Blossom Within

 Hiroki asked his father to store the newly bought electric guitar up in the attic.

 He lingered there for a long while, staring at the instrument—his sixteenth birthday present—unable to walk away.

 He hadn't even learned the notes yet, hadn't managed to play a single full song for himself.

 The attic was a mess, cluttered with old schoolbooks, childhood toys, and forgotten family keepsakes.

 A broken fan lay quietly beside a cracked picture frame, collecting dust.

 Hiroki picked up the worn,out guitar manual Mr. Takumi had lent him, his eyes fixed on the tattered cover—its faded letters barely legible after years of wear.

 He drew in a deep breath, then tossed the manual into the pile.

 It landed with a dull thud, quickly swallowed by dust.

This place was a treasure trove of Hiroki's old memories.

And for now, it would also be the resting place of his dream—a temporary home for the passion he hadn't yet grown into.

 But only for now.

 With quiet resolve, he whispered to himself:

 "I'll come back for it."

 Once everything was settled, Hiroki rushed downstairs. Yuna was already waiting by the front door.

She raised a hand and greeted him with a cheerful, "Hi!" before pointing straight ahead and mimicking a running motion on the spot. Hiroki couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiastic display.

 They had been planning this training session together for the past few days. Hiroki had even scribbled his own name on the sign,up sheet for the upcoming school sports festival.

That's right—he had given in, swayed by her honest confession. He couldn't bring himself to say no again. A quiet determination stirred within him to help her redeem herself after that painful loss.

 Yuna was dressed in a matching athletic outfit—practical and full of energy. Hiroki, on the other hand, showed up in just a hoodie and a pair of comfy shorts. But at least both of them wore proper running shoes.

 They strolled along the road, taking in the peaceful scenery. The scent of fresh grass hung in the air, blending with the golden fragrance of ripened rice from the sprawling fields.

 It was still early. Children were playing on the roadside, their bright laughter echoing through the village. A few adults passed by, leisurely carrying harvested rice or leading cattle toward the fields.

 A narrow canal ran quietly alongside the road, its clear water reflecting the wide blue sky. Yuna spread her arms and walked along the canal's edge. The rustling of bamboo l eaves and the gentle ripple of the stream filled their ears.

 They chose a starting point at the base of a small embankment. Hiroki rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. After a brief warm,up, they began running.

 A few laps around the village wasn't a big deal at first, but by the tenth lap, they were utterly drained. Even breathing felt like a challenge.

 Halfway through, Yuna collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving like a fish out of water. She had come in full of confidence, yet here she was—falling before Hiroki did.

 "Hey… Wait for me," she panted.

 Hiroki didn't stop, though he was nearly out of energy himself. Her breathless voice echoed in his ears, and he finally slowed his pace. Turning back, he reached out a trembling, sweaty hand.

 She took it anyway.

 For a second, he could feel the softness of her palm—small, warm, and delicate like a newly bloomed flower. He found himself wanting to hold onto it just a little longer.

 They rested on the grassy bank, settling into a patch of soft green. The fatigue slowly melted away, leaving only calm breathing and the mellow glow of the afternoon sun.

 Below them, the river surface lay still, reflecting cotton,like clouds drifting across the sky. The breeze stirred the clouds slightly, and soon their attention was caught by colorful kites dancing in the distance.

 Hiroki walked down to the water's edge, crouching to look at the kites' reflections in the stream—red, yellow, purple.

 Back when he was a kid, he only ever flew plain white ones with his father. His eyes sparkled at the sight.

 Yuna appeared behind him at some point, her hands clasped behind her back and her head tilted upward.

 "Today feels really nice, doesn't it? Look," she nodded toward the opposite bank, "those kids over there are flying kites." 

 Hiroki slowly lifted his gaze to the vast blue sky, eyes fixed on the colorful dots drifting high above.

 "Sometimes I wish I could be one of those kites," Yuna added, her voice gentle. "Just soaring up and away… But I bet the landing would hurt like hell. Fufu."

 Noticing how entranced he seemed, her tone softened even more. "Hey, Hiroki. You want to try it, don't you?"

 "Eh? Oh—no, I'm good."

 "Liar. I can see how into it you are."

 She turned to look at the kids across the embankment. Her gaze distant, dreamy. "Come on. I've been wanting to try too."

 Before he could say anything, she grabbed his hand and tugged him across the rocky stream. Hiroki stumbled behind her, trying to keep up as they wobbled over the stepping stones.

 Soon, they made it to the other side.

 With just a few words, Yuna managed to borrow one of the kids' kite reels. Hiroki also got one, but it had been so long since he last flew a kite that his hands trembled with every tug, causing his to crash straight into the grass.

