Archive of Our Own

"No matter where I look, I can't find her name!"

Kanzaki spun a pedal on the bike she was repairing, metallic whirr filling the air. Even if she had the patience for it, waiting for a better response than that of crickets and cicadas wasn't anything she'd waste her time on. She huffed through her nose and leaned back on her stool, hair hanging long behind her as she stared straight at Imaizumi. In his best impression of ignoring her, he continued pretending to read one of the many cycling magazines strewn about the summer-beset workshop. She allowed herself to fall, the back of her head bouncing against his bony knees more painfully than expected.

"Imaizumi," she droned, pressing her hands over her stomach. "I know how many times you've read those."

He glanced upwards, far beyond her, before deigning to stare down at her. "I assumed you would take the hint."

Kanzaki slipped the magazine out of his hands and tossed it to the side. "Would I be any friend of yours if I did that?"

"I see. Friends harass and boggle one another. Another fascinating lesson, Kanzaki."

"No need to be so dry," she said, well aware of her own hypocrisy. "I wanted to share my everyday life with you for once, considering how often I get to hear about your endless troubles and annoyances."

"I believe that's only due to the fact that you have a natural predisposition for shoving your hands into my business." Though he would never soften his smile or gaze for her, Imaizumi did drop one of his hands over her forehead. Her eyes half-covered, it was enough to hide the bemused smirk he always wore. She smiled, allowing it to stay - for now.

"If I didn't do that, you'd never tell anyone anything," she said, patting his hand soundly. "It's for your own good. I can't have one of the shop's best customers imploding in his own silence!"

"Then is it for this girl's own good that you're asking anyone but her what her name is?"

"Don't say that," Kanzaki muttered. "I did ask her."

"And what did she do."

Tapping her heels against the metal steps of her seat, twining her fingers together, she pulled together an awkward laugh. "She said she was my tutor and it was none of my business."

"I see." She couldn't tell much about Imaizumi from his voice - always a similar careful control, even when he was thoughtful - but she trusted her gut when it came to him. She'd known him long enough to know to wait, till he said, "And what else have you tried?"

"Goodness! You aren't going to admonish me?" she asked.

"As though that would stop you," he said, stating the obvious as he moved his hand to flick her on the nose - it couldn't remove her wide grin. "All I can do is listen to your scheming and attempt to circumvent you from there. If I care enough."

"Right, right. You're so smart, Imaizumi," she said, taking his hand from her upside-down position in the attempt of a shake. He pulled away, pert frown making her laugh. "So she's one of the tutors at this business night seminar. My instructor always brushes off questions by telling me one of the assistants should be able to answer what I want to know."

She had come in as early as work would allow, trying to find anyone who recognized or befriended that particular helper. It was never early enough - for how she pushed and played, time and energy leaked between her fingers regardless of how well she had hung on in the past. Going through a list of her own everyday failures to Imaizumi was a fool's gambit.

Instead, she said, "When I get answers from her, the address is always listed under an ID number instead of a name. It's weird."

Through a snort, he said, "She clearly thought ahead.  This stranger knows best how to subdue you."

Kanzaki jammed her head back into his gut, the two of them struggling with one another as he covered his quaking mouth.

"I tried to befriend people in the class, but most of them are older than me. They try to be nice, but none of them seemed to think a lot of what I say. It's been a pretty tough nut to crack!"

Kanzaki jumped up - Imaizumi responded with curt familiarity, moving his hands to avoid being entrapped within the tangle of her hair. She dragged her backpack off the ground, humming as she pushed away brand keychains to dig through it.

"And," he said, keeping his arms folded tightly over his chest. "What was so interesting to you about her that you started on this quest? I know how it was with Onoda." She half-ignored him as she tossed old rags and unnecessary folders to the side. "Did this tutor happen to burst through a window on a bike? Or did she show up dressed out in a cycling jersey, carrying a chalkboard on her back."

"Oh, Imaizumi. Don't be silly." She glanced up to wink as she pulled out the messy notebook she'd been looking for. "If it was that simple, I would have found out her name ages ago by interviewing women's cycling circles."

He snorted. Ignoring the slips of numbers and hand-made advertisements that fell out the sides, she flipped through her notes till shoving it in her friend's face.

"Kanzaki." He tried to pull it out of her grasp, but could only manage to push it down far enough to shoot a glare at her. "I see you might be excited about blurry smudged pencil carvings, but I don't appreciate this."

"I was going through recent sales numbers for the season, since summer always brings in more people," she said, not a note in her voice revealing that she had in fact heard him. "I wanted to compare them to previous years, but usually I go over that with Tooji, and he's out of town with my parents for the new shop, so I've been ..." Treading water she hadn't been told the depths of. She bit the inside of her cheek, forced the smile back up, and went on. "I made a few errors, but she came up and instantly caught my mistake."

"So, she knows her way around basic business. That doesn't have much to do with bikes."

"Cycling is about more than riding! The numbers get applied everywhere, Imaizumi. Any spectator could tell you that. I don't expect most people to know anything about how much a given brand goes for. I have enough new cyclists come in to get their hopes dashed over the cost to know that most people don't have a clue! But she caught the numbers according to the brands, even what companies had increase and decrease in sales."

"Then she has an interest similar to yours?"

"...When I asked if she likes bikes, she said she doesn't care about them. But I know that if she's this aware, then there has to be a reason behind it." Kanzaki allowed her arms to fall, taking a step back. "I'd like to find out that much."

"Knowing her name won't help much in that."

"It feels weird trying to investigate someone without actually knowing who they are."

"Most people would feel more strange about investigating someone in the first place."

She hummed, looking back down towards the notes, the mystery girl's neat purple ink writing standing out next to her smeared graphite.

"...But I realize you are not most people," he finished.

"Of course," she said.

"What is she like, then?"

"Since when are you interested?"

Imaizumi scoffed. "You said from the start you wanted to share. I may as well see if I can get this business out of your system now, than later."

"How very kind of you," she said, swinging her hip out to her sing-song tone. "Well. For one, she has twintails, like this." Kanzaki pulled her messy hair forward, straightening it out as best she could over her shoulders. "And these purple half-moon glasses," making the shape just under her eyes, though her fingers made undeniable circles. "She talks a bit like you, but she goes mo instead of grumpily walking off, and ..." She paused. "Whenever someone compliments her, she looks at them and ... she always says thank you, but it looks like she's just sighing." Saying that felt strange - but she lit up in the next moment, smiling wide as she said, "Except when I said it was fantastic she seemed to know enough about bikes to give me that advice. She turned so red she couldn't speak! I couldn't properly ask her if she liked cycling until the next day."

Laughing at the memory, it took her a moment to catch Imaizumi's pointed hum.

"What?" Kanzaki glanced up - she pushed her laughter down, pulled her arms in. It was strange to seem his eyebrows raised like that.

"It's nothing," he lied, keeping too steady a gaze trained upon her. "Good luck."

--

"Mrgh."

Her tutor's mouth contorted from the prim straight line she'd been holding it in, brow furrowing into familiar lines.

"Did I mess up something again?"

"No, I ... it's nothing."

She put down the papers, eyes searching the room - Kanzaki tilted back, trying to follow where her gaze went. The borrowed conference hall didn't have as many attendees today, mostly filled by people silently going about their own work in the free space after the presentation. The students who typically came hadn't bothered to come in to see a specialized movie. Normally, it was only the people with little quiet space of their own who would stay for these days.

"It looks like everyone's too content to need help right now," she said, pressing her cheek into her palm. "Except me! I have a question, miss tutor."

"Does it have to do with my name?" she asked, flat annoyment making it through her serious tone - maybe there was a hint of bemusement, beyond the glare of her lenses.

Her responding grin earned her a frustrated huff, so she said, "I promise it has nothing to do with your name. I just wanted to know why you were looking at my notes. I can't really believe that there was nothing wrong with it when you had such a grim expression."

"Grim?" she mumbled.

One hesitant hand rose to touch her cheek, before she paused, jamming her fist back down to her side. She almost expected her to walk away - spit out another refusal, her hair rising like static from its tightly bound ties.

But instead, the tutor jammed her knuckles against her hips, head held high as she said, "If you must know, it's that your cost projections are absurd for a basic hypothetical model. Particularly when half your notes are this biased review of what bikes you want to own." The tutor paused, needing to adjust her glasses from how the increasingly loud tap of her heel jostled them further down her nose. "Most people who attend this course are involved for practical reasons. I can't fault you for your work, but I would have recommended you take a different class than this."

Kanzaki blinked.

Her tutor pulled at her hair, making anything but eye contact, silent despite her twitching lips - until, "As I said, it's nothing important." She squared her jaw, a dozen small movements, stuttering behind how tightly she held her fist. "I'm not here to give my opinion on attendees, so you're free to discount it."

"Why would I do that?"

"You're here to learn from professionals. My opinion is ..." As she trailed off, so did her stare, across the floor - and in that silence, Kanzaki could hear the echo of every terrible customer she'd had the misfortune of helping over the years. Every person who requested her brother instead. "Amateurish," she finally decided on.

"I can value your opinion anyway," she responded, quick and - more heated than she'd intended. "From where I'm standing, you're the expert here!"

"I'm a student teacher, at best. I'd rather you not."

"Sorry! I can't do that." Kanzaki flipped around her notes, tapping figures with her chewed-up pencil. "For instance, the other day, you really did help me out. Because! These aren't hypothetical projections at all." Maybe her tutor actually believed she had all those bikes to herself - Kanzaki couldn't imagine what she'd even do with that many. There wasn't much point if she couldn't spread them to anyone she could. "I've been having a lot of trouble keeping all the numbers for the shop in mind. Your advice and corrections saved me ... at the very least, hours of doubling back."

"You," she stuttered - several other could-have-been words barely making it past her lips.  Her hands dropped like anvils behind her back. "I hadn't realized."

