“Huff, huff, huff-”

  Sunlight slowly peeks over the crescent hill in the distance, a winding gravel path snaking its way down the shoreline. Thump, thump, thump- footsteps echo in the orange-red lights of dawn, Katsura Oscar forcefully jogging her way though the still-lit streetlights.

  Sweat glistens upon her forehead as she comes to a slow stop, reaching down and stretching to her ankles, breathing heavily. She counts to ten before righting herself, then pops open a bottle of water. She takes in a quick sip before continuing down the path, her ribbon-like hair slowly swinging in the winter-like wind.

  Her ears twitch. Her head swivels around as a red-feathered bird proudly flaps its wings, chirping loudly in the treetop. "Pipe down, dammit!” She yells into the air, brandishing her fist as her tail spikes. The bird does not stop, causing her to let out a resigned sigh as she continues her jog.

  Sixty minutes of running, not a second less. That was the thesis of her ritualistic morning. The routine was simple: wake up at Five thirty. Shower, brush teeth, do her hair, run. She'd make her way around the city and back to the academy by Seven, right in time for everyone else to wake up and eat breakfast.

  The track was her sanctum. She'd cleanse herself of yesterday's fatigue with the morning mist that hung in the air and start her day anew. How many hours of sleep she had mattered seldom; she'd drag herself up by the neck and force herself to move even if she felt dead. If that didn't work, she'd throw water on her face till her skin turned numb.

  The breeze rushes through her hair as she picks up the pace, her legs burning with the strain of a sustained run. She had always despised the sensation, for the tingly needles that pricked at her muscles would slowly turn her strides sluggish. She grits her teeth; the thought of being someone who could not master her own body made her boil with a quiet, familiar rage. It made her feel weak.

  She had tasted the bitterness of weakness once before, and it was a poison that threatened to end her before she had a chance to live.

  “Why the hell are you here?”

  That was the first question she asked everyone she worked with. To her, someone who couldn’t pinpoint their purpose in life was good as useless. To her, the greatest insult was watching someone squander what they were given on the meaningless. Those that took whatever came their way and called it a day, the ones that were content on being told what to do and hoped for nothing else- that wasn’t living.

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  Even as a child, she understood what a race was. She’d line up with the other kids, take off, and beeline for the finish. Her mother squealed with joy watching her run, then they’d go out for a treat… regardless of whether she won. Her mother’s voice echoes from a hollow past, sweet and suffocating.

  “It’s okay if you didn’t win, dear. What matters is that you tried your best.”

  It felt wrong. Beyond wrong.

  She’d stand at the starting line, her small heart thundering not with excitement, but with a desperate need for a result. The other children ran for the joy of it, for the treats afterward. For her, the treat was ashes in her mouth if she lost. What was the point of running if there was no victory to crown the effort? Why endure the strain at all if the reward was given regardless?

  So she began to win- It was the only thing that made sense. She beat the children her age, then the older ones. Her reputation grew, her body did not. The other girls shot up like bamboo, while she remained a stubborn stump in their shade. Every month her mother measured her up against the sapling in their backyard, but when last month’s marking grew with the tree to be taller than she was, they loaded her up in the minivan and took her to a doctor.

  “Miss Katsura, I’m sorry to inform you that your daughter has a growth hormone deficiency.”

  The sound that followed was not her own. It was the sound of her mother’s world breaking—a sharp, choked sob that seemed to suck all the air from the room. Katsura sat perfectly still, and though she was too young to understand, she knew things were serious.

  Treatment was expensive. Her parents could barely afford the pills, much less the shots. She was told that she wouldn’t be able to run again, that she would have to live the rest of her life walking in crutches.

  That night, lying in the dark, she didn't cry. She burned. She burned with a hatred for her own failing body, for the universe that had given her a purpose and then physically revoked her right to pursue it. Without running, she was nothing. The certainty of it was absolute. She hated herself for it more than she had hated anything else.

  She paid no heed to the knock on the door. But her parents did.

  The man introduces himself as Shinji Goutarou, a trainer from the local racing academy. He spoke plainly, without pity. He had heard of her condition. He had heard of her times, of the fierce, undeniable talent that her small body housed- and he would cover the cost of the treatment.

  The others saw a businessman making an investment. Katsura saw an angel. An angel in a beret cap descending from the heavens with her lifeline in his hands. What else could he be? The man had no reason to put himself in debt for some pathetic runt living in a rundown farm shack.

  He gave her everything when the world left her for dead. He believed in her in a time where she couldn’t even believe in herself. He was too good for someone like her. In a world full of empty promises, of friendship thinner than fingernails and fleeting gratitudes that lasted as long as a flash, he was, in his own way, the only honest person she had ever met.

  For that, she would repay him with the world.