Click, click, click…

  “Ah, my pencil.”

  Norm leans down in her chair, reaching blindly beneath the table.

  “Gah-!” A sharp pain flares across her forehead as she scrapes it against the rim of the desk; her ears pinning flat as she topples to the floor, chair and all.

  “Are you okay?”

  Danon’s head peeks over her with a concerned look, the underside of her face darkened by humming overhead fluorescent lights.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Norm grimaces as she crawls beneath the table, pulling the pencil out before crawling to her feet. She gingerly touches the spot where the nurse had applied the bandage and winces.

  “Don’t touch it too much. It’s still fresh.” Danon watches her with a concerned look in her eyes, her voice softer and quieter than usual. Norm doesn’t reply immediately as she rights her chair and plops back down with a thump.

  “It’s not that deep of a cut, you know.” She sighs, crossing her arms. “I’ll be fine-” Her eyes first lower, then sweep across the room. Her gaze lands on the window, the cabinets, the whiteboard in the center, then by the motivational posters on the far wall. She finally flicks them up towards the ceiling fan turning with a soft hum and a click.

  Anything but Danon’s gaze.

  “-It’ll heal overnight.” She finishes, picking up her pencil once more. “That’s what the nurse said anyway.”

  BAM!

  The door to the clubroom flies open, causing Norm and Danon to jump. A pair of tails bristle upright in unison as they turn to the doorway, only to be greeted by a ruffled nest of spiky brown hair.

  “What’s this, what’s this? Brickhead got her head cut?”

  “Herbe-!” Danon’s ears shoot straight up before she plants her arms on the table in indignation, her usual elegance cast completely out the window. “Don’t do that!”

  “Fate be damned by the three goddesses,” Norm slumps back down into her chair with a loud sigh, her arms dangling by the chair along with her ears. “You trying to send me into cardiac arrest or what?”

  “What cut ya?” Herbe ignores the comments and makes a beeline for Norm, grabbing her head with both hands before leaning over her menacingly. She tilts left, right, over, and down; her eyes glistening with a fever as she inspects her like a scuffed ball. “Gotta be one tough-”

  “Hey, hey! Let go!” Norm’s hands fly onto her head, her legs kicking and flailing at nothing but air. Her knee slams into the table, causing a loud crash to echo through the air and supplies sailing everywhere as it topples over. A few more kicks follow before her feet finally push off the floor, driving the back of the chair firmly into Herbe’s stomach.

  “Ack!” Herbe releases her head, letting out a yelp and doubling over in pain.

  “You wanna fight?” Norm springs up aggressively, ears pinned back, hands balled up and ready to toss, only for Danon to come from behind and drag her back by the arms. “You and me, right now-”

  “Okay, okay! That’s enough, please!” Her voice trickles with a tinge of weary politeness that stretches thin enough to snap, holding up a hand and pushing her palm out towards a still doubled-over Herbe. “Both of you, please!”

  Her gaze snaps to the doorway to spot Le Vent Se Leve, who’d been simply… standing and observing the commotion. She wordlessly makes her way to the table, pulls out the chair on the far end and sits down.

  “Leve-chan! Please help..” Danon pleads softly, her breath stretched into a squeak.

  Herbe is still hunched over, rubbing her stomach where the chair had slammed into her. Norm remains half-restrained in Danon’s grip, her ears pinned flat and her breathing loud enough to drown out the fan. Le Vent Se Leve lets out a loud sigh before lowering her book bag, walking over to Herbe and yanking her upright, her eyes dripping with enough contempt to drown the room in it.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Ah, hold on, my stomach still-”

  “Sit. Down.” Her voice comes out in a low, growling rumble, rich like a bottomless pit. It was neither loud nor rambunctious, yet it cuts through the commotion like a blade and rings around in Norm’s skull like a pinball.

  Silence.

  Le Vent Se Leve pulls out a chair and lowers Herbe into it like a crane. She shoves it forward, ramming her chest into the table with slightly more force than necessary.