"It's alright. Most people wouldn't expect someone like me to be basically running a cycling shop. They usually just think I'm advertising for a place I work part-time."

"I apologize."

"No," she said, but the rest didn't come out - pausing in that space without a name. So she repeated, with greater fervor, "It's alright!"

"I think I'll finish taking attendance." The tutor bowed her head. "I'll leave you to your work."

Kanzaki jolted up from her seat, metal clattering unpleasantly against concrete. Despite anyone who may have stared, she couldn't keep her voice down. "I promise you didn't embarrass yourself! I'm not upset!"

"Of course," was all she returned - not even a glance back as she walked away.

She stared at the tutor sit down, twirl her hair around her fingers, distant and - she couldn't make out much.  :ooking from here, at her marking through papers, Kanzaki thought she was trying too hard to busy herself. She bit the inside of her cheek, wincing as she realized just how much she hoped that was true.

The small night class didn't end like high school classes did.  Kanzaki found herself to be one of the last few left as most people trickled out on their own time. Waiting for a bell and rush that wouldn't come, that she hadn't actually experienced in five years now, she noisily unwrapped a protein bar.

"Are you planning to leave soon?"

"Just after I finish organizing this time table," she tried to say through granola and chocolate, sputtering crumbs over the papers and - the tutor standing in front of her.

Kanzaki stared at her - glanced to the clock - and realized she couldn't make out the numbers anymore.

"I'm not allowed to go until every student has left," the tutor said, arms crossed. In the flickering lights still left on, it was easier to make out the darkness under her eyes, despite how her frames hid most details about her face. "At the very least, do you know how much longer this will take?"

"You can tell me to leave, it's alright!" She was already up, shoving crumbs into her bag, crumpling papers to fit through with what was left of her coordination. "I don't know how I let the time get away from me, usually I'm so much better about this! Hahaha," she said, too tired to laugh.

"I wasn't intending to rush you."

"No, let's go!"

Before the tutor could speak or object, she'd thrown her bag around her shoulders and was tripping over the incline to the door.

"I'm probably late to my train, but I can finish this while waiting for the next one to come!"

"You can wait here if -"

"It's not good to spend so much time cooped up inside!"

"Kanzaki!" she yelled after her - as she started down the stairs, two at a time, she heard a double-time rhythmic click behind her. "Could you wait for one -"

She spun around on a dime. "Yes?"

The tutor didn't crash into her. For a moment, three steps back, she wavered on the greater edge down, but kept a firm grasp on the railing Kanzaki hadn't bothered with.

"I agree that it's good to get out," her tutor panted, "But it's dangerous to set out alone this late."

"I'll be alright. Do you know how often I run closing hours on the shop?" Kanzaki leaned forward, noting the tutor's darting eyes, how her shoulders rose up as though she was a shrinking turtle. "Or maybe ... you need someone to walk you out?"

"Of course not!" She stomped past, and Kanzaki allowed herself a silent laugh in the space she couldn't see. "I just ... It's as simple as being friendly to a fellow peer. If we're going to the same place, it's only natural to leave together."

"That's really sweet of you, miss!" Kanzaki slipped down, matching her pace, as they descended the last few floors. As the exit appeared, she held out a hand. "Do you still want to escort me?"

"You said you can handle yourself." Her hands wavered up over one hair clip, regardless of her voice.

"Just in case! You seem to like being safe over sorry. Who knows, maybe it'll do me some good, too!"

"You can't expect me to believe that," she muttered.

Her hand slipped into hers.

Summer air was nostalgic at night - every moment she stayed up a minute, an hour later, preparing to get up too early the next day, see every cyclist out early for practice. Kanzaki rubbed her eyes with a free hand. The blurry street lights didn't clear up, but she hopped straight, looking down the streets around.

"I believe I'm going toward your station, though I'm not stopping there. Do you need to hurry?" her tutor asked.

"I'm pretty sure I missed my usual train, so ... we can take as much time as we like! The more time I waste, the sooner the next one on the route'll come around." She didn't swing her hand as she normally did, with someone else's in it. It kept her walking steady and tall, a constant check on everything she intended to be in front of others.

"I'm surprised you don't cycle home."

The question stuck in her chest like an old wound - a dozen faces with the same words, her old ghosts. So she didn't bother to turn around. "Why would you say that?"

"...I apologize. That's none of my business."

A few parked cars - pedestrians always out, as they were any time of day - buses careening past, spraying up the remains of summer's storms. Her eyes landed on a bike rack, and she counted, making out models and styles from the distance as a personal challenge, anything to make sure the tightness in her chest wouldn't reach her tutor's hand.

Her hand was still in hers.

Kanzaki turned around.

The tutor - this absurd nameless student teacher - it was silly. Her name should have been on the board the day Kanzaki walked into class. People should have called her over, Miss Something, Anything. The professor should have had a list on his personal site, alongside all the readings and lecture recommendations. Someone should have known something, rather than the blank void where information should have been.

And she should have been cycling.

"I'm not good at it," she said.

The tutor's gaze was drawn from the same bike rack, to her. "Hm?"

"I'm terrible at cycling," Kanzaki said.

She didn't answer.

"If I was riding home from here, it would probably take me three hours." Her throat burned, as much as her face, smile cut wide across her face, as much as her eyes, smoke on the street, but she didn't blink. "My entire life, I've worked with bikes, but I suck at biking myself! People always act like it's such a big surprise. But you know what?"

She waited - until the tutor's throat bobbed, nails sinking into Kanzaki's skin. "What?"

"I know more about it than anyone," she whispered, before breaking into quiet, frivolous laughter. It was funny for all the wrong reasons. The buzz of city silence pulled her down, looking for an actual response.

Miss Nothing & Everything's eyes were wide and dark, deep brown only evident in the flashes of headlights that sped past, ignoring two young women wasting their time in the dark - and she was so glad for one moment that it was only one person, knowing the most important secret in the world. Just one more to share it with, for the first time in years.

She almost looked like she'd speak - despite that shock and confusion.

"Hey, rep!"

Her eyes flickered away, brow furrowing down, despite the slightest curve of her lips.

"Sangaku," she said, haughty and soft all at the same time.

"Was I late?"

"Extremely. However, you can count yourself lucky this time." Her hand slipped away as she walked down the sidewalk. Kanzaki swung her overwhelmingly empty hand behind her back. "I had business to finish as well, so it seems you didn't keep me waiting."

A gentle laugh didn't quite fit the person - she could tell that much, even if her eyes were locked on the gleaming Look.

Manami Sangaku, former top climber to the high school division, stood next to her tutor as though - like she hadn't said she couldn't care about cycling if her life depended on it. Said, "You know I hate to make you wait, rep," class rep, president, an old high school title as though that was the only name that would ever matter.

"It doesn't stop you from doing it," she answered.

A playful bap against their arm, a laugh, and Kanzaki felt more silly than she should staring at - someone rubbing their the back of their head, soft giggling, the other glaring, always a bike on the scene. In her weary state, the sense of deja vu was almost uncomfortable.

"Excuse me," the rep - the tutor, she pointedly corrected herself, her student teacher - turned back. "I apologize, Kanzaki. This is a friend of mine. I shouldn't act so unprofessional in front of you."

"We're friends too," she said, returning quicker than she could think. "Be unprofessional all you want!"

"Oh!" Manami raised a hand, a motion that should have extended into a wave, but didn't. "Nice to meet you! I'm glad the rep's making more friends."

"Sangaku," she hissed. "It's nothing," turning, "I don't want to impose, Kanzaki."

"You bet she is!" Kanzaki spoke over it all, "She's just too interesting to not get to know, right?"

They grinned at that - "She's the coolest person I know."

"Don't say that!" the tutor said, flushed face evident despite the golds and blues that drenched the street.

"I've known her since we were kids. She's the reason I got into cycling."

"Sangaku!"

"She might actually be the fastest person in the world, but -"

The tutor almost threw her arms into the air, before catching herself, and clapping her hands together. "We are going to be so late to our reservation that they will have to ask us to return in the morning if you do not stop."

Manami blinked from her and up to Kanzaki. "It's a secret, I guess."

"Oh," she said. "I understand."

For how she wanted to play and joke, she couldn't manage much more than a weary grin, both her eyes closing instead of giving the wink she intended. It didn't seem quite real.

"Good night, Kanzaki," the tutor said. She heard her heels clicking over, every step intentional and strong, and she opened her eyes to see her standing half-way. Not there, but not by them, if nothing else. And she smiled. "I'll see you during the next session."

The formal words never quite came down, but as she waved, there was the flash of teeth with her smile - the wide swing of her twintails, friendlier than she'd seen before.

All the more mysteries she wanted to know.

---

"Wait, childhood friend?"

Kanzaki glanced up from her frustrated scribbles around the notes she carried, and to her two visiting customers.

"That's the best I could get out of Manami," she said. "I assumed that meant they went to high school together, but when I called Hakone Academy, they just -"

"It'd be her, right?"

"I ... think so."

"Well, it isn't like they have any other friends."

"Teshima," Onoda said, his name half a plea in their mouth.

"I wouldn't want to be dishonest." He flared a hand out from the close huddle the two of them had made. "They'd probably say the same thing."

"Excuse me!" Her guests jolted to attention, looking back to Kanzaki's tightly clasped hands and tighter smile. "Is there any reason you two interrupted me? Something you know, that I don't?"

"Oh!" It was Onoda, as ever, who hopped forward with an air of remorse. "I'm sorry I got distracted, but..." They glanced back to Teshima, a look she couldn't see, beyond his responding sigh and fond resigned nod. "I think we might know who you're talking about!"

Her hands slammed against the counter with more force than she'd intended, back straight as the ground temporarily popped out from under her feet.

Of all the things she could have said, clever and ingratiating - beyond the excited cycle of her heart in her ears, all that came out was, "Really?"

"Do they refer to her as a class representative all the time?" Teshima asked. He didn't bother to step up from the wall with his question, arms folded across his chest as easy as the wry smile on his face.

