The day wore on with event after event until lunchtime approached, and with it came the much-anticipated 400m race. For our group, this was more than just another event—it was a chance to stake our claim in the rankings. Everyone except Ryan and me had signed up for it. Julian, Ethan, Zach, Owen, Logan, and Adrian were all ready to give it their all. This wasn't just a race; it was a clash of titans within our own circle.
Julian might be the favorite, with Owen close behind. Ethan was the dark horse, often underrated, while Zach had a way of pulling surprises out of nowhere. Logan and Adrian seemed to join less out of ambition and more because they felt they should. Still, everyone was on edge as the heats began. With so many participants, the races had to be split into heats, with the top two from each advancing to the finals after lunch.
I couldn't help but laugh a little at the situation. "It's weird, isn't it?" I muttered to Ryan. "We're supposed to be teammates, but half of us are in separate squads, yet here we are competing like it's life or death."
Ryan smirked. "Yeah, but you know this is just how we roll. Friendly fire makes us better."
The first heat felt almost unfair. Julian, Zach, and Logan were up against two second-years. I didn't recognize the second-years, but something about their determination made me think they could pose a challenge. The whistle blew, and the runners exploded from the starting line. Zach surged ahead, leading the pack. Julian and Logan were close behind, while the second-years refused to fall too far back. Every step was a fight, every stride a testament to their resolve.
As they reached the final curve, Julian pushed himself harder, closing the gap between him and Zach. Toe to toe, stride for stride, until finally, Julian edged ahead, crossing the finish line first with Zach right behind him. Logan came in third, but he didn't seem to care much about the result. He was already chatting with Nina, probably blaming the pitch for his loss, though he wasn't slow by any means. Logan rarely ran in soccer, being our central defender, but he had held his own.
I sat down next to Zach and Julian as they caught their breath. At first, I considered complimenting them, but that felt too formal, too impersonal. Instead, I smirked and teased Zach. "Are you for real, Zach? We're three points behind Ryan's team. You'd better pull out a win in the finals!"
Zach grinned back, giving me a thumbs-up. "Okay, Ace! But don't forget, you're up for the 800m soon. I'll be saying the same to you."
"Take it as a compliment, you asshole," I retorted with a laugh. "I'm not claiming I'll win every race, but I'll give it my best."
Julian chuckled, a genuine laugh that reminded me of the bond we all shared despite the competition.
The second heat was Ethan's turn, along with a third-year, a second-year, and a first-year from Class 1-C, which was allied with our Class 1-A. Points from the 1-C runner would contribute to our total, so I found myself hoping both Ethan and the 1-C guy would advance. At the same time, a nagging thought crept in: was it wrong to hope Ethan would lose to benefit the team? Was I being selfish? Maybe this was just how people naturally thought, but it felt strange, even unsettling. I brushed it off, trying not to dwell on it.
The whistle blew, and the runners bolted. The third-year took an early lead, widening the gap with every stride. Ethan and the 1-C runner fought hard for the second position, managing to stay ahead of the others. In the end, the third-year finished first, with Ethan securing the second spot for the finals. The 1-C runner came in third, close behind, proving himself a strong competitor.
The third heat featured Owen, Adrian, a third-year, and two second-years. Owen seemed like the clear favorite, but Adrian's athletic build couldn't be dismissed despite his usual role as a goalkeeper in soccer. As the whistle sounded, Owen took the lead right away, his pace unmatched. Behind him, the others battled fiercely for second place. Adrian pushed harder than I'd ever seen, managing to edge out the others and secure his spot in the finals alongside Owen.
With that, the stage was set. After the girls' 200m final and lunch, the ultimate showdown awaited: five of my friends against a formidable third-year.
We stayed to cheer for Neha, a girl from our class, in the 200m final. I hadn't really noticed her much before, despite being in the same class. She wasn't the fastest compared to the boys but dominated the race by a large margin. For her opponents, it felt like they were chasing a shadow as she crossed the finish line far ahead. Her victory pushed our team into second place overall, just behind the third-years.
I caught sight of Zach clapping a little louder than usual. It wasn't the first time I'd seen him talking to her lately, especially since the sports day preparations began. I couldn't blame him—Neha had been drawing attention with her quiet focus and undeniable talent. Yet, she remained a mystery to me. I never bothered to strike up a conversation, though something about her poised presence seemed worth knowing.
After lunch, the atmosphere on the field shifted. The chatter quieted, the buzz of casual conversation replaced by the electric anticipation of the finals. The finalists took their places at the starting line: Ethan, Zach, Owen, Julian, Adrian, and the towering third-year who had dominated last year's championship.
I lingered on the sidelines with Ryan and Lena, my focus split between the runners and my own scattered thoughts. The race hadn't even started, but my mind had already spiraled into a tangle of contradictions. Turning to Lena, I voiced one of them, trying to keep it light. "Lena, is it normal to hope your friend loses so your teammate can win? Or am I just…evil?"