 Meanwhile, Yuna's kite soared effortlessly into the sky. She steered it like a pro, smooth and confident.

 The kids swarmed around Hiroki, laughing and yelling directions, some clinging to his hands, trying to help.

 At last, the red diamond,shaped kite rose into the wind. He watched it go, a swirl of nostalgia and emotion rising in his chest. Yuna's laughter beside him was gentle, soothing. Every now and then, she glanced at him with eyes full of approval and warmth.

 The moment felt quietly magical.

 It reminded Hiroki of things once lost but never forgotten—memories of his father, of childhood, of Yuna. Of running.

 Why was he running? Maybe it was because she kept pestering him. Maybe it was because of the tears she shed in that green field.

 Maybe it was simply because she wanted him to.

 But in the end, there was only one answer:

 He ran for her.

 Just like now, he let the first kite fly—for her.

 Suddenly, a loud honk rang out in the distance. The sound of bike tires thudding against dirt grew closer.

 They turned toward the noise.

 A group of boys stood across the canal—Shimaki, Kizuha, Kairo, and a few others, all forming a wall on the embankment like some kind of army.

 "Look who it is!" Shimaki cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.

 Startled, the kids around Hiroki and Yuna scattered, clutching their kites and running away.

 "Class rep! Vice rep!"

 Yuna stepped forward, brows furrowed, placing herself beside Hiroki. "You scared the kids away."

 "So what? Want to keep playing with toddlers?" one of them jeered.

 Hiroki said nothing, scanning their faces. The group blocked the path back, clearly not planning to let them leave easily.

 Shimaki continued with a mocking tone, "Looks like your bikes aren't around. Don't tell me you two walked here together?"

 "Aw, how romantic," Kizuha added.

 "Didn't you guys sign up for the relay in the festival?" Kairo cut in.

 "Oh yeah," Shimaki smirked. "Training together now, huh? Since when did you two get so close? Yuna, don't bother running—you've got us to watch. Isn't that enough?"

 "Not your business," Yuna snapped, clearly irritated.

 Shimaki shrugged. "Ever since Ryusei left, you've been sticking close to this guy."

 There was a pause—like someone had touched an open wound.

 Hiroki glanced at Yuna. Her eyes dropped.

 "…Don't bring up Ryusei," she murmured.

 "Even with me right in front of you, I'm still not enough? Still not worth your attention?"

 "…"

 Kairo stepped in to break the silence, throwing out a cocky grin. "Next time, just sit back and watch us take first place. Good luck, turtles!"

 "Dead lasttt~!" Kizuha teased, drawing out the words with a sneer.

 Yuna clenched her fists, cheeks burning with anger.

 The water between the banks rippled faintly.

 Suddenly, Hiroki crouched down. His hand dipped into the rushing current.

 "You don't know anything," he muttered under his breath. Shimaki barely had time to say, "What the hell—" before Hiroki splashed a wave of cold water right at him and his crew.

 While they flinched in shock, Hiroki grabbed Yuna's hand and sprinted through the shallows, dashing toward the path above the embankment.

 Yuna couldn't help but stay back for a split second to toss another splash in their direction, giggling like a troublemaker.

 They ran—full speed, hearts pounding, laughter echoing.

Hands gripped tightly, refusing to let go.

 Hiroki didn't know where they were heading. He only knew he wanted to run far away from the sneers, from the taunts—and to keep holding her hand.

 Of the thirty-six stratagems, "to run away is best."

 Now Hiroki finally understood what that meant.

 At least, it might come in handy next time things got messy.

 And from now until the day of the festival—He would run with her. Every single morning.

….

 The entire schoolyard was alive with color and noise. Red, blue, and yellow flags fluttered proudly in the wind, hung across every corner of the campus. Students from all classes wore their sports uniforms, each outfit adorned with headbands or scarves in their class colors. The stands were packed to the brim, bursting with cheers and applause that fused with the blaring opening whistle, marking the start of the festivities.

 Hiroki stood near the starting line of the relay course, a water bottle in hand. Beside him, Yuna was stretching, her eyes fixed on the soccer field, where a friendly match was underway. The energy was electric, with loud cheers erupting from students of every grade.

 Shimaki, Kairo, and Kizuha were the stars of the match, slicing through the field like the wind. Their swift passes and expert footwork drew gasps and cheers alike. Shimaki made a spectacular breakthrough past the defenders and landed a clean shot into the goal, shifting the score to 2:1 in favor of Hiroki's class.

 In the stands, students who weren't participating held up brightly decorated banners reading "Class 2-3 for the win!" Flags waved, drums thundered, and the energy surged through Hiroki like a jolt. He felt more alive than ever.

 But before the match reached its climax, Hiroki and Yuna had to leave for the track and field area to prepare for the relay race.