"Yes," Kanzaki said. She slowed herself. She wasn't entirely fond of people being so reticent with what they knew. "As I was saying, when I contacted their old school, I asked for a list of any former student government they had within the last three years."

"Did they give it to you?" Onoda asked.

Their genuine curious eyes made her grin, despite her answer. "Nope!" Both her guests took to shock, as she said, "Apparently they aren't about to give out information from their private academy to anyone who asks, even if said young lady professes to be a friend, or family, or an investigator. They're much stricter than I'd expected. And much better at recognizing voices."

Teshima stifled a laugh, but Onoda didn't notice her minor criminal confession, more absorbed in tapping their cheek than friends' sarcastic finger guns across the room.

"I guess I hadn't really thought to ask Miyahara's name when I met her," they murmured.

"Miyahara?"

"Ah!" Their hop made their glasses slip from their nose. "W-well, my mom kind of ... had us meet?"

"What's this about?" Teshima leaned over their shoulder. "You never mentioned meeting her."

"How does your mother know her?" Kanzaki slipped under counter's bar, leaning close enough to see the specks of dust on Onoda's glasses. "What did the two of you do?"

Stuttering her name, they managed to stand for all of fifteen seconds more before losing balance, arms swinging wildly - in the next moment, Kanzaki was leaning over both her guests collapsed in a heap. Teshima raised a single thumb into the air, not bothering to lift his face from the ground.

Onoda pushed themself up, fretting and stuttering as only they could do, till Kanzaki grasped their shoulder.

She spoke gently, as though they were a frightened animal.  "I know you're still a bit scrambled from falling, but you should take Teshima's sacrifice and put it to good use. It's the best you can do for him now."

"I'm not dead," he grunted.

"And you can do that," she continued, taking their other shoulder, as she smiled. "By telling me what you know about miss Miyahara!"

"Um," they said.

"Just go for it," the deceased former captain interrupted. "I'm curious too."

Onoda's gaze flashed around the room, everywhere but her face, until - "It's kind of embarrassing."

"That's okay! I'm willing to make that sacrifice!"

"Wow," an entirely unimportant nobody interjected.

They gave an awkward laugh. "You get really determined when you want to know something, Kanzaki ... it's kind of cool?"

"Thank you, Onoda," she said, "But I'm sorry. Flattery won't get you out of this, either."

"I know ... it's not very interesting! A while ago, my mom asked me to go to the train station to pick someone up? But when I got there, I realized she hadn't told me who I was supposed to wait for ... I didn't want to go asking every person who got off the train if they knew my mother, so I sort of hoped someone might jump out."

"So that girl, Miyahara, was coming to visit your mother?"

"Well," they said. "Eventually another girl sat down a few seats down from me. She seemed really nervous, so I kept looking over at her! N-not like, staring or anything, but just glancing, to see if I could do anything. Until I noticed she was looking at my bike."

Kanzaki chewed on her lip, thinking over - her tutor didn't seem to bike. She didn't have the legs for it, that she could tell. Miyahara's legs were soft, not a single bandage or scratch evident on what days she went without leggings. She grew out her nails, pearly and sharp, wore her hair in a manner that was frustrating even in a classroom when twintails would pool across paperwork. Yet she knew about them - and one of the top rookies in cycling looked at her like she stood as the unspoken queen of it all.

"Kanzaki?"

Onoda's voice pulled her out of the memories - dark hair lit by projector light, glowing streams hanging over her shoulders.

"You were saying she was curious about your road racer, right?"

"Um ... no, not really. When she came over, I sort of jumped up and asked if she liked bikes too! I think I upset her, but she asked if I'd ever seen the interscholastic cycling races, or heard of Souhoku, or if I knew someone named Onoda. I was so overwhelmed at how quickly she talked that I said I didn't have a clue..."

She pursed her lips. "Ah." If Onoda was anything, it was - loyal, determined, willing to help friends, but an absolute doormat to any stranger placed in front of them.

"B-but, the thing is, she looked so defeated that I ended up asking her if she needed help getting anywhere, and she asked if I could keep her company until the person she was waiting for arrived. At the time, we kept ... talking about how rude it was for someone to be so late. I never found a good moment to admit that maybe I was the person she was supposed to see!"

"Well... did she tell you anything about herself, at least?"

"She didn't give me her name, but she did keep bringing up a friend of hers when we were talking about people being late. All we ended up doing was going by a convenience store." Kanzaki didn't shift her wide stare as they paused to fidget and sigh. "I don't remember very much about all this! It happened a year or two ago now."

She hummed and set Onoda free from her grip. Walking back to the counter, she tapped her fingers along the linoleum, running through what little she had. "Okay." If pushing distressed them here, she'd resign - making them more stressed would only make her job more difficult. "I only have one more question. Could you tell me how you know who she is?"

"Because my mom told me."

"And ...?"

They scuffed their foot against the ground. "Do you really need me to ... okay, okay," they trailed off at her apologetic grin. "When I got home, I was going to explain things to my mom, but she just ran over me and asked ... how my date had gone."

"Wait," echoed between two people, as Onoda struggled to hide a rising blush behind their hand.

"So I know who she is because my mom knew her! And she thought it would be a good idea to play matchmaker."

To their everlasting credit, they kept the tight smile on their face even as they dropped their head, even as Kanzaki failed to hide her own laughter behind the make-shift mask of her hands.

"Okay, I got it," she finally sputtered, "Thank you, Onoda, I really appreciate it."

"Sorry I couldn't give you more," they mumbled as they sat back down in a chair to the side, already hiding their face in an upside-down magazine.

"Knowing her family name is more than I had before! How could it be much more difficult to find out one last half?"

"You'd be surprised," Teshima said.

She glanced down, noting his pointed frown at the phone he held over his face.

"Are you planning on getting up anytime soon? Loitering is against the rules, even for Souhoku alumni."

He huffed something between a sigh and a chuckle before he bothered to drag himself up. Brushing aside Onoda's quiet concerned hand, he tapped the phone against her counter.

"I thought I'd do you a favor and ask myself!" he said, spinning it with unnecessary flourish.

"Oh, Teshima," she said. "Always thinking of how to repay your overwhelming debts to me."

"I don't owe you that much," he muttered, "This is merely from a gift from an old captain to a former manager."

"Whatever you say," she said.

He raised an eyebrow at her overstated wink, but - returned it just the same. Adult life was tiresome, even if she dressed matters up in mystery and her constant passion for bikes, for everyone she knew. Friends coming in barely thirty minutes before close with the rare moment of free time after work and family. It stood as another reason she put on a brave face as she took the keys to lock up most every night, despite the wore that burned itself into her back. But there were small moments. The quiet laughter that carried the room kept her spirits high as she glanced down to his small screen.

"What do you have for me?" Kanzaki asked.

"Well," he started, slapping a hand over the phone. "I said I did you a favor. I can't say it resulted in anything."

"Would you really bring up nothing to me," she said, winding her fingers through the air.

He sighed and handed the phone over.

> i realized there's something you've never told me

>> (ヘ。ヘ) /ﾟ･:*†┏┛呪┗┓

> did it take you ten minutes just to decide on that emoji

>> ive been saving it

> i never imagined you'd be so forward thinking

>> tyvm tsmsan

> it has nothing to do with what i'm talking about though

>> yes it does (*ﾟｰ~)^☆

> it doesn't ヾ(｡｀Д´｡)ﾉ彡☆

>> (☞^-^) ☞ it does

> (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ no

> and you don't have to pretend you care about emoji

>> ヽ(ຈل͜ຈ) ╯but theres so many

>> i wouldnt want to waste that

> at least use the cute ones

>> q(❂‿❂)p

> listen, i wanted to ask about your rep

>> oh!

>> did you know shes tutoring a class recently she was asked by a professor its really amazing to see her do it its like shes already a teacher i couldnt imagine doing something like that

>> id probably fall asleep on whoever i was trying to help but she talks to everyone as though she could help any problem i dont know how she keeps all that information in her head

> yes, her. what's her name, again?

>> the rep

> and her name?

>> the class representative

> you do know that i know that couldn't possibly be her name

>> you cant be sure of that (◐ o ◑ )

> and that i won't give up until you tell me

>> its nice that you dont have to worry about that here  (◐౪◐ʃƪ)

> manami just tell me what miyahara's name is

>> i did ɾ◉⊆◉ɹ

"Hm," she said.

"Yeah," he said.

Kanzaki stared at the blank-eyed kaomoji. Childhood friends. She dropped the phone back into his hand.

"I couldn't imagine Imaizumi talking about me like they do her," she said, forcing a laugh.

"They're dedicated." His smile twisted halfway into a thoughtful grimace, mouth opening, but - "Never mind."

"It's hard to believe they've known her since they were kids."

She ground her elbow into the counter.  Childhood was awkward first meetings and barely tolerating children of family friends.  For her, it had been making strange partnerships with people who raised their brows in confusion at her overwhelming exuberance.  Teshima didn't walk away, so she looked up to him, and his waiting eyes.  His hands rose to shrug, covering what concern colored his face in the moment before.

"If you doubt it, you could ask them yourself."

"You want to give me their number without asking? So rude!"

He snorted. "I'm not that bad. But ... well." Teshima glanced back. "Hey, Onoda. You interested in seeing Manami this weekend?"

They surfaced from behind the magazine they were using to hide. "I already had plans with Imaizumi and Naruko. ...Are you going to do something?"

"Naaaah," he said, not bothering to look up from his phone - only she could see his smug smile. "You can take the time, right Kanzaki?"

"Depends on what you're planning," she hummed, leaning closer to get a better look at his screen. He snapped it shut.

"Alright. You like parfaits, right?"

"They can be nice."

"They taste even better with a side of interrogation, I'm sure," he said. "Especially at this cafe a few blocks down. I'd say it's best at ... 3 P.M. on Saturday." Despite his assured point, he paused, tapping his chin. "I can't guarantee you won't have to wait a bit. Don't worry about getting there too early."