Lena blinked, caught off guard, but before she could respond, Ryan let out a loud laugh. "Man, you've got me thinking about that too. Do I cheer for Julian? Zach? What if Owen wins and makes it complicated? Honestly, my money's on—nah, can't even pick."
"Keep it down, Ryan," I said with a grin, shaking my head. "Don't need you starting a civil war in the stands."
Lena chuckled softly, her gaze thoughtful as she replied. "It's not evil. It just means you care about both sides, in a way. That's what makes it hard, right?"
Before I could answer, the announcer's voice boomed across the field, calling the racers to attention. All six crouched into their positions, their focus razor-sharp. The whistle cut through the tension, and they were off.
The third-year surged ahead, his stride powerful and precise, like a seasoned predator chasing its prey. Behind him, Julian and Zach pushed hard, their movements almost synchronized as they vied for the lead. Owen stayed close, his expression determined as he fought to maintain his position.
A wave of cheers crashed down as they entered the final stretch, voices rising with every desperate stride. On the final stretch, Julian found another gear, his form tightening as he poured everything into a last desperate sprint. He closed the gap but couldn't quite overtake the third-year, who crossed the finish line with a triumphant stride. Julian followed mere seconds behind, securing second place with an effort that left the crowd on its feet.
Zach and Owen were neck-and-neck in the final meters. For a moment, it seemed Owen might edge ahead, but Zach leaned in at the last possible second, snatching third place by the slimmest of margins. Ethan and Adrian followed soon after, their exhaustion palpable but their determination unshaken.
They slowed to a halt, their heavy breaths blending with the cheer of spectators. Before we could reach Julian, he was already surrounded by his classmates, cheering and swarming him. And just like that, both our first-year teams climbed past the third-years on the scoreboard. Maybe it was for our good that the third year who just won isn't in the team who were up until top if it were, we weren't going on top anynow.
As the 800m event drew closer, the air around the track seemed to thicken with tension. Runners stretched, jogged, and prepared themselves for what was sure to be a grueling test of endurance and speed. Among them were familiar faces: Julian, his jaw set with quiet determination; the third-year, flanked by a few of his friends, exuding the same confident presence that had won him the 400m; two second-years; and then, of course, there was me.
The whistle blew, signaling us to take our positions. My heart thudded in my chest as I stepped onto the track. Four laps. Four chances to prove myself, or to crumble under the weight of expectations—both my own and those of the crowd watching from the sidelines.
We crouched at the starting line, the world narrowing to the white lanes ahead and the sound of my own breathing. Then, the sharp blast of the whistle.
The race began.
The third-year shot ahead, his long strides setting an aggressive pace. Julian and I exchanged a glance before falling into step just behind him, matching his rhythm as the first lap unfolded. The crowd was a blur, their cheers a distant roar as we rounded the bend.
The second lap was a battle of strategy. The third-year maintained his lead, his pacing impeccable, but Julian and I were determined not to let him widen the gap. My legs burned, my lungs protested, but I kept pushing, knowing this wasn't the time to let up.
By the third lap, fatigue began to creep in. The rhythm of the race shifted as the distance started taking its toll on everyone. I could feel Julian beside me, his breathing as labored as my own, but his resolve unshaken. Ahead, the third-year was still in control, though his stride seemed to lose its earlier ease. The second-years had faded into the background, the gap widening between them and the top three.
And then, on the final lap, everything changed.
The third-year started strong, but as we entered the last stretch, his pace faltered—not dramatically, but just enough for Julian and me to close the gap. I didn't know why he was holding back, but I didn't have time to question it. This was my moment.
Summoning every ounce of strength I had left, I surged forward, my legs screaming in protest as I pushed past him. Julian followed close behind, his own determination evident in every stride.
I crossed the finish line first, collapsing into a crouch as the cheers erupted around me. Julian followed, his expression a mix of exhaustion and bewilderment. The third-year came in third, jogging across the line with an unsettling calmness for someone who had just finished such a brutal race.
Julian stumbled over, both of us gasping for air as we tried to make sense of what had just happened. "Did you see that?" he panted. "He pulled back. He could've had it, but he—"
"I know," I interrupted, shaking my head. "It doesn't make sense. He was ahead, no way he just—"
Our conversation was cut short as the third-year approached, his steps measured, his gaze fixed on me. Sweat glistened on his brow, but his composure was unnervingly intact.
"You're quite the runner," he said, his voice low but clear. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, it felt like he was seeing something more than just my performance on the track. "I hope what I hear doesn't become true."
With that cryptic remark, he turned and walked away, leaving Julian and me rooted to the spot, our exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
"What… what does that even mean?" Julian muttered, his confusion mirroring my own.
"I don't know," I replied, my gaze following the third-year as he disappeared into the crowd. "But I don't think it's good."