 They arrived just in time as the teams were lining up. Athletes stood at their starting positions, gripping the relay batons with tense focus.

 Hiroki took his spot as the final runner, lacing up his brand-new shoes, hands clenched, eyes locked on the track ahead.

Inside, it felt like a drumbeat was echoing in his chest.

 "3... 2... 1... Go!"

 The whistle blew, and the runners shot forward like arrows. The crowd held its breath, tracking every stride, every baton pass.

Stumbles and sudden mishaps sparked waves of gasps and roars from the spectators.

 During Yuna's leg of the race, one runner tripped and skidded across the track.

Hiroki watched her intently, silently praying she'd stay focused. And miraculously, she did. Her eyes never left the track. She delivered the baton faster than anyone else before collapsing, hands on her knees, drenched in sweat—but smiling with pride.

 Then it was Hiroki's turn.

The baton brushed his fingers, and he seized it like a spark had ignited inside him.

 He surged forward, blasting off the line with all his strength. Around him, runners with longer legs and more experience quickly pulled ahead.

 A tall boy overtook everyone, with a girl following close behind, bumping Hiroki down to third.

 Gritting his teeth, Hiroki pushed his body harder. But his speed had already peaked. The world blurred around him, except for one thing—Yuna. She stood at the finish line, her eyes locked on him.

 Her hopes, her long,cherished dream, the jeers they'd once endured together—they all surged inside him. He wouldn't stumble. He couldn't.

 In his mind, he saw Yuna running beside him, her hand reaching out to grip his. The feeling gave him new strength.

 With a final burst, Hiroki pushed beyond his limits. Pain dissolved under sheer willpower. It felt like fire lit his chest.

He tore through the final stretch, overtaking his rivals, crossing the finish line with the ribbon snapping across his chest.

 He had won.

 Slowing down, legs shaking, Hiroki barely stayed upright. The crowd roared, but it all blurred—except for one thing.

 Yuna.

 She ran to him, threw her arms around him without a second thought. Her face buried in the crook of his neck, drenched in sweat. Their breaths mingled, fast and heavy. Gently, Hiroki wrapped his trembling arms around her, pulling her close.

 "You did it, Hiroki," she whispered, voice thick with emotion, fingers clutching his soaked shirt.

 Hiroki nodded again and again, a quiet, beaming smile blooming on his lips as he ran his fingers through her hair. "Yeah. I did it... We did it, Yuna."

 Leaning against the bench where Yuna sat, Hiroki downed his bottle and wiped his face with a towel. His hands still trembled as he opened another bottle and handed it to her. They rested, chatting about the day's events while watching the baseball match from afar.

 Then came Ms. Sakamoto, jogging toward them in her sporty red,and,white track outfit, her smile radiant as ever.

 "Yo! Class rep and vice rep!" she grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Our two champions!"

 "Oh no, not really," Yuna said modestly. "We only joined for fun. Everyone worked hard today."

 "Exactly! The whole class was amazing. And Hiroki, thank you."

 She patted him gently on the shoulder, her face soft and proud. Hiroki waved a hand awkwardly, trying to hide his bashful grin.

 "It makes me so happy to see this side of you. Keep it up! Youth needs energy and spirit if you want to achieve great things later in life!"

 Yuna giggled and nudged Hiroki with her elbow. Flustered, he stumbled through his reply. "Uh... th,thank you, Mrs. Sakamoto. I'll do my best next time too."

 "Good. Now come with me. It's time for your speech."

 Behind the stage curtain, Hiroki clutched his crumpled speech notes. The crowd's murmur seeped through the fabric, and the spotlight cast sharp lines across his anxious face. This was the big moment. He had been chosen to represent the honor students in the closing remarks—a responsibility heavier than any race.

 Backstage, Ms. Sakamoto made her rounds, checking in on each student set to speak. She paused to review Hiroki's speech one last time, offering reassurance and warmth.

 Taking a deep breath, Hiroki stepped into the light. The stage glowed in ceremonial splendor. The school emblem hung above, and behind him, a massive banner read: "Sports Festival and Gratitude Ceremony."

 The room fell silent. Hundreds of eyes locked on him as he reached the podium. His heart pounded. But in the sea of faces, he spotted one that calmed him instantly—Yuna. She was there, watching only him.

 His speech began with a few shaky stumbles, and whispers rippled through the room. But slowly, Hiroki found his rhythm. His voice steadied. The sincerity in his words silenced the crowd. From gratitude to determination, from hardship to triumph, Hiroki spoke from the heart. Everyone listened. In truth, it wasn't as hard as he'd imagined. When you speak honestly, people listen.

 As he finished, thunderous applause filled the auditorium. It washed over him, easing every last doubt. He bowed deeply, relief flooding through his limbs, and stepped back to join the other speakers.

