15:30? I thought it was at 20:00? That's what Rika told me.”
“Change of plans. I'm making you two my warm-up for track practice. Your ass at the track. Or else.” If I didn't know better, I'd consider that a death threat. “I mean it this time,” she continues, clutching the collar of my shirt. Okay, maybe still a death threat.
“...and if I don't?” I say half-heartedly. Of course I'll show up; from what I've seen of her, the last place I want to be is on her bad side.
She doesn't answer, electing to shoot me a devilish smile, release my collar, and take her seat. I'm left puzzled by her intentions, curious as to just what she has in store for me should I fail to follow through on my promise to run with her. ...bad thoughts, bad thoughts, let's push those away for now.
Mutou strides into the classroom, re-assuming his position at the board. The class pulls out their notebooks, clicks open their pens, and starts to copy down the notes of his continued lecture.
- - - - -
Class goes about as slowly as one would expect. I managed to keep myself awake for the majority, only dozing into dreamland once, maybe twice. Okay, a few times. Given Mutou's common tone of voice - a low, melancholy drone - it's pretty easy.
I throw my notebooks into my bag quickly. The dismissal bell rings at 15:00 on the dot. If I'm going to head back to the dorms, change, and make it to the track before 15:30, I'll need to hustle. And that means no interruptions, no stops to chit-chat, no distractions of any sort.
Of course, the Student Council will have none of that.
“Going somewhere, Hicchan~?” Misha asks, fists resting on her hips proudly. “Why in such a hurry? School just ended!”
I'm not really in the mood right now, thanks. “Sorry, gotta run, have to be at the track soon!” I rush past her so quickly that it feels like I should be leaving a sonic boom in my wake. Heh, maybe I can be the next track star.
Weaving through the crowd of students trying to muscle their way out of the hallways proves difficult. I try my best to be polite, but you can only be so kind when you're literally running through a mob and shoving people out of the way just to minimize injuries. I think I gave up on the niceties after the fifth or sixth person I had to move out of my path.
Once I managed to find my way outside, my progress felt much less impeded. The expanses of the open air proved much easier to navigate in a hurry. With barely anyone left standing in my way, I'm able to make it to my room quickly. My heart leaps in my chest, protesting against my sudden burst of activity. I have to admit, running right before your first track session with a new coach wasn't the brightest idea... Well, guess I'll just have to push it a little harder for once.
I quickly change out of my uniform and into a pair of track shorts, running shoes, and a plain white t-shirt. Gathering a water bottle, a neck-towel, and my phone into a small duffel bag, I head back out the door. My watch declares 15:15, so I don't have much time left to make it to the track. Well, looks like I'm still booking it.
The journey to the track is brief, especially considering my pace. Miki and Rika are already there, changed into the school's black running shorts and red-trimmed v-necks. They're going through a few stretching routines; Miki is bent over with her hands touching the ground, feet spread wide on the ground, and Rika is seated in a butterfly position, pulling her ankles into her groin.
The former notices me on one of her repeated rise-and-fall numbers. “There's our favorite slacker!” she exclaims, rising from her stretching position and placing a hand on her hip. Well, her only hand, at least. I keep forgetting about that. It's honestly rather subtle, given how she acts about it. Which is to say not at all. You honestly can't tell the difference. She continues in a deriding tone, “It's about time you showed up.”
I glance down at my watch, tossing my bag on the bleachers. “I've got 15:29. I'm early.”
She rushes over to the bleachers, pulling a small phone out of her bag. Flipping it open, she checks the displayed time. “Yeah, well I have 15:31,” she declares, snapping it shut. “And I'm the one in charge around here, so you're late.”
I raise my finger matter-of-factly, looking to argue, but Rika cuts me off. Her pale hand grips my wrist from behind, forcing it back to my side. “Better not to,” she says, lifting her ankle up to her rear. “Just take your stripes and go with it. She's too stubborn to bother arguing with.”
Miki folds her arms, her lower lip curling into a pout. It's almost a look of resignation, conceding the point to Rika and admitting it as truth. Of course, I'm too eager to argue. “But it's hardly fair!” I protest, ripping my arm away from Rika's grip. My attention turns back to our running coach. “I'm only a minute late, what's so bad about that?”
She's a bit shorter than I am, but never hesitates to show me just how little that matters. She asserts herself, standing on her toes and pressing her face mere inches away from mine, wrists curled against her hips. You know, if it weren't for the situation, I would probably be incredibly turned on by just how close she is to me. She presses her index finger into my chest, right against my sternum. “Look, mister, if you have a problem with the authority around here, then you'll have to prove yourself.” Her finger pushes into me a few more times, just to make her point clear.
“Prove myself?” I ask. I look at Rika, thinking she might have an answer. The ghost of a girl only shrugs, going back to her stretches.
“A race,” Miki replies. “Beat me and you can do what you want. Lose and we go back to the way things are: mine.”
Part of me wants to take her up on the challenge, just to match her fearlessness. But getting into a sprinting match with a member of the track team seems like asking for more trouble than it's worth. I already learned my lesson with Emi, and Miki's quite a bit taller - and probably faster - than her. As hard-headed as I might /want/ to be, I'm not stupid. I hang my head down low, sighing deeply. “Yes, ma'am.”
Content with the victory laid at her feet, she grins cheekily. “That's what I thought. Now, privates, give me a good half-mile to start off with!”
Rika and I take our positions at the starting line. Half a mile... that's two laps, right? Should be easy. We take off from the line; my partner sets a demanding pace, and I feel an urge to keep up with her. But my legs aren't moving like they should be, heavy as lead from my earlier efforts to make it on time.
By the time I round the second corner the first time, it already feels like I've been running for half an hour. To be fair, I basically have. The third corner is not any easier, nor is the fourth. My breathing intensifies, and that clutching sensation in my chest returns. As I hit the first corner on the second lap, my knees start to give way. I slow to a crawling pace, realizing that I could fall if I keep going.
The sound of pounding footsteps rings in my ears. “Having a bit of trouble?” I look up, hands on my knees, seeing Miki jogging in place at my side.
I elect to just tell her the truth. “Yeah, just... exhausted. I-”
“Exhausted?” she interrupts. “It's only a half-mile, and you're barely half-done!”
“No, no, just... had to run... to get here on time.” I crack a smile, a feeble attempt at easing whatever tension hangs in the air. “Just running on empty.”
The frown painted on her face illustrates disappointment. “So push it into second gear, numbskull.” I only stare at her, bewildered at her sudden display of ferocity and militaristic encouragement. “You're never going to get anywhere if you just fall over at the first sign of defeat.” She points a finger in the direction of the track, chin held high. “Now push it. Push it /hard/. Find your strength.”
I rise off my knees, taking in a deep breath. My legs still feel naturally drawn to the ground, but I think I can make it further. The first step is harder than the last one; I dig deeper, looking for that strength she's talking about.
It doesn't take long. What feels like an eternity of delving deeper into myself turns into a split second of physical activity: my joints churn and creak, slowly but surely into something resembling movement. I up my pace into a steady jog, crawling along the track and rounding the second corner.
Miki catches up to me, not leaving my side. “See?” she says. “You can't improve if you don't push your limits.”
“I... I guess,” I respond between breaths. “Isn't that... dangerous, though?”
“It's how I taught Rika. It's how I'll teach you.” She turns her face back straight ahead, eyes directly forward. “C'mon, we've got a long way to go.”