The sports event was nearing its end, and the day had been nothing short of remarkable. Lena snagged second in discus throw, Logan and Owen dominated with first and second in both javelin and shot put, and Jake—quiet and almost invisible all day—secured a surprising third in discus.
Even with all the excitement, my thoughts kept circling back to the third-year's words and that unsettling look he'd given me. Still, the atmosphere around us was electric, something I never thought I'd associate with a school event. Everyone seemed caught up in the moment, and for good reason.
The final event—the 4x100m relay—was about to begin. It would decide the champions, putting the top three positions on the scoreboard into sharp focus. Right now, we were in the lead, just five points ahead of Ryan and his team.
Honestly, without the girls on our team, we wouldn't even be in this position. They'd carried us in event after event, while Ryan's team leaned heavily on the boys for their points. Now, with ten points up for grabs for first place, eight for second, and five for third, this relay wasn't just a race—it was the deciding factor.
We couldn't let up now. Everything was riding on this.
With all the other events wrapped up, the entire school turned its attention to the relay—the final act of the sports event, the moment that would cement the standings on the scoreboard. The field buzzed with anticipation, every conversation pointing toward the runners.
The relay brought together two girls and two boys from each team, making up 24 runners, each with a singular purpose: to win. The sight of the school's fastest athletes gathered on the same track was almost surreal. If anyone didn't feel the weight of it, they were probably in the wrong place.
Our team had Neha and a girl from C Division—Claire, running for the girls, with Zach and me completing the lineup. Ryan's team was equally stacked, with Owen and Julian anchoring their squad alongside two skilled runners from their division.
Of course, it wasn't just us. Harrison stood ready, representing his team with his usual quiet determination, and among the runners, the third-year from before was here too.
When my eyes met his, he glanced away almost immediately, but not before I noticed the people beside him—his friends, probably. They weren't subtle about it either. Their stares weren't hostile, exactly, but there was something about them I couldn't quite place.
I broke the stare, shaking it off. It wasn't the time to get distracted. This wasn't just another race—it was the culmination of everything today had been building toward.
There were no rules dictating the order of runners, but a natural strategy seemed to unfold—the first and last legs were always given to the boys, leaving the middle two for the girls. Zach was set as our first runner, squaring off against Owen and the other teams' sprinters. That meant the final leg—the deciding stretch—would fall to me. Julian, the third-year guy, and Harrison would all be in the mix.
I knew my limits. I wasn't a pace-runner—not the kind to break records or push past seasoned sprinters like Julian or the third-year. But one thing I could promise: I wouldn't break the pace. My job was simple. Finish what the others started. So, it all came down to Zach, Neha, and Claire.
As the runners lined up for the first leg, the tension was palpable. Zach's focus was razor-sharp. Owen, standing in the lane beside him, looked equally determined. The whistle blew, and they were off.
Within moments, Zach and Owen surged ahead, pulling away from the pack. The crowd roared as they tore down the track, neck and neck. The gap between them was barely noticeable, a mere breath. Their strides were almost synchronized, each refusing to yield an inch to the other.
Zach handed the baton to Claire with precision, her start smooth and clean. Beside her, Owen's teammate launched into the run with equal vigor. Claire pushed forward, her steps gaining momentum as she leaned into the curve of the track. She wasn't just keeping up—she was closing the gap.
By the time the baton passed from Claire to Neha, things shifted. Neha took off like a bullet, her form a blur of motion. This was her stage, her moment, and she owned it. With every stride, she stretched the gap between us and the other teams. By the time she approached me, we were in the lead.
I took the baton, feeling its weight—not just physically but symbolically. This was it, the final leg. The noise from the crowd faded into the background as I locked my focus on the track ahead. Julian was behind me, and I could sense his determination pressing close. The third-year guy wasn't far off either, and Harrison was trailing but still giving it his all.
"One step at a time," I told myself. I wasn't built for speed, but I wasn't about to squander the lead Neha had worked so hard for. Every runner mattered. Every leg mattered. The team's effort was in my hands now.
Julian was closing in. His footsteps grew louder, and for a moment, I thought he might overtake me. But I pushed harder, my breath burning in my chest. The finish line was in sight, and with one last burst of effort, I crossed it. First place.
Julian followed closely behind, his effort unmistakable. The third-year guy came in third, his composure unshaken despite the loss. Another third-year team claimed fourth, their runner collapsing into their teammates' arms. Harrison finished fifth, a respectable placement, considering the competition. The final second-year team rounded out the group, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and relief.
The roar of the crowd washed over me as I slowed to a stop, the baton still clutched tightly in my hand. Ten points. We'd done it. The relay victory cemented our place at the top of the scoreboard, but more than that, it proved something—everyone had a role to play. This wasn't just about me or Neha or Zach or Claire. It was all of us, working together, pushing each other to be better.
As I caught my breath and looked around at the other runners—some triumphant, some dejected—I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of unity. In this moment, we were all part of something bigger. The relay might be over, but the day's echoes would linger long after the final whistle blew.