Chapter 8: “The School Scrimmage”

  Scene 1: Opening Announcements

  —-: Ren Kisaragi

  The air over the Hinode Academy racing grounds shimmered faintly from the early-morning crystal vents, steam rising in thin fingers from the towers lining the course. The sky was wide and cloud-dappled — not perfect, but close enough to tempt ambition.

  Ren stood on the prep platform in his flight suit, goggles hanging loose around his neck. Beneath him, the Silver Dart gave off little huffs of pressure at regular intervals, like it was nervous too.

  The roar of students filled the spectator gantries, and then—

  “Goooooood mooooorning, Hinode!”

  The intercom howled to life, and Ren flinched as Saki’s voice boomed across the grounds, saccharine and sharp all at once.

  “This is your ever-charming commentator Saki reporting live from the Skybox! Today’s scrimmage will be one lap around the Standard Academic Course — nine color-coded ring gates, each worth different points based on difficulty and alignment. Let’s break it down, for those of you who didn’t do your homework!”

  A chalkboard-style diagram lit up on the projection banners floating above the raceway, glowing with crystal filament lines.

  Blue Ring — Your Team Color — 3 points

  Neutral Ring — 2 points

  Missed Ring — 1 pity point for trying

  Time bonus at the final 6km stretch: 6/4/2 points for 1st through 3rd!”

  Ren stared up at the diagram, chewing the inside of his cheek.

  Nine ring clusters. That was twenty-seven points max, plus six possible bonus from the straightaway.

  “All racers must pass through their assigned color first in each cluster for full points. And remember, the rules don’t say you can’t steal rings out of sequence… but they do say you have to survive it.” Saki’s grin came through the mic, somehow.

  The crowd laughed. Some cheered. Somewhere below, Ren saw Jiro waving a comically oversized banner that read: WRECK IT WITH DIGNITY, REN!

  Saki’s voice returned, now with just a little dramatic flair.

  “Today’s combatants — ahem, racers — are:

  Crimson Gale, the reigning champions with the sharpest wings and colder hearts.

  Iron Blossom, known for their altitude finesse and immaculate manners.

  Wild Tempo, wild by name, wild by—WAAAAGH—they just flew through the wrong ring in warm-ups.

  And finally…

  Silver Dart — the rumored rust bucket that somehow passed inspection. With two mystery pilots and more guts than guidance.”

  Ren groaned. “We have guidance. Her name’s Hana.”

  Hana, standing behind him, deadpanned, “Technically, I’m the engineer.”

  “Same difference.”

  Saki continued, almost singing now.

  “Pilots, ready your crafts. Crystals calibrated. Steam vents primed. Flight crews step clear.

  This scrimmage starts in thirty seconds. Final countdown will be crystal tone and flare.”

  The moment settled into silence. Ren climbed into the cockpit, boots thudding softly against the grating.

  The core crystal in the Dart’s ignition coil flickered. Pale blue. Steady. Alive.

  His hands gripped the controls, and the world narrowed into gauges, levers, and pressure lines.

  He whispered to the ship.

  “Okay, Dart. Let’s show them you’re more than junk.”

  Scene 2: Teams Take the Air

  —-: Ren Kisaragi

  The launch platform trembled slightly as the starting steam flare hissed skyward in a column of pale gold. The crowd hushed.

  In the distance, the floating gate balloons shimmered in their ring formations — three stacked colors per cluster, spread in jagged formation across the academy’s sprawling racing course. High, middle, and low altitudes. Some close enough to kiss tree canopies. Others suspended like distant moons above the clouds.

  The four ships lined up along the launch rails.

  Crimson Gale floated perfectly level — its red-and-gold fuselage gleamed like lacquered vengeance. Rin stood at the helm, jaw set, shoulders still. Her stabilizers extended like wings mid-molt — fierce and pristine.

  Next to them, Iron Blossom’s ship hovered silently, elegant and wide-bodied, light-pink sails trimmed with silver braces. Their pilot, Yuna, sat centered in a lotus posture, eyes closed like she was meditating through the entire ordeal.

  Third in the lineup, Wild Tempo’s craft buzzed with barely contained chaos — one stabilizer twitching like a caffeinated insect. Kazuki stood half-cocked over the controls, grinning like the race was a concert and he was here to smash guitars.

  And last — but by no means quiet — was the Silver Dart.

