Early the next morning, the last traces of night had only just completely receded, draping lazily over the horizon like a layer of translucent deep-blue gauze.
The entirety of Advanced Nurturing High had yet to fully awaken. Only the occasional crisp birdcall, drifting down from the lofty treetops or the eaves, served to accentuate the profound tranquility of the early-morning campus.
However, in stark contrast to the stillness pervading everywhere else, the various sports grounds of Advanced Nurturing High had already begun to stir with a faint clamor. Students belonging to the athletic clubs, along with others similarly pursuing physical training, had begun arriving at the grounds one after another.
Having come to the sports ground bright and early, Fuyuji Mikage drew a deep breath. The crisp, clear air—carrying the cool moisture of night dew and the faint, earthy scent of vegetation just beginning to stir—flooded his lungs and jolted his spirit wide awake.
He crouched down and tightened his shoelaces, then rose back up. Gazing out at the students already running up ahead, he patted his own cheeks and pumped himself up with a rallying cry.
"Well then... here I go!"
After swiftly and briefly completing his warm-up exercises, he expelled that final breath. Fuyuji's toes suddenly drove into the ground with explosive force. The rubber granules beneath his soles produced a faint friction sound, striking the early-morning silence like a drumbeat.
Yes—after going around in circles, spending a hefty chunk of points treating his senpai to meals, enduring what amounted to an octagon-style brawl on top of that, and finally carrying his senpai back to her room under the bewildered stares of a crowd of students, Fuyuji had ultimately returned to his starting point: honestly and earnestly training his body.
Among the plethora of athletic activities, running—simple yet highly efficient—had naturally emerged as the clear winner. Wasn't there a saying? As long as you keep alternately swinging your left foot and your right foot forward, you'll eventually reach the finish line.
On the four-hundred-meter sports ground, Fuyuji felt decent for the first lap. His strides were brisk, his breathing steady and unhurried. He even had the spare leisure to curiously size up his surroundings.
Those wearing professional athletic wear, their movements standardized and fluid—they were likely members of the various sports clubs, alternating between warm-ups, anaerobic muscle training, and aerobic endurance training, maintaining their own rhythms.
The remaining small handful—visibly gasping for breath—were probably just like Fuyuji, here for the Sports Festival or that cross-campus race's five million prize, cramming at the last minute to build up some stamina.
After an indeterminate stretch of time, the sunlight began to grow somewhat harsh, and the temperature crept upward in silence.
Gradually, Fuyuji began to feel the strain. His previously fairly steady breathing grew difficult to control. The back of his throat turned dry and tight. Every time he lifted a foot, it felt abnormally heavy.
Yet, because that stamina-recovery buff of his had kicked in, a warm current—flowing through the crisp, grassy morning air—coursed through his organs, and a steady, unending stream of energy began to well up. This meant that Fuyuji wasn't collapsing from lack of stamina. It was the fatigue of running and the accumulation of muscle soreness that was wearing him down.
"Huff... huff..."
Sweat rapidly soaked through his bangs and the back of his shirt. The cool morning breeze, blowing against his sweat-dampened skin, now brought an unpleasant, sticky discomfort. Fuyuji continued running at a steady, unhurried pace.
"Huff..."
Damn it all. Why, in this world, is physical ability one of the metrics for measuring a person's capabilities?!
A noble magic caster unit like myself, actually reduced to coming here and training my body just like those warrior brutes!
No wonder mages in novels are mostly physically frail weaklings. If you can raise your abilities just by sitting down, why on earth would you go out of your way to torture yourself?!
Still, complaints aside, Fuyuji continued dragging his feet forward and running.
Just then, a voice—calm and almost entirely devoid of ripples, accompanied by an exceptionally steady breathing rhythm—sounded abruptly to his right rear.
"Overly long strides increase the impact on your joints, which in turn worsens bodily fatigue. Relax your shoulders a little. Synchronize the depth of your breathing with your stride."
The moment the words landed, Fuyuji's expression darkened. He turned his head and looked to his side.
There, clad in a simple grey athletic outfit, was Horikita Manabu. His face neither flushed nor breathless, he had effortlessly caught up with a running posture of textbook precision and fluidity, now moving alongside him.
Only a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead. His breathing was steady and unhurried, his eyes focused straight ahead, as if those words of guidance just now had been nothing more than idle chitchat.
"Huff... huff... Why... are you here?"
"Same as you." Horikita Manabu kept his eyes forward and continued speaking to Fuyuji. "Normally, when the Student Council has no pressing business, I go for a morning run. However, since I've agreed to go all-out against Nagumo, it's only natural that I prepare myself in peak condition."
As he spoke, Horikita Manabu turned his head and swept his gaze over Fuyuji's body from top to bottom. His calm voice carried a trace of surprise. "When you told me before that you'd never studied martial arts—was that actually the truth?"
"Why would I lie to you?" Fuyuji shot back through gritted teeth, panting.
His body was so exhausted that, right now, he couldn't even muster a counterattack against the mere Water Bottle Hero Plus.
