Obstinate Elitists

19

As grand as the school, the outdoor track field matched their standards -- not a surprise there. A soft black cushion pavement wrapped around the large field, and was structured into a perfect oval. Several white lines were painted over them, which created lanes to guide runners. Meanwhile, wispy clouds decorated ahead, showcasing a bright and spotless day. The contrast between your mood and the world's was laughable.

In a plain, royal blue t-shirt -- school spirit colors -- black shorts, and running shoes, you were waiting with the others at the starting line. Maybe since you were all fired up today, you wouldn't be last for once. Yes, you were still dead on last after two weeks of daily running, but at least you were somewhat improving. The first day you had come out of class like a fucking zombie, wheezing and wishing for death. Your stupid limbs were also sore for a few days after that. But now, your endurance had you running a mile without actually dropping like a fly. Besides, you were not sore anymore. All that was left was to improve your slow legs and catch up with classmates.

Trapped between the heat of other students, you leaned your legs forward and tensed your body up. Waiting for the signal of the whistle, thoughts swarmed around your head and your teeth clenched. That stupid kid. If you were to ever stumble upon him again, he should be smart and run away, for you would make him pay. If he was scarred from his bully, he would be traumatized by you.

The shriek of the whistle sent everyone rolling, scrambling to gain any form of a head start. Taken off guard by getting distracted, you hurried after them, hitting your feet against the pavement. Left foot, right foot, left, right. Taking a deep breath, you kept a clear mind and proceeded onward. It was easy so far, but everyone knew that it would only get worse from here on out. The backs of the other students were lumped in a group, their bodies bobbing up and down. Damn, the general population was already increasing the gap from you. A few others lagged behind, so maybe you could catch up to them, but it would require effort.

Blond hair stood out from the rest, racing through the track with his legs. He wasn't even that tall, especially compared to the other elites, but for some damn reason, he was fast. Zooming through the course, he went off at the speed of light. Increasing the distance from the runner up, it was impossible for anyone to catch up to him. Of course, you weren't speaking of anyone but Kouki.

Rolling your eyes at the show off, you returned your focus to the view in front. Anger went to fuel your energy and as you kept on thinking about that one ungrateful brat, you increased your strides. Blood rushing up to your face, oxygen entering your system, and sweat dribbling down the side of your face, you ran as hard as you could. To your astonishment, this run was beginning to feel a little freeing.

Vision blurring the more you pushed, you could make out a person running a corner. Just a few more meters and you could surpass them. If you did that, all you had to do afterwards was secure your place.

Just as you were about to stretched your legs just a teensy bit more, footsteps echoed behind you, disrupting the rhythm you had going on for yourself.

Whirling your head around, you made eye contact with large, brown ones. They glistened in amusement and a delighted smile accompanied its features. His hair was waving against the momentum of the run. Unlike you, he was enjoying the run and barely broke a sweat. What was pissing you off the most was how he had slowed down considerably to match your own pace. Was he mocking you?

"What a nice walking speed. You sure are taking it easy," said Kouki, leaning his head to one side. Watching you closely for any reaction, he appeared to be quite pleased with himself. Okay, you were right. He was making fun of you.

You were already in a bad enough mood today. He was not making it better. Before you could prevent yourself from doing anything you'd regret, you lifted your hands up. Roughing shoving him away, you landed a withering glare on him -- one as mean as a witch.