 Then came the award ceremony.

 Hiroki was called again—first place in the relay. The medal glinted under the lights. Cheers erupted, students shouted his name.

 Other results followed. The soccer team—once the pride of Class 2-3—had finished second. A pang of regret passed through Hiroki. Even without Ryusei, Shimaki and Kizuha had played their hearts out. He watched Kizuha accept the runner-up prize with a sour expression.

 But his thoughts were interrupted when Kairo accepted second place in baseball. Just like every year—solid, but not spectacular.

6.3:

 As twilight draped the schoolyard in soft amber, the Sports Day announcements faded, and students dispersed to their classrooms to tidy up. The boisterous energy of the day dwindled to scattered footsteps, punctuated by occasional laughter echoing across the field.

 Hiroki and Yuna stood beside Ms. Sakamoto near the organizers' benches, clutching a thick envelope filled with the class's prize money.

 "Use this not just for the class fund," Ms. Sakamoto advised. "Do something meaningful with it—you all earned it today."

 Torn between options, the two returned to the classroom buzzing with discussions about the results. Hiroki cautiously opened the envelope, his expression thoughtful.

 "Have you figured it out yet?" Yuna asked.

 He shook his head. She decided to ask everyone in class to ensure a fair decision. Meanwhile, Hiroki noticed that Shimaki Kurosawa had been missing since the soccer match. Remembering their near,victory and his likely disappointment, Hiroki sought him out.

 He found Shimaki, Kizuha, and Kairo standing in a quiet corner near the sports shed. Shimaki had a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Hiroki approached slowly, resolved.

 Kairo waved and called out, "Hey there, class rep champ!" leaning casually against the wall.

 Hiroki remained impassive. Was this mockery or genuine praise? He reminded himself of the task at hand: to discuss the prize money.

 Shimaki shifted uncomfortably, then stepped forward.

There was a charged silence between them. Instead of hurling insults, Shimaki gently tapped Hiroki's shoulder and finally admitted softly, "You…ran great. Like a pro."

 Hiroki raised an eyebrow but replied coolly, "I know. You were good, too."

 "Honestly," Shimaki continued through a scratchy throat, "if we had given it just a little more…" he trailed off awkwardly.

 Kizuha chimed in, "Yeah, but this time it was just a slip-up!"

 Shimaki kept going, "Hiroki—we're sorry for pranks earlier… And, uh, tell Yuna I said sorry, too." His words were simple but unexpectedly sincere. Hiroki paused, then nodded. The tension melted. Their old grudge no longer mattered.

 Hiroki made a swift decision: the prize money should bring everyone together. What could be better than a celebratory class party?

 "Exactly!" Kairo cheered excitedly.

 That evening, class 2-3 gathered at a cozy, nearby restaurant. The air was thick with the aroma of charcoal-grilled meats, colorful sushi platters, and steaming hotpots at the table's center. Laughter and clinking dishes filled the room. As the party wound down, Kairo stood, raised his cup, and thanked everyone for their efforts. Shouts of "Kanpai!" echoed as glasses rang together.

 Watching his classmates enjoy themselves, Hiroki felt a connection he hadn't expected. Tonight wasn't just a party—it was a milestone marking a new way he saw friendship, community, and himself.

 In the final weeks of the term, Hiroki found himself more involved. He chatted and played games with other boys, embraced his role as vice class representative, and earned Ms. Sakamoto's trust. She'd even given him more responsibility, always with a proud look. He felt like he was truly growing alongside Yuna—equal in friendship, effort, and spirit.

 That summer's end, sixteen came and went calmly. With no more obstacles before him, Hiroki decided it was time to revisit his dream.

 In the dusty, dim attic, he found the electric guitar and lesson book his grandfather, Mr. Takumi, had gifted him weeks ago. Dust coating the book's cover gave him a wave of nostalgia and emotion. His father quietly leaned against the stairs, watching, nursing a drink in silence.

 That night, Hiroki clutched the guitar like a treasure.

In his dream, he stood in a vast field, the deep,blue guitar in hand. A sudden storm erupted—gusting wind, cold rain, lightning ripping across the sky, thunder thundering like grand chords.

 Then he played.

 His fingers danced across the strings, weaving fierce, thunderous melodies that clashed beautifully with the storm. It felt like his music could cleave the night. In the midst of that wild freedom, he felt an urgent hope: his song might reach her—someone whose soul resonated with his. Jun! If you can hear me, bring your pure, angelic voice back here and rekindle life's beauty with me.

 Within the tempest, he discovered companionship in the storm itself. Every chord, every thunderclap pulsed with his grief, longing, and burning hope. He vowed: one day, he would go searching. One day, he'd return—and they would reunite.

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