Chapter Text
The morning sun stretched calmly across Tracen Academy’s training grounds, casting long shadows over the neatly lined tracks. The air was sharp, a hint of earthiness mingling with the faint smell of dew. Mejiro McQueen strode along the outer lane, her posture impeccable, as always. Back straight, shoulders square, outfit perfectly in place. Every move she made was deliberate, precise— every step calculated.
The rhythmic thud of horseshoes against the turf blended with the distance clatter of the other trainees. Silence Suzuka glided past on the inner lane like a wisp of wind, while team Canopus already causing a scene somewhere the central fountain. Overhead, the Academy’s decorations on the building swayed gently, countering the blue sky above.
From the side, Gold Ship leaned against the fence, following the girl with the kind of amusement that could only be deliberate. She leaned forward, her white hair catching the light as she tilted her head.
“Look at her go,” Gold Ship called out suddenly, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Do you even know you’re running so royally, McQueen?”
McQueen froze mid-stride. Her ears flicked, her legs threatening to wobble. She’s mocking me, McQueen thought. Why would she say that?
A chorus of giggles followed from the other members in Spica, but McQueen refused to meet anybody’s eyes. She clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to continue moving, her thoughts twisting into a knot of confusion mixed with irritation. Gold Ship’s obnoxious laugh rang across the track, sharp and teasing. The purple-haired girl couldn’t tell if it was meant to humiliate her in front of the others or simply amuse Gold Ship herself.
“You’re so stiff, Mac-chan,” Gold Ship called across the field, waving dramatically. “Do you always run like that, or is today special?”
McQueen shot her a look over her shoulder, expression heated in a regal disapproval. “I run this way because it’s efficient,” she whispered, knowing Gold Ship was too far away to hear, her voice cool. “Not for amusement.”
Gold ship stood, her head lopsided in an exaggerated puzzlement, hand cupped to her ear like she was trying to catch the words of the wind.
McQueen’s cheeks burned hotter than her training would warrant. Why is she doing this to me? Just Me? She wasn’t used to people teasing her, at least not in this way, and certainly not someone she barely knew. She has to dislike me. That explanation was the only thing that made sense. But what have I done to make her dislike me so much?
“Time!”
—
Training ended soon after, the group shifting into cooldown stretches, with voices drifting over the track. The scene of freshly watered grass after last night’s rain hung heavy in the air as the sun continued to climb higher, scattering glints of light across the field. Tokai Teio had cornered their trainer near the bleachers, hands planted on her hips.
“I’m telling you, I could’ve done another set!” she insisted, her ears twitching with each word. “You always pull me out when I’m just hitting my stride.”
“And I’m telling you,” Trainer replied evenly, “that you’ll thank me tomorrow when you’re not limping through tomorrow’s drills.”
“Or,” Teio countered, grinning wide, “I could train twice as hard and skip the limping part entirely.”
Trainer pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly fighting back a sigh. “Go Hydrate, Teio. Or I’ll have McQueen lecture you about pacing again”
She groaned dramatically, throwing her head back as Special Week stifled a laugh behind her. “Fine, fine… but next time, no holding back!” Teio complained, but headed off towards the exit. Some girls stayed to chat, others trotting off towards the dorms, but Gold Ship, of course, lingered.
From a few meters away, her gaze lingered on the squabble just long enough to confirm everybody’s eyes were on Teio. Then, like a fox spotting an unattended henhouse, she pushed off from the fence and sauntered toward McQueen. There was an unmistabkle glint in her eyes—the kind that suggested she’d been waiting for this exact distraction.
Gold Ship bounded lightly across the track, catching up with a casual run that contrasted sharply with McQueen’s precise control. She wasn’t even winded, as though her earlier laps had been a warm up rather than a proper session. She stopped beside her, breathing evenly, hands on her hips. “Efficient?” she echoed, mock horror in her tone. “You look like you’re about to topple into a fountain any second. Let me help you loosen up!”
McQueen looked at the taller girl in disbelief, not understanding how she could have possibly heard her from that distance, but snapped back quickly regardless. “I don’t need help.” Her voice lacked the conviction she intended it to. Adjusting her tail’s ribbon with a sharp tug, she gives herself an air of composure.
“C’mon. I’ve been told I have magic hands!” She said, a smirk forming across her face, though he tone didn’t disguise the fact that she hovered uncomfortably close. Her shadow stretched over McQueen like a tall, taunting silhouette, and her presence carried the scent of sun-warmed fabric and mint gum. Her hand brushed McQueen’s calf in an attempt to help her adjust the angle. McQueen stiffened instinctively, heart fluttering in a way that seemed unreasonable, with a shiver running down her spine.
What’s… happening? McQueen wondered, her mind spinning. She couldn’t understand what Gold Ship could want with her after teasing her so clearly. Nobody would ever touch her like that— so casually. So, for the taller girl to treat it as easily as friends helping friends, she couldn’t help but speculate.
Gold Ship’s gaze, though playful on the surface, flicked to McQueen’s face repeatedly, reading her reactions like a book. She accidentally let her hand linger a second longer than she intended on McQueen’s thigh, deep in thought. McQueen did not flinch, but instead bit the inside of her cheek, averting her eyes.
Why does this feel so different? She scolded herself internally. It’s nothing. She’s only giving me a hand, I guess.
It’s just… awkward.
She didn’t notice McQueen’s reactions, or at least didn’t acknowledge them. She straightened and continued speaking, her hand still on McQueen’s leg and her tone teasing. “You’re so stiff, McQueen. Relax a little. I don’t bite… much.”
McQueen yanked her leg back, scooting away until she almost tripped over her own legs. “You’re too close,” she snapped, her voice slightly trembling despite her best efforts to sound intimidating.
The moment ended when the next group of runners approached, breaking Gold Ship’s proximity. She gave McQueen one last glance, a hint of mischief and something now softer mixed in her gaze. For just a second, it almost didn’t feel like mockery at all.
McQueen, meanwhile, focused her mind back onto stretching, on her posture, anything but Gold Ship’s tall frame over her. But as she pressed her heels into the ground, feeling her muscles pulling, she couldn’t shake the feeling of fingers brushing her skin, the heat in her chest, the odd flutter in her stomach. I’m being ridiculous, she whispered to herself, over and over. She’s purposely trying to get under my skin.
But why does my pulse seem to trip over the touch?