  A puff of steam belched from the side port just as Ren tried to adjust the tilt.

  “Don’t worry,” Hana muttered from behind him, strapping in as co-engineer. “That’s the confidence hiss. It only looks like failure.”

  “You say that like we have more than one mode,” Ren said under his breath.

  Rin glanced sideways across the lineup. Their eyes met.

  Her hand brushed the throttle.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  Ren responded by adjusting his goggles — just enough to make it clear: He saw her challenge. He wasn’t backing down.

  “This is it,” Hana whispered.

  “Yep.”

  “You’re either going to be a school legend…”

  “...or a fiery cautionary tale,” Ren finished.

  “Exactly.”

  The launch crystal chimed — three descending tones in sharp succession.

  A final steam burst sounded, followed by Saki’s voice overhead, positively giddy.

  “Racers… by crystal light and crystal law — GO!”

  The rails released.

  Four ships dropped a meter, caught themselves, and then—

  Exploded forward.

  The air split. Propellers howled. Steam vented.

  The Silver Dart surged forward, jostling as Ren yanked the stabilizer lever and pushed the throttle half-open.

  “Hold tight,” he yelled. “She’s not warmed up!”

  “Then burn fast and adjust late!” Hana called back.

  Above them, Iron Blossom soared for altitude.

  Wild Tempo banked straight into the middle lanes like a wrecking ball with wings.

  Crimson Gale angled low and fast — dead-straight with elegance.

  And Ren?

  Ren smiled.

  Then he dropped straight down — into the undercut line no one else saw.

  Scene 3: The Race Begins

  —-: Ren Kisaragi

  The wind slapped Ren across the face like an angry instructor as the Silver Dart plummeted just beneath the starting elevation.

  “Diving already?” Hana shouted from behind, voice muffled by the wind and the roar of the gears.

  “What happened to ‘ease into it’?”

  “Plans changed!” Ren called back, yanking the stabilizer lever three notches left and feeding throttle just enough to angle the nose forward.

  They skimmed under the others, barely ten meters above the trees.

  Above them, the rest of the field split like a deck of cards.

  Iron Blossom floated upward with the grace of a silk ribbon. Their captain, Yuna, took the high lane, banking toward the sky-suspended blue rings — a risky triple-stack of 3-point gates that fluttered high in the thermals.

  “She’s gunning for max points,” Hana said into the comm pipe.

  “Steady, disciplined. She won’t crash. But she’ll take time.”

  Wild Tempo, naturally, went chaotic.

  Kazuki whipped sideways into the mid-altitude spread like a missile made of bad decisions and bravado. His ship scraped the edge of a 2-point ring, then dove, spun, and juked into a second one like a dolphin on espresso.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “He’s not aiming for points. He’s aiming for applause,” Hana muttered.

  Crimson Gale?

  Poetry.

  Low and fast, they glided through their ring cluster like a paintbrush across silk. Rin’s posture barely shifted. Her helmswoman behind her adjusted trim settings with a flick of her fingers — everything calm, coordinated.

  “She’s... perfect,” Ren said aloud before he could stop himself.

  “She’s boring,” Hana snapped.

  “Perfectly boring. We can beat her.”

  Ren didn’t answer. His eyes were already scanning the cluster ahead.

  Three rings. Three colors. Blue, white, red.

  Their assigned color — white — hovered on the middle-left. But that wasn’t the best position.

  Ren tilted the control yoke. Slightly right. Then pulled a hard left. Hard enough that Hana yelped and slammed into the side of the cockpit.

  “What are you—?!”

  They twisted under the red ring, then shot diagonally up through the blue from behind. Not their color. Not their line.

  “You just went through Crimson Gale’s ring!”

  “I know!” Ren barked.

  The ring sensors flickered.

  2 points. Not 3.

  But still counted.

  And no one else had touched it.

  He banked again. Zigzag. Caught a neutral ring no one was aiming for. Another 2 points.

  Above them, Saki’s voice came alive over the race feed.

  “Wha—oh, bold move from Silver Dart! That’s a two-point steal from Crimson’s lane! And another from the ghost ring behind Wild Tempo’s wake! Someone’s not playing it safe!”

  “Tell me we’re not disqualified,” Ren muttered.

  “I—I don’t think so,” Hana said, squinting at the core tally lights.

  “They’re still counting. Which means...”

  “It’s not cheating,” they said together.

  Just reckless.

