Ren still remembered last night on Namiki Slope. He'd laughed while running down it with Sota, then buried his face in his pillow when he got home, and thought it over and over again—*ah, I really do love Hinata*—like he was confirming it for himself. Sota had told him the confession was a rumor. So he could say it. Today, he'd show his running, and then he'd say it. He'd speak it out loud, properly. He'd had that resolve. And yet—the moment he stepped onto the track, his legs trembled. "5 days until the prefectural qualifiers" was written by hand on a piece of paper taped to the clubhouse wall. This morning, Ren had arrived at the track earlier than anyone else. He'd stretched, done some easy runs, checked the angle of his starting blocks, adjusted them again—in short, he couldn't settle down. During warm-ups, his eyes drifted toward the stands. There. Water-colored long hair stood out starkly in the morning light. Kirishima Yui was holding up a handmade sign board—cardboard with something written on it in permanent marker—both arms stretched as far as they could go. She'd claimed the front row, dead center of the stands, and was waving at him with a full-force smile, swinging her arms back and forth. The board read in huge letters: *"Sakuragi-senpai will DEFINITELY stay on the team!!!! FIGHT————!!!!!"* The design practically burst with the force of a shout, and the other team members were buzzing around it—"Who made her do that?" "One of the underclassmen?" "Something amazing showed up..."—and Ren nearly lost his balance the moment he put his foot on the starting block, the strength draining from his legs. "[laughing] Your eyes look scary again today, Sakuragi," His shoulder was slapped hard. It was Sota. Red mesh streaked through his black hair, catching the morning sun. His golden eyes were laughing. The guy who'd picked him up on Namiki Slope last night was here beside him again today. "[sarcastic] Shut up," "[laughing] But that really does work, mentally. The underclassman brought a huge board," "[serious] I wasn't looking," "[sarcastic] You were totally looking," "[angry] I said I wasn't looking, so I wasn't!" Sota laughed again. The trembling in Ren's legs eased a little. He didn't know if it was because he went limp when laughed at, or if it was just that Sota's laugh was impossible to hate. His gaze shifted. Hinata was standing near the first-leg zone on the track. His silver short hair swayed in the wind. He was taking quiet, deep breaths in front of the starting blocks—whether he hadn't noticed Ren or was deliberately avoiding his eyes, Ren couldn't tell. The trembling in his legs came back. Today he'd speak through his running. First he'd run. Then he'd say it. Ren exhaled deeply and quietly. --- Coach Togawa's "Take your positions" echoed across the clear May sky. The starting gun fired. Hinata exploded forward. It was perfect. From the first step of his start, the angle at which he kicked the ground was sharp, and the way he ran through the first leg was so beautiful it made you fall in love with it every time you saw it. Ren listened to Hinata's footsteps while getting into his receiving position. The May morning at Minatoura, sea wind crossing the track. The baton zone was approaching. Ren extended his right hand backward. Hinata's hand came—and in that instant, Ren stopped completely. He was trembling. Hinata's fingertips were trembling slightly. Everything Ren had talked about with Sota last night, everything about gripping the charm the whole time—it all vanished in a moment, and only one fact transmitted through his palm: *this guy is nervous too*. The baton pass between them that had been off all through practice—right now, in this single moment, it meshed perfectly. He received it. He gripped the baton like he was gripping back. He ran. The legs that had sprinted up Namiki Slope hundreds of times every morning spun faster than ever today. He rounded the corner, heading for the handoff zone with the third leg. Sota had his arm extended, waiting. The timing matched—a crisp *snap* sound reached his ears. Perfect. Sota took it and accelerated explosively, passing it to Fujimi Takumi for the fourth leg. The time appeared on the electronic scoreboard. It far exceeded the standard time. "Yeah—!!" someone shouted. The team members cheered. He could see Yui's board shaking violently up and down from the stands. Coach Togawa, arms crossed, narrowed his eyes just slightly. That expression only came when he approved. The team's roster spot was confirmed. Ren stood in the middle of the track, breathing hard. His breath was still ragged. His knees were shaking slightly. His lungs were burning. Sweat had plastered his bangs to his forehead. *(Now or never.)* The moment he thought it, his feet were already moving. He walked through the cheers. Teammates patted his shoulder. "Sakuragi, you did it," "That was great," "As expected"—all those voices faded into the distance. Hinata was standing there. Silver short hair. Eyes as clear and cold as ice, blue eyes looking at Ren. Ren stopped. Normally he'd laugh and say "piece of cake." That was the face he'd built for himself. Laugh, deflect, act tough—but not today. He took one breath. He was trembling. He knew it before the words even came out. "[serious] Hinata," Hinata's body stiffened slightly. "[serious] I like you. I have for a long time," His voice wavered awkwardly. He was more nervous than before the relay started. But it came out. It became words, properly. The track fell silent. Someone said "huh?" He thought he heard it. Yui clutched her support board to her chest, and he heard her gasp. Sota whistled. Hinata's face turned red in an instant. All the way to his ears. The mole at the corner of his mouth moved every time his lips trembled. Water welled up slowly in his blue eyes. He started to say something—his lips opened slightly. But no sound came out. Then he turned his back. He ran. Ren stood there, dumbfounded. But—Hinata's ears as he ran away were redder than the sunset. That single fact breathed quietly in Ren's chest. *Smack*—his back was slapped. "[laughing] Go after him. You're faster anyway," Ren looked at Sota's face for one second. His golden eyes were laughing. The same eyes that had reached out to him on Namiki Slope last night. Ren turned on his heel. He left the track, passed through the school gate, and ran toward Namiki Slope. --- Namiki Slope: 600 meters long, 12 percent grade. The ginkgo trees lining both sides swayed faintly in the evening light. May in Minatoura, warm wind rising from the direction of the sea. Ren ran. In his track spikes, he kicked up the asphalt. He didn't know how many times today he'd pushed his legs to their limit. Still, his body moved. The top of the slope came into view. A figure was there. Silver short hair. Hinata. He'd run away, but hadn't managed to escape—his feet had stopped at the top of the slope. He was facing toward the sea, his shoulders trembling slightly. Ren ran up. "[serious] Hinata," Hinata's shoulders flinched. He didn't turn around. Ren couldn't find words to corner him either. He couldn't say "what's your answer" or "what about it." He just stood beside him and watched the sunset together. Beyond Minatoura Harbor, the water of Suruga Bay was dyed orange. A small boat floated near the breakwater. The wind rustled the ginkgo trees, and a few leaves fell at their feet. Silence continued. But it wasn't an unpleasant silence. Not angry silence, not rejection—something else entirely. A quietness of holding something with nowhere to put it. Hinata's ears were still red. For the first time today, Ren was certain of the reason he couldn't turn around: *it wasn't because he was hated*. After a while, Hinata spoke in a faint voice. "[serious] ...Make sure you practice properly for the prefectural qualifiers the day after tomorrow," His voice was wrung out, facing forward. He didn't look at Ren at all. But those words were directed at him. Silence again. "[serious] Yeah," He answered shortly. That was all. The answer hadn't come yet. Hinata's feelings hadn't become words. But after running faster than he ever had in his life, Ren was standing at the top of Namiki Slope with him. Another ginkgo leaf fell between them. The wind blew. It smelled like the sea. In the distance, the harbor lights began to come on, one by one. The answer still wasn't there. But Ren had already confirmed it—that he wasn't hated. Five days until the prefectural qualifiers. Two races were beginning to run simultaneously from the top of this Namiki Slope: Hinata's answer, and the team's real competition.