"Teshima," Onoda said, just as much of a quiet plea as before.

"It's nothing to worry about, I promise."

They chewed their lip - put down the magazine, kneading their hands together. "Don't do anything dangerous, okay? ...Or mean."

Kanzaki gave a chipper salute. "Not a worry, Onoda! My investigations are only the nicest of experiences for people involved."

Their laugh was as sure as she expected, as it died off mid-way.

"I'll be going," Teshima said. "Do you think you'll have repairs done by this weekend?"

"Depends." She bounced her head between her upheld hands. "Will I get any helpful information?"

His laugh was about as confident as Onoda's was. If nothing else, he knew how to mask it better, the bell at the door drowning him out as he left. Kanzaki hummed the same old tunes from shows she would never watch as she finished writing up her customer's order. She did her best not to think about Saturday.

"Um."

Onoda's voice helped.

"Did you need anything else?" she asked. "If you need any help with those entry forms, we can fix anything you didn't fill out after you finish what you can."

"No, I think I can handle that," they said. "But you said something about Imaizumi."

"Anything bad?" A mischievous smile crossed her face. "Do you need to protect him from me, now?"

"That's not it! Ah, I'm sorry, it's just ... you said he wouldn't say ... I guess I didn't see what you were talking about, but it was probably about Manami and Miyahara? Because I know Manami talks about her ... a lot."

She tapped her finger against the counter. "I was playing around. I promise, Onoda. You don't need to take me so seriously."

The flash of worry in their eyes was enough to make her wish she hadn't said that much - even their deep breath, squaring their shoulders, stood as enough of an adamant refusal alone. She was used to that, all their practice over the years to hold back frenzied stammering concern still so obvious in every spark of nervous energy they gave off.

"He really has a high opinion of you! There's no one he trusts with his bikes like you."

"Of course," she said, bright smile and a sharp giggle to accompany it. "I know all his quirks and preferences. It'd be too much trouble for him to break in someone else at this point."

"I don't think there's anyone he has so much ease with talking about all these things, too ... he's still kind of terrible with teams, and I always feel awkward talking to him about racing politics. But I could listen to the two of you go on about it for hours!"

"It's not so intimidating when the person isn't a competitor. You should talk it up with me, too! I'm always glad to draw another friend into my clutches."

Onoda laughed at that - sunny and full, despite the furrow of their brow. "I couldn't keep up with you. That's why I like to listen, Kanzaki! How much you know is really amazing..."

"Thank you very much," she said. "I do try my best! I've not spent my life with it for nothing." At that, she swung the shop apron over her head, to hang it over the crook of her arm. "But I'm afraid there's no time left for listening tonight, because I'm closing! And I'd like you to get home before it's too dark. I'll let you rent out one of our utility bikes. You can bring it in when you come to pick up your BMC."

They hopped to attention when she strolled past, managing to spit out gratitude in the same way that never stopped making her smile. Summer night was just as nice with an old friend - someone who could still look at plain baskets and plastic pedals with the same exuberance as the best road racers manufacturers had to offer.

"I'll give you a call when it's ready! So remember not to come around and distract me too much, okay? It's nice to give a girl time alone with her bikes."

Kanzaki gave a wave to push them off, but they paused on the bike, one foot lightly balanced against concrete. They'd grown confident on wheels. Maybe that helped, because -

"There's more I want to tell you." What they said - "I wish I knew how to ... there are so many things Imaizumi wouldn't have done if not for you." In the darkness, lit from behind by her shop's gentle lights, she didn't have to worry about what showed on her face - she didn't have to think about it. "I think the only reason he tried to ... with me ..." Even as their words broke down in flustered murmurs, they went on, "It was because of you."

"Of course," she said. "I know that much!"

She wasn't sure how it came out - always doing her best to smile, she could only hope it sounded like herself as Onoda gave a meek nod.  They rolled into the night, flickering out between darkness and spotlight. Kanzaki kept standing with her palm at her hip.  Her nails dug into her skin, even through thick fabric.

"Of course," she muttered.

---

"Is there any reason your head was down for the entire lecture?"

Kanzaki rubbed her red crusty eyes, grimacing as she made the attempt to push herself upright.

"The entire lecture?" she managed to mumble. She hoped she had heard wrong.

"The professor is taking individual questions at his desk in preparation for the next exam," Miyahara said.

Her voice, always sharp, vibrated through her skull till she pressed her head back into her arms again. Talking went on above her regardless and Kanzaki wished she'd slept at some point within the last two days. It was a half-hearted wish - there were just as many days she'd spent regretting not spending her time over a bike. Repair work was moving and getting somewhere - waking up after a full night's sleep was three steps back. Retaking her old ground didn't feel like the victory teaching a new cyclist was. A hand landed on her shoulder, a short shake making her skull feel like it had been thrown into a tumbler.  She couldn't do much more than give a pitiful whimper.

"... -ing ill?"

This time, she was able to pull together the energy to groan.

In her headache purgatory, the noise around pitched down from its worst whine into something hypnotic enough to make her feel like she was almost asleep. Kanzaki counted on cadence - the rhythmic whirr of a bike slowly running in her mind.

"Here."

She dug her face from the warm pressure of her arms to try to make out what was being shoved in her face.  In a blurry hand, something that shone bright under the miserable lights above, flat and square and unmoving.

"If you haven't taken any recently." she heard. "I dislike giving medication to students, but you are an adult. They're simple pain killers, nothing more."

"Oh," Kanzaki said.

The surprise in her mouth was sticky oil, and the pills were bitter dust. She struggled to find her bag through watery eyes, face twisting up as she remembered, and finally drank her water bottle dry. The pain didn't go down - but it pulled her back from dreary weariness.

"You shouldn't have come if you were this sick," Miyahara muttered. She leaned over Kanzaki's empty notes, curt strokes filling what spots were not damp with spit and sweat. "If you go to this site, you can find a recording of the lecture. It isn't officially condoned, as we don't want to encourage students to never come, but I am aware as to how difficult routinely attending can be."

Most of the words flew over her head, but she nodded, a bubbly response making it out of her mouth regardless. "I wouldn't want to miss class!"

The tutor frowned. "As I said, you don't need to attend every day. You're little more than useless if you come in like this. I would prefer seeing you rest and come back sooner."

"I don't want to miss the chance to see you either, Miyahara."

The silence didn't feel out of place - as Kanzaki pressed the empty water bottle to her eyes, looking for the last chill it had to offer, a single second of silence could stretch in the haze of pressure.

"What?"

"I like to come here for my friends, too," she said - not near as blithe as she would have preferred.

"Of course."  The hesitant words stood as the only proof she'd acknowledged her own name.  "Excuse me."

Kanzaki moved the bottle away too quickly to catch her, light searing her eyes for another quiet yelp. By the time her vision cleared, Miyahara was across the room, dozens of voices pouring in as the hazy noise in her head faded to a mere annoyance.

She pursed her lips.

"I have a question!"

As many people still present could say that, but even addled, Kanzaki was bright and loud and impatient. People noticed - both her voice and her adamant waving. Her feet dragged over the carpet as she tried not to run, tripping every other step another foot forward, till she had her hands on an occupied table.

"Did you hear me?" she asked.

Miyahara's face was thin lines and closed eyes, her chest rising and falling with a predictable purposefulness. "Yes. I did."

"Great! I was curious about what that Manami person was saying about you the other-"

"Kanzaki!" The interruption took more than just her by shock, others in the room glancing toward her as Miyahara clamped her mouth shut. "Let me finish helping these students first," she muttered. "And then I will see about talking to you."

She stopped herself from snickering - helped by the hand she held in front of her widening grin, out of respect, out of the dizzying ache at the back of her skull that she'd only made worse with her sudden traipse down the aisle.

"Whatever you'd like!" Kanzaki said, giving a small salute as she stepped away from the confused glances of other attendees. "I'll be waiting until you're done."

She leaned back against the wall and readied herself for the wait. Regardless of any trouble or pain, she'd gotten what she wanted.

And Miyahara walked over as the last students filed out, rubbing her temples, to pause in front of her.

"What is it that you wanted," didn't even come out as a question. She had just as little patience in her tone as Kanzaki felt.

She grinned as she clapped her hands together, right in front of her face. Her expression warped into a picture of regret in the next moment as her head rang, grimacing behind clasped fingers.

If nothing else, it got her a quiet gasp. She heard her say, "You're still ill, aren't you ... I wasn't thinking." Kanzaki opened an eye, looking at Miyahara's fretting, nails twitching from her lips to her chin. "You need someone to walk you to the train. I should have noticed. I apologize."

"What?"

Miyahara's fingers were already wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her upright before the word could make it anywhere. She was pushed along the breadth of the largest arch of the room, to a back door instead.

"This exit is intended for staff, but I doubt anyone would harass us for doing so this late," she muttered. She still swung her head around, left and right, looking for anyone or anything, before motioning for Kanzaki to follow. "There is an elevator that goes through employee parking, and most importantly, the ground floor."

"I see," she answered, giving a grave nod which Miyahara returned with all the seriousness she hadn't intended.

Miyahara's heels clashed against Kanzaki's sneakers in the empty hall, pace rising and falling as though she forgot someone was there any moment she wasn't looking back. Kanzaki took her time, regardless of the pace.

"There are less stairs via that exit, and I believe the platform is not far from it. I don't often go this route, but I can make an exception this once."

She didn't voice the bubble of laughter in her chest, but she did put on a cheeky grin to ask, "For me?"

"Wh-" She spun around, smacking herself in the face with her own twintails. Kanzaki lost her cultivated smile as Miyahara struggled to straighten herself again, the tips of her fingers pressed over her mouth as she waited. "W-well, yes, you could say that," she finally sputtered. "It's more convenient if I am trying to aid someone, as well."