  Ren grinned and drove the Dart into a sharp spiral downward toward the next cluster.

  “Let’s give ‘em something else to talk about.”

  Scene 4: Midair Mishap

  —-: Ren Kisaragi

  They were moving fast now. Faster than Ren expected the Silver Dart could go without tearing open a seam.

  Every ring cluster behind them left a shimmering afterimage of scored light in his peripheral vision — 2 points, 3 points, 2, 1, tallying up on the analog meter Hana had built into the right-side dash like a brass cash register.

  “Mid-lap. Cluster Five,” Hana called out. “Crimson Gale’s already ahead on the low line, but they haven’t hit the bonus ring yet.”

  Ren nodded, jaw tight. The engine’s whine climbed an octave, steam pressure maxing out around 84%. He’d have to bleed the line or risk compressor backburn.

  He toggled the vent switch — just as a flicker in the sky above caught his eye.

  Something was wrong.

  Crimson Gale’s ship banked left, a bit too sharply. The movement wasn’t fluid. It jittered, unbalanced.

  Then it happened.

  Rin’s stabilizer clipped a trailing gust, caught a thermal draft she hadn’t anticipated — and the ship listed hard, nearly rolling.

  “Whoa—!” Ren’s gut dropped.

  “She’s off balance!”

  Crimson Gale’s nose dipped. Their ring approach faltered. The helmswoman in back scrambled for correction, but the overcorrection caused the ship to twist sideways midair.

  “Rin’s ship is stalling out—!” Hana shouted.

  “Too much G-force in that angle. She’s about to spin—”

  Ren didn’t think.

  He cut the throttle by half, losing momentum instantly.

  The Dart shuddered, hissed, and dropped back — just enough to align.

  He yanked the stabilizer control, pitched the Dart sideways, and accelerated on the angle — not toward a ring, but toward Rin.

  “Ren, what are you—?”

  “Helping.”

  The Dart surged beneath Crimson Gale’s flailing underside. Rin’s ship bucked — and nearly clipped the top of the Dart’s airbag.

  Ren triggered his emergency vent switch, blasting a cushion of steam upward.

  The push wasn’t elegant. But it was just enough.

  Rin’s ship caught the pressure burst and righted itself, barely missing the outer support ring. Her stabilizers snapped back into balance. The Crimson Gale leveled out.

  “Sweet heavens,” Hana whispered.

  “You just saved her.”

  On the intercom:

  “An unbelievable maneuver by the Silver Dart! Did Ren just—did he just assist a rival mid-course?! Is that even legal?!” Saki was screaming into her mic now, and the audience was losing it.

  Rin glanced back over her shoulder as she sped forward again.

  She didn’t speak. She didn’t gesture.

  But for one heartbeat… she smiled. Just a little.

  Then she was gone.

  Ren exhaled, slumped in his seat for a second.

  “We just lost our speed bonus.”

  “Yep,” Hana said.

  “But we gained something else.”

  “Respect?”

  “No. A bigger target on our backs.”

  They both laughed.

  Scene 5: Final Ring Pass

  —-: Ren Kisaragi

  The Silver Dart trembled with fatigue.

  Her vents hissed unevenly, her left stabilizer was running a half-degree out of alignment, and one of the pressure gauges had cracked somewhere around Ring Cluster 6. Ren had stopped checking which one. If it wasn’t leaking steam or glowing red, it wasn’t urgent.

  “Final ring cluster,” Hana called over the rush of air. Her hair whipped around her goggles. “Two rings already taken. Blossom snagged the top. Gale’s got the center. Tempo’s going wild for style points.”

  Ren adjusted the yoke.

  Ahead, the final three rings hovered like gods daring mortals to blink.

  Top: Iron Blossom’s pale-pink signature — 3 points, already claimed.

  Middle: Crimson Gale’s — 3 points, Rin already rocketed through it.

  Bottom: Tempo’s red — 2-pointer, partially busted from an earlier collision.

  But what caught Ren’s attention was the forgotten fourth ring — faded white, low to the ground, half-hidden in the morning mist between two tree clusters.

  A bonus ring.

  Unclaimed.

  And blinking.

  A ring no one had expected to still be active.

  “Hana,” he shouted, “does that bonus ring count?”

  “If it’s glowing, it’s still live!”

  “Hold on!”

  Ren yanked the controls and dove.

  Hard.

