TLPSO 10

chapter 10:

 The Sports Festival and Our First “Conspiracy”

At the end of September, under a piercingly clear autumn sky, Seiryo High School’s annual sports festival was in full swing.

The field was a sea of color, each class wearing their own uniquely designed T-shirts, and the air was alive with cheers echoing into the blue. Of course, as a member of the newspaper club, I was supposed to be dashing around with my camera, searching for a scoop.

…That was the official story, anyway.
In truth, my lens had been trained on only one person the entire time.

The class relay race.
Naturally, the honor of being the anchor fell to none other than Kirishima Rei—blessed with exceptional athletic ability, he was the obvious choice.

“Rei, we’re counting on you!”
“With Kirishima, victory’s in the bag!”

His classmates slapped him on the back, and he gave a cool, composed nod. “…Yeah.”

But I could see it—what others couldn’t.
Behind that calm expression, he was struggling under the crushing weight of everyone’s expectations. His fingers trembled ever so slightly; his breathing was just a little too quick.

(I hope he’ll be okay…)

I remembered what Yuto had told me—how much blood, sweat, and effort Rei had poured into everything. I couldn’t let all that be swallowed by pressure. Before I realized it, I had set down my camera and was running toward him, standing ready at the starting line for the final leg.

“Rei!”

He turned in surprise at the sound of my voice. His eyes reflected a tension he couldn’t hide.

Catching my breath, I whispered softly—just loud enough for him to hear:

“Don’t look at anyone else.”
“…Huh?”
“Just look at me. I’ll be watching you—until the very end.”

It wasn’t just a cheer.
It was a secret spell—words only I, who knew his weakness, could give him. A charm meant to turn the “curse” of everyone’s eyes into the comfort of my gaze alone.

For a moment, Rei’s eyes widened, as if he’d forgotten to breathe.
Then, the tension within them slowly dissolved, replaced by a quiet, crystal-clear strength.

Without a word, he gave one firm nod.

A sharp bang!—the starter pistol cracked through the air.
Yuto, the third runner, passed him the red baton, and Rei shot forward as if released from all restraint.

He was fast—so fast it was as if he existed in a different dimension.
With graceful, powerful strides, he overtook one runner after another.

Every eye on the field was fixed on him.
But he no longer feared their gaze.
Instead, he turned it into fuel—running like the wind itself.

And when he crossed the finish line in first place, his eyes didn’t turn to the shouting, celebrating classmates.
They found me—standing by the track, watching only him.

He was swept into a whirl of cheers, classmates crowding around to congratulate him.
I stood a little apart, my chest swelling with emotion as I watched.

Then, through the crowd, Rei found me.
Just for a heartbeat, he lifted the corner of his mouth in a small, secret smile that no one else noticed.

It was a smile of victory—shared between the two of us alone.

(This isn’t just observation anymore.)
My heart was racing, but I knew it for certain.
(This is our secret story—just his and mine.)

That day, we stopped being “observer” and “observed.”
We became accomplices—sharing both a secret and a victory.