  “Gah-!” Herbe lurches, crying out loud before collapsing against the surface like a ghost. “Aaaaaaow…”

  It was then fate, perhaps, at that moment, that Kento chose to come through the clubroom door, blissfully unaware of the pandemonium coursing within it. His face remains buried in the clipboard and flips a page over, bustling with a bright tone that was wholly unfitting for what was practically a warzone.

  “Okay, everyone! I see we’re all here, so-”

  His voice abruptly cuts off. His eyes lift from the clipboard, then drift to an out of breath Norm. He casts his gaze towards Danon, then Le Vent Se Leve, to the overturned table on the floor, and finally settles on a half-dying Herbe. He waits for an explanation.

  None is given.

  “Okay then.” He lowers his eyes again, “As I was saying… races.”

  The adrenaline fades into cold sweat as Norm stares down at the form in front of her. She looks sideways- Danon quietly nibbles at the end of her pen, looking lost in thought.

  Norm impatiently taps the tip of her pencil against the paper. Three races had already been circled- Oka Sho, Yushun Himba, Shuka Sho. Those weren’t up for debate, but now she had to decide what other races she had to lock in.

  “Norm. Danon. Listen up.”

  Kento’s voice drifts from the front of the room.

  “I know you’re both planning to run in the Oka Sho, so this is something you’ll need to know.” He clicks a marker on the whiteboard. “The Oka Sho is a Classic with 18 racers and two ways to qualify.”

  “The Tulip Sho,” Norm places a pencil on her lips and leans back in her chair. “and Fillies’ Revue, right?”

  “That’s right!” Kento points the marker at her. “As we know, one of those methods involves trial races. Both of those races happen in March, and placing top three in either gives you the right to compete in the Oka Sho.”

  “One second, please!” Danon raises her hand almost immediately. “Wouldn’t that only make for six places? Where do the rest come from?”

  “Excellent question!” Kento uncaps the marker before circling two letters on the whiteboard, tapping the butt against it with a click.

  “Race record?” Danon leans forward, peeking around Norm with a blink.

  “Indeed.” Kento nods. “Norm- explain!”

  “While any racer in their classic year is eligible for nomination, only those who have the most consistent performances make it into the starting gates.” Norm replies. “Calculation is done cumulatively across graded races they’ve run in the Junior and Classic year, and the ones with the best records take priority.”

  “How do you know all that?” Herbe narrows her eyes. “...Nerd.”

  “Shut up.” Norm snaps back with a glare.

  “I see.” Danon puts a finger to her chin. “So you can either run lots of graded races, or win one of the two trial races and place in the top 3.”

  “Precisely.” Kento folds his arms and runs his thumb across his nose. “Which is why neither of you will be using the trial races.”

  “Hah?” Norm and Danon echo in unison.

  “I don’t want either of you to go into your classic year with the mindset of ‘I just need to place top 3’,” He replies. “‘Top three’ is the language of runners who are hoping not to fail. That’s how losers think.”

  “But the Unicorn Sta-” Norm opens her mouth to protest, only for Kento to cut her off.

  “You weren’t shooting for top five, were you, Norm? You were shooting for first.”

  Norm gulps and falls silent, Le Vent Se Leve shooting her a raised eyebrow. Triumphant, He turns the whiteboard over with a click.

  “You will qualify the correct way.” He grins, pushing off the board and pacing about the room. “You will qualify by being absolutely non-negotiable inclusions, unless the committee wants to look like a band of ragtag lunatics.”

  “...” Norm deadpans, slowly lowering her eyes again with a trembling hand.

  “But… Why? Wouldn’t that be… harder?” Danon tentatively asks.

  “Yes. Obviously.” Kento’s footsteps come to an abrupt halt as he spins around on the spot, an almost puzzled look on his face. “Did you think this was supposed to be easy?”

  Danon stiffens slightly.

  “The Tulip Sho and Fillies’ Revue exist for one reason only: to give second-rate runners a second chance. The ones who aren’t sure they belong in the Oka Sho.”

  He crosses his arms and leans back against the board.

  “I don’t train second-rate runners. If you’re good enough to win the Oka Sho, you’re good enough to qualify. If you’re worried about whether you’re qualifying…”

  Kento taps the marker against his clipboard once.

  “...You’ve got no chance of winning anyway.”