"That's good, then." Horikita Manabu withdrew his gaze and looked forward once more, his tone as flat and unruffled as ever. "Exercise is one of the very few endeavors where effort is guaranteed to yield rewards. At this school, being accomplished in both academics and athletics is merely the baseline. I still have some relevant materials left. If you have need of them, you can come to me for them."
"Keep them for yourself. Or give them to your little sister." Fuyuji refused crisply and decisively.
Please. If I wanted to learn, I could just go to Senpai, couldn't I? And I could even get some snuggle time with her.
Horikita Manabu pushed up his glasses and analyzed rationally. "As for Suzune—if I handed them to her, I fear she would waste an excessive amount of time on this area, which does not align with—"
"Alright, alright."
Fuyuji hurriedly cut off his endless rambling, waving a limp, exhausted hand as if shooing away a fly. "How come I never noticed before that you, the Student Council President, were this much of a nag? And so talkative too! Get going, get going!"
"Very well..."
Seeming somewhat reluctant to leave things unfinished, Horikita Manabu swallowed the words that had reached his lips. His stride frequency abruptly quickened, and in an instant, he had pulled a considerable distance ahead of Fuyuji.
Then, just as Fuyuji thought he was about to vanish into the distance, Horikita Manabu suddenly turned his head. The corner of his mouth seemed to tug upward with the faintest, most imperceptible trace—forming an arc almost impossible to capture. Calmly, he dealt Fuyuji a parting glance over his shoulder and flatly uttered three words—"Do your best"—before accelerating once more. In no time, he had become a tiny black speck in the distance.
Fuyuji Mikage: "..."
Was that a provocation? That was definitely a provocation, wasn't it? Or was this payback for the last time I shattered your perfect image in your little sister's heart?
Horikita Manabu, does your little sister even know you have this passive-aggressive side to you?!
For a moment, a surge of righteous indignation actually welled up within Fuyuji's heart. Truly, a tiger fallen on the plains is bullied by dogs. A dragon stranded in shallow waters is mocked by shrimp!
However, roughly five minutes later.
That familiar footstep rhythm, carrying a hint of metronomic precision, drew near from behind once more.
Fuyuji's heart seized. Before he could even turn his head, a tall, lean grey figure once again, like a precise pendulum, effortlessly overtook him from the left rear.
As he swept past, Horikita Manabu's gaze flicked over his flushed face, and he once again left behind a single, utterly unruffled:
"Do your best..."
Harassment number two!
Another five minutes passed.
Gazing into the distance at that figure charging straight toward him with methodical, unrelenting purpose, Fuyuji quickened his pace in despair.
"AAAAARGH—!"
The two silhouettes deadlocked on the track for a brief moment. After maintaining a shoulder-to-shoulder pace for a dozen or so meters, the grey figure once again mercilessly overtook him with an unstoppable momentum.
"Do your best..."
Harassment number three!
...
The early-morning wind swept past his ears, carrying a chill as it tousled Horikita Manabu's sweat-soaked bangs.
After overtaking Fuyuji yet another time, a faint, barely perceptible smile surfaced on Horikita Manabu's face. His speed, accordingly, slowed a notch.
In his assessment, Fuyuji's physical condition was not poor. One might even say it was excellent. After all, the average student could not sustain running at that speed for such an extended duration.
It was simply due to a lack of technique, insufficient body control, and the fact that he had already been running for quite a long stretch before this—those were the only reasons he had been lapped so many times.
His thoughts reaching this point, Horikita Manabu made a slight adjustment to his breathing rhythm, swung his arms, and returned to his previous speed.
At his current pace, he would catch up again in roughly three minutes.
Just as Horikita Manabu had completed one deep breath and was preparing to accelerate once more—
"Whoosh—!"
A human figure—like a rocket that had suddenly ignited its thrusters, or an out-of-control dump truck—shot past Horikita Manabu's side at a terrifying speed, carrying an aura of unyielding resolve and the sound of panting so urgent it cracked the voice itself!
The fierce gust buffeted Horikita Manabu's cheek, leaving him with a faceful of exhaust.
Why had he suddenly upped his speed like that?
Once he recognized that the figure ahead was Fuyuji, Horikita Manabu furrowed his brow and couldn't help calling out a reminder. "Running that fast all of a sudden will throw off your breathing rhythm."
"There's a perverted blond chasing me from behind!"
Flinging that single sentence back over his shoulder without so much as a backward glance, Fuyuji spread his heels and bolted forward in a mad, desperate sprint.
Blond?
As if suddenly realizing something, Horikita Manabu hurriedly looked behind him.
There, amid the multitude of running students, a shock of dazzling blond hair gleamed and sparkled beneath the sunlight, impossibly conspicuous.
The Student Council Vice President, Nagumo Miyabi, wore his signature playful smirk. The moment he spotted the two figures running up ahead from afar, the muscles of his thighs instantly bulged and expanded, erupting with astonishing power as he charged toward them at a speed so fast it was visible to the naked eye!
"Yo~ What a fateful coincidence, you two!"
"..."
After a silence lasting precisely zero-point-one seconds, Horikita Manabu wrenched his head back around. Without the slightest shred of hesitation, he made the choice that sprang purely from bodily instinct!
