Chapter 3: The Sports Day

The classroom hummed with activity as the teacher stepped out, leaving Mike in charge of organizing the school’s annual Sports Day lineup.

“Let’s begin,” Mike said, standing at the front with a clipboard in hand, glasses catching the fluorescent light.

“We need representatives for every event. I’ll ask for volunteers first. If no one offers, I’ll assign it myself.”

That last line sent a ripple of nervous laughter across the room.

Mike didn’t smile.

I sat by the window, fingers tracing the edge of my notebook absentmindedly.

Sports.

Well, I didn’t hate it, but I wasn’t exactly excited either.

I preferred watching from the sidelines, not breaking a sweat under the sun.

Still, I wasn’t about to make a fuss. I trusted Mike to be fair about the assignments.

“100m sprint. Volunteers?” Mike asked.

A few hands went up.

“Relay?” he asked again, his tone matter-of-fact.

More hesitation this time. Mike tapped his pen against the clipboard slowly, his eyes scanning the room.

“No volunteers? Fine, Arata. You’re tall, you play basketball. You’re in,” he said.

“Wha—? But I—” Arata opened tried to protest but stopped when Mike raised an eyebrow.

“You can run. That’s all that matters,” Mike finished, his tone unwavering.

The list continued—Shot put. Jump rope. Obstacle course. Group cheer.

“Tug of war. Volunteers?” Mike asked, voice steady.

A few hands shot up, and the rest hesitated. Then, his gaze swept across the room, until it fell to me.

“Lissa, you’re on the team,” Mike called without missing a beat.

My heart stuttered in my chest. Tug of war? Of all things, why that?

I wasn’t exactly the best candidate. Not with my wrist injury.

Should I say it?

I hesitated, lips parting slightly to say something.

But the moment passed.

No one objected. The list went on.

And I just sat there, holding my breath.

Why didn’t I say anything?

Was it his confidence that silenced me? The way he spoke, so sure of what he was doing?

Or maybe it was the weight of the moment—the way everyone’s eyes seemed to land on me when he called my name.

Either way, I couldn’t bring myself to raise my hand.

Class ended shortly after.

People filtered out, laughing, chatting, some still complaining about their events.

I stood up slowly, gathering my books, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling in my stomach.

I should have said something earlier.

I knew it wasn’t a good idea for me to participate in a physical event like that.

I had injured my wrist years ago, and despite years of recovery, the pain still flared up when I exerted too much pressure.

But how could I explain that to Mike?

Would he think I was just making excuses?

But I couldn’t ignore the gnawing discomfort growing in my chest.

The classroom had mostly emptied.

I saw Mike was still writing something on the board.

This was my chance.

The hallway was quieter now.

I hesitated, then took a deep breath, gathering my courage.

“Um… M-Mike?” My voice was shaky.

He stopped writing, glancing back toward me with those piercing eyes.

“Yeah?” His voice was neutral, but there was something about it that made me feel like he was really paying attention.

I clenched my hands, twisting them nervously in front of me.

I opened my mouth but closed it quickly, unsure of what to say.

"I… about the tug of war match… can I change to something else?" I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper.

Mike’s eyebrow quirked. “Why?”

I hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. My fingers played nervously with the hem of my shirt.

“I—I’m not sure I can do it,” I said, my voice quiet. “It’s just… I haven’t been able to—” I stopped, swallowing hard. “It’s my wrist. I had an injury when I was younger, and sometimes it still hurts when I put too much pressure on it.”

I felt the silence between us stretch, thick and heavy. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye.

Mike didn’t say anything for a long moment, his gaze steady and unreadable. Then, he nodded.

“I see.”

I exhaled slowly, my shoulders sagging with a mixture of relief and regret. I didn’t expect him to be so… calm.

Then he looked at me with a hint of warmth in his eyes, but his voice was still all business.

“I’ll talk to the teacher. You don’t have to worry about it,” he said.

I opened my mouth, about to protest. “No, it’s not that. I just—there’s no need to exempt me. I can try something else that doesn’t—”

But Mike cut me off gently. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll ask someone else to switch with you.”

"Ah... Thanks. Sorry for causing trouble," I mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

Suddenly,

Mike’s hand landed gently on my head, like patting a kid.

I looked up, startled.

"Take it as a payback for the strawberry milk yesterday," he said with a small, teasing smile.

He... smiles?

Wait… he knew it was me? Since when? Does that mean he wasn't sleeping? That means… he heard it...

I felt heat rise in my face upon the realization.

I quickly pulled away, flustered. “T-thank you,” I stammered, suddenly desperate to escape.

Without another word, I hurried out of the classroom, my heart racing, my face hotter than it had ever been.

Was he teasing me? Where did the ruthless leader go? Why was he being so… playful?

I couldn’t stop the flush spreading across my face, and in that moment, all I wanted was to get home.

Away from the heat of my cheeks and the storm of thoughts that Mike had just stirred inside me.

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