“...Hi.”

  Her greeting sinks like a rock in a pond. She can feel the heat crawling up the base of her neck now, a hushed silence washing over the room.

  “That’s great, dear! Thanks for joining us!” The teacher speaks up with a loud clap, a cheerful tone in her voice. “Have a seat!”

  “Ah. Uh…” She turns back to the classroom with a loud gulp. There are empty chairs. Plenty of them. Well… were. An echoing cacophony rings through the air as girls beeline for their chair, a dozen daggers cast in the direction of her silhouette.

  Her ears slowly droop.

  In the blink of an eye, the once-empty classroom becomes filled to the brim. What empty seats remain seem to quietly mock her, and the rest is not an invitation.

  She gingerly eyes one open in the center of the class-

  WHAP!

  A girl slides a hand across, glaring as if daring her to take it.

  “Okay.” Norm mutters under her breath, pretending she’d never intended to sit there in the first place. “I guess not.”

  Her ears give a faint twitch as she spots a familiar figure by the window. Her eyes light up like bulbs, her spine straightening in an instant. There, in her Tracen Uniform, was Le Vent Se Leve, eyes half-lidded with her head propped up on her elbow. Relief floods through Norm’s body as her tail gives an optimistic swish.

  She tries to catch her attention. Her hand comes up half a wave, half a claw. It hangs in the air and trembles. It conveys one message only.

  Please help me.

  Slowly, Leve lifts her head. The two lock eyes across the room, Norm’s lips curling into a silent scream. Her pupils dilate aggressively as she funnels every wordless plea into a single gaze, praying to the three goddesses that her savior would be sitting before her.

  We’re teammates.

  We ran together this morning.

  That has to mean something. Please.

  Her pleas fall on deaf ears. Not a flicker of recognition runs through Leve’s gaze as she turns it back towards the window.

  Norm’s ears plummet like a disowned puppy.

  “Hai!” A chair screeches violently against the floor. “Miler!”

  Norm nearly jumps out of her skin.

  A figure springs to her feet, waving frantically- emphatically, even- a pair of bright sparkly amber eyes glowing in the air. A white streak of hair runs down the front of her head, her short-cut brown hair swinging side to side with each motion.

  Norm blinks. The classroom collectively turns as if someone had just declared war.

  “Come sit over here!” The girl confidently pats the seat next to her.

  Norm swallows, her throat bone-dry. The class’s attention snaps back onto her. Step by step she moves, clinging to the invitation like a life raft. Each one echoes louder than it should against the polished linoleum floor.

  “Thank you.” She lets out a trembling breath as the girl beams at her. Relief and gratitude floods her chest as she sinks into the chair. She slowly pulls a notebook from her bag, laying it out on the desk. Her hand trembles slightly as she fishes out a pencil, her heart still threatening to jump out of her chest.

  “Normcore, right? I’m Gran Alegria!” The girl declares. “Nice to meet you!”

  Norm nearly drops her pencil.

  “Okay, class, settle down!” The teacher calls from the front.

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  The chatter fades into a hushed silence. Norm manages to squeeze out a “Nice to meet you too.”

  “..Let’s begin today’s lesson.”

  BRIIIIIIIIIING. The bell cuts through the air.

  Almost on cue, a dozen chairs scrape back in unison. The hum of conversation rises sharply through the air as bodies stand and funnel themselves towards the exit.

  The teacher’s reminder of homework falls on deaf ears.

  “Gran Alegria… was it?” Norm adjusts the strap on her bag, pretending the question doesn’t matter as much as it does. She catches a glance of Le Vent Se Leve walking wordlessly past her in her peripheral.

  “That’s right, yes!” Gran Alegria stands, sliding her chair back in place with a scrape. The two make their way together down the classroom, then through the open door. “But you can just call me Gran.”

  “I have a question,” Norm finally spits out the lump in her throat. “You called me ‘Miler’ back there. Why?”

  Gran glances back with a puzzled look, then flashes an amused smile.

  “Well, you’re a Miler, aren’t you?” Her tone is light, cheerful, almost weightless; the two of them coming across the corner overlooking the tracks.

  “...Trainer did say something about me being a Miler, yeah.” Norm lets out a small sigh. “I just… didn’t expect to be called one.”