He, too, sprinted forward at maximum speed.
The fierce wind howled past his ears. Footsteps pounded like a rainstorm, crashing chaotically and violently against the ground.
Mid-sprint, Fuyuji turned his head and spoke to Horikita Manabu, running shoulder-to-shoulder beside him, with utter disdain. "He's here for you! Go deal with him!"
"No. He explicitly said he was looking for the both of us. You share responsibility as well." Horikita Manabu pumped his arms furiously, finding the breath amid his sprint to retort.
"You're definitely the main target. You're the senpai. Hurry up and handle him."
"We are both students of Advanced Nurturing High. There is no essential difference. By all logic, Nagumo should, on the contrary, not do much of anything to you, his kouhai."
"You go!"
"You go instead..."
Even as the two shoved responsibility back and forth, they nevertheless, in perfect tacit understanding, kicked their speed up yet another notch.
Seeing this, Nagumo—trailing half a lap behind—felt his eyes light up with sudden, brilliant intensity. He slicked back his trademark golden hair with a dashing sweep of his hand, and his lips split into a wildly confident grin. His voice brimmed with excitement.
"Ho~! So you're saying you want to race me right here? What a clumsy, straightforward provocation... Interesting! I, Nagumo Miyabi, accept this contest of speed!"
As his words fell, the former ace of the soccer club's thighs detonated with explosive force, and he shot forward like a bolt of lightning in pursuit.
On the track, the two figures up ahead had, at this moment, completely cast aside all past grievances. At an unprecedented, astonishing speed, they sprinted side by side with desperate, all-out effort—as if a man-eating beast were chasing them—blowing past everyone ahead.
A short half-lap behind them, another silhouette pursued the two with equally astonishing speed.
"Oi, those..."
At this moment, the other students still exercising on the sports ground had unanimously noticed this astonishing scene, halting their steps in stunned amazement.
"Kono speed..."
"If I remember correctly, those two should have already been running for quite a long while. And they can still hit speeds like that?"
"Wait... those two are—"
The students who had started chatting about it swiftly identified two of the figures.
"As expected of you, Nagumo-kun! Do your best!"
"The other one's the President. No wonder..."
"I heard they're planning to compete at the Sports Festival. So that's why they're here? This is going to be a good show."
A scattered handful of students also recognized the identity of the last figure. But under the overwhelming topic of the current Student Council President versus the next Student Council President, such observations were naturally drowned out in the buzz of discussion.
Amidst the howling gale of the headwind rushing toward him, Fuyuji stole a rapid glance at the blond pervert gradually closing in from behind, and keenly realized that this could not continue. Against Nagumo, whose stamina was still at its peak—Horikita Manabu aside, he himself would eventually be caught.
Therefore...
A cold gleam flickered through Fuyuji's eyes. In a flash of lightning, he violently arrested his outward-leaning body, drove his right foot hard into the ground, and executed a sharp turn without the slightest hesitation or drag. His entire body shot off like a stone launched from a slingshot, breaking away from the track's trajectory and bolting at full speed toward the nearest exit of the sports ground.
"You two have fun! My morning workout is over—!"
Almost within the very same millisecond that he veered off, the grey figure beside him executed an identical maneuver. The posture carried not a trace of competitive desire—only the pure, unadulterated survival instinct of fleeing from trouble.
"Why are you sticking to me like some kind of plaster?! Aren't you the Student Council President?! Go PK that guy behind us!"
"This is merely a morning workout. I've already reached my training quota for today." Horikita Manabu defended himself.
"Student Council President—you're not actually scared of that blond guy, are you?"
"Nothing of the sort..."
Just then, an increasingly unhinged voice rang out from behind, like a soul-chasing demonic wail. "I see! So it's the final sprint now, is it? Let's compete, then! The winner will be me!"
"..."
Fuyuji and Horikita Manabu didn't even need to exchange another glance. That creepy declaration hit them like a bucket of ice water. A chill shot up both their spines simultaneously. Their scalps prickled with numbness.
In wordless unison, the two once again detonated the very last dregs of their remaining potential, pushing their speed to yet another peak. They sprinted with desperate, life-or-death intensity toward the exit, now right before their eyes!
The morning breeze swept past the empty exit, carrying with it the lingering clamor from the sports ground and the crisp scent of vegetation.
Fuyuji was the first to stumble out through the exit, closely followed by Horikita Manabu right at his heels. Wiping away the sweat blurring his eyes, he gazed out at the morning sun, now fully risen over the horizon.
Golden light spilled across the silent rooftops of the school buildings. A few white doves flapped past the clock tower's spire.
Licking his cracked, dry lips, Fuyuji tasted the metallic tang of blood still lingering at the back of his throat. His aching, leaden muscles still throbbed and twitched. Yet something scorching, something vividly alive, was stirring deep within his chest, reawakening with each fierce, pounding heartbeat.
Thus, the curtain fell heavily upon his first-ever morning training session—amidst the breathless silence and the undying cheers still echoing from the sports ground.
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