"That's great!" she said, taking the moment to hop ahead, walking backwards to keep her eye on her target. "I've heard around that you're really helpful." It didn't matter much if she was stretching a half-truth if she felt like it was true. "It's nice to see it outside a classroom!"

"I do my best for students," she said, barely phased by Kanzaki's move. "I assume you've been asking around for particular reasons."

"What? Of course not, heheh. I haven't bothered anyone in class about these things. I wouldn't waste their time over dead-end questions."

"Hm."

"After all! I don't need to do that when I have people on the inside."

The stoic line of her face crumpled - shaky and indecisive as to whether it would turn up or down. Miyahara planted her feet as she took a long breath through her nose, and opened her mouth to groan.

"Whaaaat," Kanzaki said again, grateful to take the pause to rest against the wall herself. "You're with Manami Sangaku! I'd be more surprised if no one knew who you were even with that in mind."

"I am not with Sangaku," she snapped.

In the quiet, as Miyahara sheathed her edges behind a hand and closed eyes, Kanzaki let her smile fade. Those words were sharp - but as her arms ran up, folded like steel behind her back, all they had cut away was her defense.

"They're an old friend." Her hands fell into neat lattices before her. "If they saw fit to run their mouth about me, I can't do much to stop them."

"Sorry," she said. Kanzaki scratched her cheek, a dozen small movements to hide in. "Still, I thought it was nice! That they like to mention you so much..." With these eyes on her, she felt too obvious with that neutrality in her own mouth, after too many quiet facts she heard and inferred. So she added, "I'm surprised that's not your boyfriend."

"Why would I -" Her mouth open through the phrase, she always went on - she could go on tirades, she could talk for ages, breathless and undefeatable. Here, she stopped. "We should stop dawdling. I'd rather not be pulled aside by any staff that might still be here so late."

"Right, right," Kanzaki said, waiting till she was at her side to walk. "So that's not your type? Is it the bikes?"

Despite how she stared forward, no discipline could hide the flustered tinge on Miyahara's face. "I'm not interested in contributing to the gossip machine."

"I see," she hummed. "I guess I'll never know if that's the reason the blind date failed!"

Miyahara sputtered. Kanzaki gladly waited for her to finally spit out, "What?"

"I heard you were set up with a friend of mine a couple of years ago! Some mothers really love to play matchmaker for the lonely kids in their lives, I hear."

"That meeting in Chiba ... that was supposed to be a friend of yours?" She wondered if Miyahara realized how her cheeks puffed out, when she held her breath in that grumpy visage. "He didn't even show up."

"Well," Kanzaki said, sing-song whistle as the two of them finally reached an elevator. "It's pretty complicated. I probably shouldn't spread it around..."

She waited as Miyahara called the lift. The numbers flashing up reflected faintly in the lens of her glasses. For all the patience she wore, it wasn't long before she took the bait. "Why is it a secret?"

Pressing a hand over her mouth, Kanzaki said, "Do you really want to know?"

"...Never mind. I apolo-"

"They actually did show up!"

The doors slid open. She watched Miyahara stare through, soft music floating into the dim hallway. The sharp white light cast on her face drew darker shadows with her glasses. Kanzaki only realized she was moving by her hair catching along the wall, sliding closer to see what she was muttering. The light cut itself into thinner lines, till Miyahara took a step forward.

"We should get on," she said, twisting her hand in so close a gesture to a practiced curtsy. "Then you can elaborate."

The elevator groaned at the jam till its doors slid back open. Miyahara's eyes slipped away to watch as light streamed through again. For all of how square she held her shoulders, posture severe and unforgiving, her lips curved into a smile like no one was watching.

Kanzaki closed her eyes and rolled through to lean against the parallel wall inside. It felt like the lift was falling even before the click of her heels announced Miyahara's boarding. Through one half-opened eye, she saw her fret and frown - Onoda's small story making her pace over five single steps.

"I should have realized," she muttered. "He has his mother's eyes. And her voice." Miyahara didn't hold herself so stiff or strict, somehow, in an immeasurably small box. Her arms swung around, every movement as purposeful as they were flawed. "I thought it was strange that a bystander would offer to wait with me."

"But they didn't." Kanzaki peered through one wide open eye.

Miyahara's hands froze in the air as raised hackles, a jolt running from her shoulders to her head - her glasses bounced down her nose. "What are you talking about?" Pure embarrassment blooming in her wavering voice.

"They said you asked them to wait with you!"

"He did?" Her hands shot up to the sides of her face, dragging her frames back up. Her nails raked through hair, settling behind her ears, two, five, ten times, before she stopped. "E-even if I did, he was still ..." Her eyes flickered up to meet hers, and away, before a strange muffled honk managed to make it through her tightly clamped lips. "They were so strange! A person isn't supposed to be that nice, you'll get taken advantage of."

The elevator dinged. Kanzaki tried to unwind her arms. Pins sank through her fingers as blood rushed through. Her fingers sat frozen at the edge of the open doors, but she made sure to stretch her hand out. Focusing on that was easier than - there were too many things she could say. Too many things she wanted to say.

"I'll make sure to tell them that," she decided on.

Miyahara stepped to the doors first, shoulders balancing, arms falling into place. She looked different from the frazzled emphatic young woman, outside of stark light - prepared, outside here.

"Thank you," she said. Her heels clicked onto metal, and then echoed across concrete. "For holding the door.

Kanzaki followed. "I'm the one who should be saying that."

Particular - pointed - entirely indirect.

Miyahara knew her way through the parking garage no better than Kanzaki. She insisted on pausing at a map plastered to the wall, surrounded by as many pamphlets that stuck through what wind and misty rain managed to wind through the structure. It was more steps to take, each one bouncing in her skull, but maybe it was better than stairs. Glancing at Miyahara tracing a finger over numbers and vague symbols - it was better than stairs.

"Why did you agree to it?" Kanzaki asked.

"You mean helping you?"

"No, no!" The laughter made her head ache, but it was nice. She'd love to hear more about that too - but that suspicious tone wasn't welcoming. It was safer to ask for things she wouldn't expect - more likely she'd get an answer. "I meant the issue with Onoda's mom pushing you into a blind date."

Miyahara's nail dragged silently down concrete. She didn't jump, or stutter like in the elevator - she remained as composed as she could, despite how obvious an act it was. "I assume you've never spoken to that woman. I don't think anyone could refuse her." As though to herself, she said, "I doubt she's capable of processing a rejection."

Kanzaki hummed. Her eyes wandered, settling up in a distant corner. "That's pretty shocking. You seem so good at saying no to me, after all!"

"Perhaps."

Complaints about an obvious friend who always told her to follow the wind accompanied their steps as the two wandered through the complex. Miyahara paused at gateways to stare, ask if Kanzaki remembered whether they had walked past, groaned at her responding clueless laugh. It didn't make her head feel much better. She missed sitting in the shop, mind full of tubes and delicate tools, the smell of grease on a single bike so much more welcoming than the oil that hung in the air here.

"I thought it wouldn't be this hard," Miyahara muttered, pulling on Kanzaki's hand again.

She preferred missing sleep to fix bikes, but she didn't dislike this.

"I was trying to ask you something before," Kanzaki said.

"Exit E1 ... exit ... it should be the next one." Miyahara went on, entirely absorbed in her own task.

"Your friend was saying something about you the other day. Manami."

"What? Oh." She didn't look back as she dragged her forward. "I suppose you did bring that up in class. Try not to do that in the future ..." She huffed in the space where Kanzaki intended to respond. "I would ask why you know their surname, but I can only assume it's similar to why you know mine."

"Not at all!" She didn't miss her chance to speak in the next pause. "I already knew who they were. Hakone Academy was one of Souhoku's top rivals for the Interhigh!"

The next door, Miyahara paused. "I remember now ..."

"Where do we leave?"

"It wouldn't make sense for the woman who knows more about cycling than anyone to not be aware of that."

Kanzaki froze.

"I think it is here." Miyahara gestured, inviting her to go first.

"Of course." The wind stung her swinging arms. She looked straight ahead.

A hill sank down, a ramp around some stairs, that she took when Miyahara's heels clicked down the steps.

She wasn't one to give up on what she wanted to know. "They said you were the fastest person in the world."

"Sangaku says many things. That doesn't make them true."

"I think something can be an opinion and still be important!" The ground wavering in cubes beneath her feet, to her skull, faded. Maybe the pills had finally kicked in. She slipped a hand into a pocket, foil still sitting there. "And they pretty clearly believe it's important, too."

"I'll have to disappoint you." The stony clack of her shoes stopped, and Kanzaki looked up to the rail she stood behind. Her hair hung down as she leaned over, holding her cheeks in her palms. "When we were children, we went cycling. Once. They were ..." Her fingers slipped beneath her frames, rubbing her eyes. "I was worried for them. I thought introducing them to bikes would help them get out of the house. I happened to finish the course before they did. For some reason, they've never let go of the idea that I'm ... it's so foolish. That I'm any good at cycling, I suppose." She snorted. "That I could care about it enough beyond them."

It was as simple as that.

"Alright!" She went on down the trail. "I think it's a nice story, though."

She wasn't sure how she felt.

"It's hardly worth telling. I'm embarrassed at how much I know about bikes simply due to them."

Not quite like herself and Imaizumi - she could have sworn she'd heard those exact words before from someone else. "I'm glad you have each other."

The trail wound to an end. Kanzaki paused at the bottom of the hill first, just to look up at Miyahara. It was easier to see her eyes when she had to look down - she seemed to be an expert in hiding behind her short stature.

"Did you think I was weird, the other day?"

"From what I've seen, Kanzaki, being strange is a fact of any day when it comes to you."

"That's not what I mean," she said, firm. "Did I make you uncomfortable when I was talking about bikes?"

Miyahara's hand twitched up to her glasses.

"If I did, I'm sorry. If they do bother you, I won't -"

"No."