  “Don’t take it the wrong way.” Gran slowly leans back. “Miler’s a big compliment, you know.”

  Normcore blinks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “1600 meters is a funny distance.” Gran lifts a finger, her eyes twinkling with excitement. Her ears eagerly shoot upright. “You can even call it the greatest distance. It’s like… a gateway to three distances instead of just one.”

  “You’re kidding.” Norm lets out a chuckle besides herself.

  “I’m not!” Gran huffs softly, looking almost offended. She runs forward, then turns back, flailing her arms out in grandeur gestures. “Think about it, okay? Most girls are born with a pair of good lungs or good legs. They basically blow through the competition in the 1200 or 3200. But a mile is different; it’s the only distance you can’t brute force with talent alone.”

  Norm’s ears give a soft twitch. Gran’s words made more sense than she liked to admit, and she listens on despite herself.

  “1900’s too long to sprint blind. 1400’s not long enough for you to hold out on lungs. If you’re a girl that comes in relying on your talent, you’ll flop.” Gran holds a finger up as if lecturing, the pace of her speech picking up as if unveiling a secret she’s been dying to tell. “Sprinters can afford to be reckless. Stayers can afford to be patient. A miler can’t afford either- you need the legs to burn and the lungs to keep them burning.”

  Norm slightly stiffens.

  “Once you have what it takes to become a Miler, the rest is simple. You’ve got the speed to run the Sprints and the Stamina to push Mediums.” Gran smiles, spinning her finger around with her eyes closed. “That’s why it’s the best. That’s why I say Miler’s a big compliment.”

  The wind suddenly feels colder, making Norm’s head spin- Gran was making Miler a far more grandeur title than it seemed. The two descend the stairs toward the track, Gran nearly missing a step because she’s too busy turning toward Norm again.

  “I knew you were a Miler the second I set MiEyes on you.” The girl adds, as though ignorant to the weight hanging between the two. Her eyes settle upon Norm’s silhouette in obsessive fascination. “After all, everyone in this school’s been talking about your miraculous finish in The Unicorn Stakes.”

  Norm flinches, her expression twisting into a grimace.

  “That final burst of speed from ground zero? That was extraordinary.” Gran pushes on, completely ignoring Norm’s flustered expression. Her hands clap together once, making Norm’s ears twitch. “It’s got me all pumped up, to see you put so much into a finish. You’ve got the makings of a true Mile Queen, I can see it.”

  “I- ah… t-thanks?” Norm’s ears shoot upright, then back down, a deep blush rushing up from the base of her neck to the bottom of her chin.

  “Which is why,” she continues, cheerfully beaming like she’s just won the lottery, “I’ve set a MiRule- I’m going to beat you.”

  Norm’s heart thuds once, the breath squeezed out of her lungs by force.

  “You said you’re gonna win the Triple Tiara, right?” Gran points at her with a triumphant grin, her ahoge standing more upright than she is. “That gives us the perfect chance to meet.”

  Norm’s throat feels extra dry as she gulps, her shoulders stiffening slightly.

  She already knows.

  “First leg of the Tiara, the Oka Sho.” She finally replies, speaking slowly as if she could avoid conceding a reality she’d hoped to avoid. “1600 meters. No more, no less.”

  “That’s right- A Classics Mile!” Gran’s practically bouncing in place now, like a delighted child who had gotten into the candy jar. “If you want that, you’re going to have to go through me!”

  A low buzzing noise rings through Norm’s head. A short, small exhale comes through her lips, her mouth slowly curling into a smile. Her eyes gaze straight forward, a shadow casting over her eyes as they lock with Gran Alegria’s.

  Something inside her was simmering, an electric sensation buzzing through her skin and threatening to boil over into steam.

  “Don’t write cheques you can’t cash, Gran.” She slips the bag off her back and sets it on the floor with a thud. “I’m not letting you take the Tiara from me.”

  A soft autumn gust rustles through the grounds, carrying with it the sound of cleats striking turf. Norm’s silver hair and Gran’s twintails dance softly in the breeze, eyes glowing bright with determination.

  Gran’s grin widens. “Good,” she replies, a hint of delight in her voice.

  “Then I’ll see you at the Hanshin Racecourse.”