Kanzaki stared at the interruption, almost sure she hadn't actually spoken- until she turned away.  Miyahara's fingers ran up into her tightly bound hair, mindlessly pushing it behind her ear.  She repeated the nervous movement, as useless as it was, strands falling back into place the moment her hands fell away.  

"If it's important to you, speak. Don't stop," Miyahara said. Quiet, but just as blunt as ever. "It's wasteful if you let anyone stop you."

She answered easy and chipper, as though she wasn't nursing that sleepless headache. "I know that! But I was asking your opinion." She winked, the effort making her vision flash red - black - blue - two, three tutors standing over her for a moment, till it was all back to normal. "Didn't I tell you I'm interested in it?"

Miyahara took the last step down, to stand at equal height - but she held up her chin, with her smile. "I'm used to strange friends being exuberant about bikes."

"That's not an opinion!" she answered in a bounce, as the two took toward the train station.

"I suppose it isn't. Does it bother me?" She didn't go on, but Kanzaki's headache slowly faded in the silence - taking a breath, clutching the empty pill wrapper in her hand, glancing to check who was still right there, until they'd reached the platform. The slow whine of its brake only hung in her ears for a moment. It muted completely as she stepped on, Miyahara's last words barely reaching her. "You'll have to tell me more so I can decide."

It didn't quite process till she'd sat down.

Kanzaki hopped up on her seat, barely in time to wave through the window, even if Miyahara couldn't see her. She had an answer to something - some mystery she'd described to Imaizumi, she had a name, but she could have sworn there were a dozen more piling up. Every possible answer and reason they could have been made her grin from ear to ear.

"Of course!"

---

Waiting out in front of the planned cafe, Kanzaki realized she didn't feel quite as much like a detective as she expected she would - a long-time friend of another friend to talk to. She hummed as she straightened out her shirt, hoping that the vague oil stains wouldn't be noticeable outside of direct sunlight.

"Hah!"

She didn't startle as a body slammed into the sidewalk, only a few steps away. However, she did note with some appreciation that it cushioned the fall of its very recently repaired Cannondale.

"I ... got here ..."

Holding back her snicker was difficult.

"First," Teshima panted, not bothering to pull himself from under his bike.

Though Kanzaki took the first step toward aid, a gust of wind rounded the corner - raucous laughter catching her attention.

"You're so much more familiar with Chiba!" Breathless and airy, she reminded herself to look at the person rather than the bike - though the Look said all it needed to, even before blue bike shorts peeking out from what was either a very long shirt or a particularly short dress. "You know all the shortcuts in this area. Some people would call that cheating, Teshima."

For sing-song accusation, they bounced off to crouch and grin as he pushed up his bike, seemingly unaware of the pedestrians who did their best to pretend they weren't taking up the sidewalk.

"But you don't?"

"It means you're using everything you have, right? It wouldn't be fun if you never won anything."

He pushed himself up, precariously balanced on one hand as he leaned close just to give an overstated, "Thaaaanks."

"You're very welcome."

Kanzaki hummed, watchful eyes blooming alongside her sunny grin as Teshima caught sight of her. His hand slipped and he collapsed back under the bike.

In as harried he could make a groan sound, he started, "I thought you'd wait in-"

"You're the rep's friend!" Manami interrupted. They bounced up like a spring, as though no one had spoken, one wide stride over the still entrapped victor. "I didn't realize you lived in Chiba!"

"Mhm! I was the manager for Souhoku's team at the same time you were in school. I've heard an awful lot about you, Manami."

They stared at her with plate-wide eyes, a more placid smile settling on their face. "The rep's mentioned you a little, too."

Kanzaki perked up as she normally did - in front of cyclists, in front of racers, however former the title may have been, she was used to careful plays and masks and appeals. This time, she realized it wasn't an act.

"Would you like to step into the cafe with me?" she asked. "I'd love if we could share a bit."

Manami's smile didn't shift as their eyes closed. "Ah."

When Teshima escaped his bike, no help offered or requested, and the two bikes locked up amidst slaps and flicks and quiet comments she couldn't make out, two smiling patrons half-dragged in a third. Summer's heat chased in defiance of the shop's air conditioning, but quickly found itself defeated by the door slamming shut.

The cycling shop was cluttered with a thousand products. Regardless of how many people were there, it was full of life and potential. The cafe - if nothing else, it was pretty.

"I think," Teshima muttered, while she stared around the half-filled shop. "I'm going by the rest room to throw up first."

"That sounds nice! I think I'll join you."

Kanzaki zoomed around to firmly press her palm into Manami's back. "No, we should get a table and order! The sooner the better." She pushed them along, leaning around to flash a grin. "It's very important not to cause the workers anymore trouble than we have to with loitering."

"Ah," they said.

Handed menus filled by pictures of immeasurably tiny food, she kept the friendly smile plastered on her face more out of respect for the worker than anything else. She wasn't as talented in turning off her business mindfulness as she'd been as a teen - any preference for sweets overwhelmed by boring things like responsibility and sense.

"I'd like a chestnut parfait," interrupted her thoughts, before she'd had a chance to read through, "And three different cups of tea."

"Is that for the three of you? What types of tea are you each looking for?"

"Oh no, just for one." Manami said. "Surprise me!"

"...Okay," the waiter answered. Kanzaki looked up, the typical polite smile any stressed worker forced onto their face evident here. "And you?"

She gave an apologetic smile, trying to rush her decision, to land on one of the more expensive cakes she saw. Watching how quickly the waiter walked away, she decided future interrogations would best be held in places that didn't involve the potential of disturbing service workers.

"Is Miyahara doing well?" she started.

"Ooo," they said. "Who told you her name?"

"You think she wouldn't have given a friend her name?"

Manami laughed at that, before returning to rolling their head around, eyes wandering ceiling fans and paper ornaments that hung above them. She watched for a moment, too.

"When the Tour De France is on, we always string up ornaments in the shop." Kanzaki spoke without bothering to look at them. "But it's only because most people who come in wouldn't know about any races other than that. I'd make decorations to celebrate pretty much all the ones in Japan if I had the time."

"She did mention you like bikes."

"That's all she said?"

The waiter came back, carefully placing food between their words. Manami pushed the three cups to sit as an audience before the empty chair to the side. She waited for a response, but they continued fiddling with where the tea sat, aligning it in patterns, particular distance, as though they were sitting here alone.

So Kanzaki went on by herself. "She really underplays everything, doesn't she!"

They nodded and poked at the food with a fitting miniature fork. "She only makes a big deal out of the strangest things. Every time I had a race, she'd tell me how much she didn't care, but always show up."

She scraped frosting around on her plate, blues and reds mixing together into a vibrant violet. "She's pretty weird."

"Mhm." Their parfait was beginning to look more like a pudding. "I thought it would be true here, too."

"What would be?" she asked.

"How long have you liked bikes?" The question came as though she hadn't spoken first.

"All my life," she said, a little more challenging than she'd usually allow herself. "My parents owned a bike shop!" A chunk of frosting melted on her tongue, before she was too impatient to wait for them to say something she could twist. "It isn't like I want to follow in their footsteps. I just want to put bikes in other people's lives. I don't think there's anything better than that."

"Right?" they said - an actual tinge of energy behind the word.

Manami didn't say anything more, but it was something.  A single honest word was all anyone needed to be pulled into the spotlight.

"Sometimes introducing people to bikes can save lives." She pressed her chin into a palm, trying to control her smile. "I've heard Miyahara did something like that."

Their hands disappeared behind the table.  "Is that so?"

"Well ... I guess she didn't really say that. But that's what it seems like. You agreed, didn't you? That she underplays everything."

Manami's eyes sat pointedly on their ruined parfait. "Especially herself."

She'd never believe them - they'd never find the words - Kanzaki tapped a finger at her ear. "Of course."

"She didn't give up on me," they said. "It doesn't make much sense. When I was a kid, there wasn't any reason to think I could do anything." Their eyes never once matched the vague curve of their mouth. "I met other people who believed in me when I was racing, but that only made sense. I knew they should have faith in my cycling. But the rep's always been weird. The very first one."

Not a bit of what they said helped in - what Miyahara's name was supposed to be - why she'd chosen bikes to help anyone - why she would have done anything. But there was a strange comfort in the mutual mystery of it, and she remembered just why she'd chosen to come.

"I have a childhood friend I met due to cycling," Kanzaki said. "We've never gotten along very well. But no one else cared about it like we did! Most people didn't think I'd know anything about it. Except he'd always come by and argue with me for hours about bikes." Imaizumi was annoying - she told him half as much more than often enough.

"That sounds nice," they said.

"Yeah," she murmured. "It is."

"The rep listens to me talk about bikes sometimes, but I don't know if she really keeps it in mind..." Manami tilted their head, bird-like confusion carrying their wide eyes, and she laughed behind her hand.

She didn't have to tell them. "It's a mystery, isn't it?"

"Sure is," they answered, gentle and irreverent. "There are a lot of things in the world that we'll never really know."

"Does that include her name?" There wasn't much point in playing foolish now.

"She's the rep."  The air vibrated between machinery and paper.  It held more weight than their voice. "I couldn't answer in any other way."

Kanzaki sighed and picked up her fork again, driving it into the cake. Her teeth rang in her skull as she forced herself to savor each small bite, till little remained in her mouth but faint crunching sugar. It was fair enough, for what they said - how they talked. All the things in the world that didn't make sense - that no one seemed willing to give one young woman's name was at the top of the list. That didn't make it any better.

"Could you at least tell me why you keep calling her the class rep?"

Manami stared at her. She held the gaze, mirrored smile to bear.  She had nothing to lose.

So she said, "I don't like it."

They kept their even gaze.

"If all people get from you is this one unchanging view ..." She pressed her fingers into her temples. "How can she be anything else?  How is anyone supposed to have the chance to honestly to know her?"

Usually, she didn't say this out loud - usually, when people would catch her weakness and melancholy, she'd brush it off. She could sell people on a thousand matters cycling.  She could manage scholastic and local teams.  She could do so many things - yet everything she knew and couldn't change hung over her despite every fight she took in the opposite direction.

"I don't know," they said.  "Most of the time, we can't know. There's not much about people that makes sense," they repeated. But - "That's why we try to make it mean something. Anything, really. That's why she'll always be the fastest in the world. And that's why she'll always be the rep, to me. It's all I can do for her."

"But she's got to be someone else to others." Kanzaki bit her cheek to stop herself from frowning.

"Yeah." There was something particular in their expression. Up and down at the same time, and she couldn't decide whether their smile was sad or hopeful. "So, what is she to you?"

She couldn't think of how to respond - they smiled in her silence.

"When you figure it out, you should tell me," they said. "I'd love to hear about it. I don't really get her world. I'm really bad with school and business. But we're still friends, somehow ... I'm sure the two of you can find a way to make something of your own, too."

It was a little too genuine for comfort - she turned back to her chipper smile. "How am I supposed to do that? From what I've heard, it's trouble to get into contact with you."

"You could always ask the rep for my number!"

Kanzaki felt the bubbles of laughter returning to her chest. "And she'd say no."

"Well, you could just ask Teshima to trick me again. That's a fun option." They tapped their chin. "Or maybe I'll agree to visit your shop with Sakamichi some time."

"They've asked you before?"

"Hahah," they said. "I'm not very good at making plans."

The ease of their papery laugh made the weight on the air float away.  Kanzaki leaned back in her chair, bouncing her feet against the ground.  She hummed.  "But you came out here today."

Manami's smile shifted - deadpan floating in their tone. "Teshima showed up out of the blue this morning. You see, his bike was recently repaired."

"I wonder how it was fixed so quickly!"  Poised with her chin set upon intertwined fingers, she said, "That must have been an expert mechanic."

"He's quite lucky."  They held up their hands in a shallow shrug. "He mentioned a celebratory race ... I couldn't really say no to that."

Someone groaned. They both glanced up to watch Teshima finally drag himself over and drop into his chair. He stared at the cold tea in front of him.

"Welcome back to the land of the living!" Manami said.  "I made sure to order so you wouldn't have to wait."

"Great," he muttered. Pushing the cups out of the way, he pressed his face into the table. It was only from there that he finally spoke to Kanzaki. "Did you get her name?"

She met Manami's eyes. They went first. "Of course she did! I wouldn't be so rude as to refuse anyone that much."

His head tilted their way, giving some kind of look that made their smile shift into a toothy grin.

"Yep!" She went second. "Just us two, having a deep discussion about how pretty Miyahara's name is."

"You didn't get it," he said.

"What? Noooo, Teshima. I wouldn't come here for nothing, would I?"

He didn't say anything more, and Manami dug through their pockets, before shoving something into his hands - however quiet, he threw a complaint about refusing their pills. They leaned down, arm pushing the cups back further before pressing their cheek against it. For smiles, and narrowed eyes, it was too distant an argument to understand. Kanzaki scraped up the last remains of frosting on her plate, holding back from the temptation of licking it clean. She listened to quiet insistence, dashed with meaningless laughter - something about safety, more about shelves, health, mysteries she wasn't here to bother with.

Her fingers wandered into her pocket. She fiddled with the aluminum wrapping. Miyahara would probably complain at her for keeping trash.

---

Miyahara didn't ask why she knew her name.  Her questions remained practical and present.  If Kanzaki had not needed to go through backalleys of acquaintance and happenstance memories, she would have thought the mystery to have never existed in the first place.  She didn't let go of the facts - she wouldn't let go of what she wanted.

"Hey," she said, one day after the end of the seminar.  "Could you come by the libray with me?"

It took less effort than Kanzaki expected.  For her sudden question, she received only a meager amount of grumbling about the relative time of night. Miyahara seemed to be at ease surrounded by silent books, even in how the building arched far overhead. Kanzaki explored each floor, rejecting servicable rooms for the presence of the rare sleepless peer.  The summer night served her well.  She found a solitary corner and the two set up camp.  Her own messy hair hung loose over her printouts, obscuring any helpful information. It was a helpful excuse.

"Miyahara, I have a theory."

She didn't look up from the papers she was grading. "Does it have something to do with business theory?"

"Mmm ... you could say that."

Flicking back one twintail, she asked, "How so?"

"Have you ever heard about monsters that steal things from kids?"

"...I fail to see what this has to do with this class."

"They don't just steal, they also trade. That has something to do with it, doesn't it?"

She waited as Miyahara tapped a pen against her lip. "I suppose it could be a metaphor of offered goods and demand."

"Right, right." Kanzaki waved a hand as she went on. "The problem is, most kids don't have very much they could give. Toys aren't very much of anything, and I don't think most children would want to give away their friends or family!  But a name is pretty valuable."

Miyahara looked up from her papers, finally, a sharp silent stare directed her way.

As blithe as she could manage, she said, "I was thinking that maybe you -"

"Kanzaki," cut straight through.

She didn't let it stop her. "Might have accidentally given away your name when you were a kid and this is all -"

"To begin with, this has nothing to do with your upcoming test," Miyahara continued to interrupt, just as Kanzaki went on.

"A really elaborate scheme to stop people from finding out because you feel really silly about having let that happen when you're so -"

"And second, you sound like you've been talking too much to Sangaku."

It was still harder to go on, as she lost steam, and started filling air. "When you're so smart and put together and -"

"Kanzaki." That time brought her to a standstill. Whether it was her name, or Miyahara's weary eyes - "I didn't complain when I heard you using my family name. But you need to understand, this doesn't matter as much as you think it does."

"If it matters enough that no one is allowed to know something that's supposed to be commonplace, then I'd say I'm in the right," she said.

Miyahara's head sunk behind her hands, fingers slowly hidden within her hair - strands came loose, but she didn't move to fix them. She just sighed.

Moving around the table, Kanzaki took the quietest steps she could manage, sitting in a closer chair. She murmured, "I don't want to make you tell me your name if you hate it. But I do want to know what you want to be called."

The question of where to stop - the answer of where it didn't matter. She didn't really care about that.

She answered, "Call me whatever you'd like."

"Is that what you told Manami?"  More distaste colored her tone than she'd intended, but she didn't see a reason to apologize.

"No."  The word felt sharper when whispered.  A refusal that went beyond correcting - some fact that she should have known not to challenge, under the rule of childhood friends.  She didn't care.  Miyahara's face softed as she said, "I told them to refer to me as my title. ...I suppose they never stopped."

No matter how much she pushed and pulled, getting a full story out of anyone had proven impossible regardless of the circumstance. All she could find was flickers of what people could let themself say - pictures of what they managed to remember - sparks of what mattered the most.

"So is there a title you'd like from me?"

"I don't have a preference."

Maybe it was some mess of personal problems, or incidents, embarrassments, or red tape. Maybe it was nothing but stubbornness. Maybe it was magic - maybe it was spells and yokai and unspeakable nonsense. Her hands wrapped around the edges of the chair, plastic cut into her skin, and she refused to let go.

"You wouldn't like me to just call you Tutor all the time."

"It's overly specific, but I'd allow it."

Her nails scraped over the plastic. "It's not good enough if you're just tolerating it."

"Kanzaki, it's nothing more than name."

"But if I'm trying to use a nickname for you, it should at least be something that makes you happy! It's supposed to live up to you.  It's supposed to let you be yourself."

"...Why does it need to?"

"Because you're important."  She swallowed, mouth dry.  Her teeth cut into her mouth.  "Who you are.  And it's really important to me, too."

She tried to meet Miyahara's eyes, but she sat as though she was little more than a statue.

"If there are things you don't want to tell me ... I can accept that much. There's a lot we can't say." A thousand words wrapped up in more metaphors that sounded like they were about bikes, hundreds of backsteps and awkward rephrasing, neatly stepping around all the mines that she had to live with. Because she was a woman - because of sports - because of things she didn't say out loud. "At least let me make it into something important."

There wasn't anything to be understood if they couldn't work out something together. It meant standing on a common ground - it meant honesty. Even if it had always been about avoiding certain words.

Kanzaki took the chance and spoke freely. "It isn't like I can just call you my girlfriend."

She heard the stammering - she couldn't make it out. Miyahara's pen fell out of her hand, shaking even as she pressed her hands over her knees. It wasn't patience that kept her from speaking more - she told herself it was just wanting to see how she reacted - not her own burning face.

"I." Miyahara's hair stood mussed outside the clips, floating around her face in static. "I-I.  I think-" She jolted up, holding her papers close to her chest. "I'll s-see you in class, next week," she managed. Her mouth opened - wide, everything about her wavering, and slammed shut. "Good night."

She rushed out.

Kanzaki sat latched to her chair. Her fingers wouldn't unwind.

---

"I feel stupid," she said.

"What's that?"

"I said," she repeated, yelling over the pound of rubber against concrete, "I feel pretty silly!"

"You kinda are, Miki!"

Tachibana kept up with her routine, and the tennis ball, slamming it back between her racket and the wall ahead of her. It never stopped being a sight for sore eyes, even this many years out of high school - eternally short-cut hair flaring out behind her long measured strides.

"I know," Kanzaki responded, as she slid down the fence behind her to lay on the bench.

The tennis ball sped past Tachibana's head as she paused mid-swing, narrowed eyes settling on her. She didn't call her out just yet. She stopped for her water bottle first, sat on the ground, and laid her arm out over Kanzaki's gut.

"But you're not stupid. You don't get to say that around me."

"Ah..." Kanzaki drew her arms over her eyes. "I didn't think you'd heard me."

"Did something happen at the shop?" There was always a death glare in her voice. Kanzaki couldn't describe it any other way - the way she spoke carried the full forced of how she held herself. "Or was it another racer bothering you."

"It's nothing like that. I know better than to let that get to me!" She couldn't give her trademark giggle. "I just ... don't feel like a very good friend."

Tachibana said, "Yeah, you kinda suck at that sometimes."

"Aya!"

"I do too. People complain all the time."

She lifted her arms to shoot a glare. "No, that's you being brave. And tough! It's very charming and you are a delight."

"Miki." Tachibana's deadpan stare made her drop her arms again. "Fine. I'm a delight to you, and you're my best friend, but we're both jerks. Alright?"

She grumbled, "Okay."

"So what's so much worse than the usual."

It was a mystery with only vague answers to be found between her and one other person. She decided to say, "I met a girl who knows about bikes. I got her to be my friend, but I think I accidentally overwhelmed her."

"Yeah, you do do that kind of thing a lot."

"Of course," Kanzaki said. It hurt to put on the brave face - but Tachibana was brave, and she liked trying to keep up in even small ways.

"But you can make it up to her!" Kanzaki yelped as she pounded her palm against her stomach like a shallow drum. She stood up, racket held across her shoulders, twisting and stretching her arms out again. "You're great at that part, Miki."

She laughed weakly.

"Come on, you could probably convince someone to keep being your friend even if you turned their boyfriend into a bike." Tachibana turned around, jabbing the racket as an extension of her hand. "If you wanted any ideas."

"You'd be more annoyed at him if he were a bike," she giggled. There was a genuine joy in being around Tachibana, even if they were in different worlds - even if she'd never compete, even if she'd never care about bikes. "I'd have to teach you how to do tune-ups and the last time I tried to do that, you ripped apart the inner tubing because it was too delicate and annoying."

"Yeah, well." She huffed, and picked up another tennis ball, slamming it aimlessly across the court. "It'd make him talk less, that's for sure."

"I think he'd find a way!" Kanzaki held up a finger and a wink. "He's too experienced not to."

"Don't you start now!"

She watched Tachibana set herself back to practice, another twenty minutes without pause. When they'd graduated high school, she'd kept up with tennis. When Kanzaki went into the work force, Tachibana went to college and got a degree. And when she was good, but not extraordinary, she kept up her day job and signed up for local teams. For her, it was about getting out all her frustrations, each beat of rubber another tick of anger less. It wasn't her life. She didn't have to do it. It'd probably be easier if she didn't, when men jeered and took up courts and stands. She kept on anyway.

Kanzaki never stopped admiring her.

Tachibana had told her, one week after starting to date an old mutual friend, that she'd had a crush on her since middle school. Laughing about how ridiculous it was, joking about the idea of her having a crush on Imaizumi, the two had spent the night celebrating and drinking. Kanzaki had spent the next morning, alone, stewing in her head about everything she never saw when she had her eyes and life set on cycling.

She stretched her legs in the sun, staring at them rather than her friend. It was harder to keep her mind on bikes, now. They were always there, the backdrop of her life, the reason she jumped out of bed the moment her alarm went off, a new hopeful tide to hold onto. But the weight of every worry outside them had only become heavier in five years. Her tongue was tied by all the matters she had gotten by through staying silent, growing up.

As a tennis ball came to a slow bouncing halt against the opposite fence, Tachibana sat back down, kicking her feet into the air. All the air rushed out of her in a satisfied sigh. By the evening sun, her hair lit up as bright as her skin. Her head rolled back, bemused smile peeking out from a face normally adorned in a frown, as she looked at her.

"You okay?"

Over the years, Tachibana had asked that hundreds of times - one of the only people who ever did. She was so used to brushing it off, it was hard to speak. "No." Kanzaki rubbed her throat. "No, I don't think so."

"Still thinking about that girl?"

She felt Tachibana's hand brush up against her own, when she wouldn't look away from her face. Kanzaki let her cheek fall against the fence, loose points of metal pricking her skin, catching her hair.

"I don't want to make her put up with me," she said.

"Miki," she muttered. "Putting up with you is a good thing."

Her eyes closed. She didn't let her smile fade, but she didn't put in the effort to make it happy. "From what I hear, that's supposed to be a bad thing."

"A friendship's not much fun if you're just soft and nice all the time," Tachibana said. "I know I complain, but I like you best when you're being you. And that includes the nosy do-gooder bullshit you pull."

Fingers wrapping tighter around hers, Kanzaki said, "Are you sure?"

"Some things didn't work out." Tachibana's words settled in her lungs like rocks. "I never said a lot of things that maybe I should have. But you know. You're still my best friend." Kanzaki half-opened one eye, only to catch the last glimpse of her friend before receiving a flick to her forehead. "That's why I wanna know why you're so hung up on her."

Kanzaki's face scrunched up, twitching her nose, a whine of complaint escaping her mouth - but as she rubbed her face, she spoke into her hand. "She's really weird." Tachibana's overstated hum interrupted her. Though she pursed her lips, it sent a breath of ease through her bones. Of course she'd react that way - knowing and amused to hear that from the bike fanatic. "She knows too much about bikes, but she doesn't care about them at all. And she won't tell anyone her name. She's an absolute enigma, Aya!"

"Mhmmm."

"That doesn't mean anything," Kanzaki said, sing-song judgment in her voice.

Tachibana pushed her hands behind her neck and bounced a heel against the court. "Hey, Miki. You remember that thing you used to say about people's first races?"

"I still do," she said. "It's your first time at such a great event. And it's the first of so many exciting things to come!" Saying it made her face hurt, smile spreading beyond her control. "If you can look back and enjoy what happened, it's easier to look forward to what might come."

"Yeah," Tachibana answered. She didn't sound so sure about it, with how she bounced her leg. But she nodded, "Yeah. This isn't really my territory. I'm not ... y'know." Her arms came down as she stood up. Kanzaki watched her pose, folding and unfolding her arms, till she'd reached a measure of content with a try-hard casual pose. "Well, all that flowery stuff you say." Her face never took well to reds, so it was faint with how bright the sun shone across her cheeks. "I could say that same for love."

She stared, dumbfounded. A laugh took her. Starting deep in her chest, it rolled through her hands and feet, till she'd doubled over herself, tears leaking from her eyes.

"Stop laughing!" Tachibana never quite stuttered, but she got angry and emphatic until she was see-through as a window. "I'm being totally serious, alright!"

"No! No, no, no no no," Kanzaki repeated, still breathless as she forced herself up. "It's just so cute coming from you, Aya!"

"Miki," she groaned. She stamped her feet in a circle, just making Kanzaki bluster into more giggling. "It's like that for me. Is all," Tachibana said, and a little louder, "Alright?!" As the laughter died down, she said, "I was thinking about it recently. I can look back on my first crush like that. ...And I'm really glad about it, cause it makes what I have now pretty great."

It wasn't what she really wanted to hear. Despite that, it didn't hang in her chest. Kanzaki went on breathing, even if she didn't know what to say. "Should I tell him you said that?" she asked, filling the space with a mischievous smile.

"He already knows," she muttered. "It's a pain! But so are you. I guess I just like that kind of thing."

"Admitting to something like that! Gracious, Aya." Kanzaki popped up, rocking on her heels at her side, grinning over Tachibana's sarcastic attempts to slap her away. "Why'd you bring this up, anyway?"

"Huh?" Tachibana snorted. "You reminded me about it, talking about that Miss No Name."

Kanzaki bit her cheek. "Hm?"

"Well, yeah. You like her."

Tachibana stated the obvious, as though it wasn't a secret mystery that only she and Miyahara had the answer to. Her heart could have stopped. Her lungs could have burst. She could have jumped up and yelled in shock. But it was her best friend. It wasn't that surprising.

"Yep," Kanzaki said. "I'm glad you noticed!"

"You don't make it easy," Tachibana said, poking her in the cheek as she giggled all over again.

They set to collecting all the balls, chasing after things that bounced out of her bag, tossing things across the court in Tachibana's quiet cool down time.

"Hey!" She yelled from the bench. A ball had stuck itself between the chains, stubborn in refusal to leave its new home. "Did she ever answer you?"

Kanzaki bounced the tennis ball off the wall, drastically missing it as it flew back. "Mhm! Did you know she signed her name away when she was a child to save her best friend's life?"

"Miki," she muttered, as Kanzaki waltzed back over.

Laughter filled the air - just hers, as it ever did with Tachibana, rising up over her annoyed demands. The two of them smiling together was enough to make it welcome.

---

The seminar was canceled for the week.

It was only a few free hours she'd gotten used to living without. Her nails drummed along the counter, joining the dirge of few living cicadas that haunted the vague greenery around the shop.

She'd have another chance. It didn't make it any less troublesome. She'd used up too much of her patience to be content with waiting now.

The phone ringing for the first time in hours made her jump out of her skin. It was the closest thing to a boon the had evening offered. For herself, she swung a hand onto her hip as she answered, perky as anyone would expect from her.

"Kanzaki Cycling Shop! Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Yes." Her voice was almost unfamiliar to Kanzaki's ears when bemused through static. "I was wondering if I might talk to one miss Miki?"

Fingers wrapping around the counter, tight and pale, it was difficult to stop herself from bouncing. She said, "She might be somewhere around here. Did someone recommend our lovely bike shop to you?"

"No, I'm afraid not." There was a pause - a soft rustle of hair over the receiver, a clatter against plastic, shifting from one side to the next. "I was calling for something unrelated to bikes."

"Gosh," Kanzaki gasped, "Then how did you get this number?"

"There are records," Miyahara said. "One can find out many things if they know where to look."

"It's pretty weird to call a place like this if you're not interested in bikes!"

"I think there's more in a store than just products," she answered, quick and smart and a little annoyed - a little fond.

"You could have just asked," she said, blinding grin making every light in the room glow through her closed eyes.

"I've heard it can be satisfying to have the chance to discover things yourself.  If you didn't know, it makes the matter feel more important."

Kanzaki clamped her hand over her mouth, stopping her laughter, her painful grin, waiting for what was carried by lines and air. 

Miyahara spoke so carefully.  It felt like she'd rehearsed, as she said, "I wanted to try that, myself."