  The Dart dropped like a stone, scraping past treetops that snagged the vent lines.

  “Ren!” Hana shouted, bracing. “This is a bad idea!”

  “It’s not cheating if it’s on the map!”

  “That’s not a map! That’s a legend!”

  The ring loomed out of the fog at an angle, sideways, swaying slightly on its tether.

  Ren banked left, feathered the throttle, kicked the stabilizers, and hit the perfect thread — the Dart passed clean through the center of the forgotten gate.

  The ring lit up white and gold.

  “Three points,” Hana whispered. “That was our ring.”

  “And they forgot it.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Above, the home stretch came into view — a six-kilometer straightaway over water, lined with cheering classmates, teachers, even Vice Principal Kondo, who looked like he’d swallowed a nail sideways.

  Wild Tempo had already crossed.

  Crimson Gale was 200 meters out.

  Iron Blossom floated with poise, drifting third.

  The Silver Dart?

  Fourth place. No chance of overtaking.

  But the scoring tower flickered…

  Wild Tempo: 15 total

  Crimson Gale: 19 total

  Iron Blossom: 18 total

  Silver Dart: 21 points

  Hana saw it before Ren did.

  “We just came in fourth...

  …with the second-highest point total.”

  Over the intercom, Saki shrieked.

  “UNPRECEDENTED! Silver Dart crosses the line in last, but finishes second on total score! Did they just outmaneuver the top three *with a bonus ring and a mercy dive?!**”

  The crowd exploded. Half stunned, half roaring.

  Banners waved. Students screamed. Teachers debated the rules.

  Ren slumped in his seat, panting.

  “We… didn’t win,” he said.

  “But we didn’t lose.”

  “We proved something,” Hana said, grinning.

  “And now they have to respect us. Or fear us.”

  Scene 6: Post-Race Drama

  —-: Ren Kisaragi

  The moment the Silver Dart touched down, the cheering turned into arguing.

  Gears groaned as the ship locked into place along the magnetic clamps, venting the last of its steam in a hissing cloud. Ren barely had time to unbuckle before he heard footsteps — heavy ones — pounding toward the ship’s side platform.

  “You violated course order!”

  “That ring wasn’t on the flight list!”

  “That wasn’t a maneuver, that was a stunt!”

  Three members of Crimson Gale, still in immaculate red-and-gold flight jackets, stormed forward like a tribunal of thunderclouds.

  “Objection lodged,” barked their helmswoman. “You tampered with the scoring flow!”

  Ren stepped off the Dart, still breathless, heat rising in his chest.

  “The ring was live. It wasn’t claimed. We flew through it clean.”

  “It wasn’t in the updated route!” one of them snapped.

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t rely on pre-printed strategy sheets,” Hana said sweetly, dusting off her sleeves as she followed him down.

  “You’re not supposed to—”

  “If it wasn’t banned, it wasn’t broken!”

  That voice cut through the swarm like a sawblade through wood.

  Grandpa Goro stomped in from the left, a battered leather-bound rulebook the size of a radiator clutched under one arm. His coveralls were smeared with oil. His tea mug had writing on it that read: I Void Warranties.

  He dropped the book onto a crate. The thud echoed.

  “Article Seven, Paragraph Four: ‘Unclaimed active rings, if passed cleanly and without contact, are valid scoring structures until disabled by course staff or impact.’ Page 124. Pre-revision, still binding. Want to check it?”

  Crimson Gale’s lead flinched.

  “But that rule hasn’t been used in—”

  “Twenty years. Since I wrote it.”

  Goro grinned. “You kids think you invented sneaky flying. I just raised one that remembered how it used to be done.”

  There was silence. Then groans. Then reluctant clapping. Then laughter.

  The Headmistress, watching from the judge’s perch, simply nodded once and made a note in her book.

  “So…” Ren said, turning to Hana as the crowd slowly dispersed.

  “Are we in trouble?”

  “Officially? No.”

  “Unofficially?” She smirked.

  “You’re now the most annoying pilot in the top five.”

  “Perfect.”

  Scene 7: The Legend Begins

  —-: Ren Kisaragi

  The campus courtyard was buzzing, and for once, it wasn’t because of a faulty pressure valve in the greenhouse again.

  Students milled in groups near the main fountain, steam-vented cooling fans chugging in the background as the temperature climbed. In the distance, the ships were being wheeled back into their hangars, engineers shouting over vented whistles and bolt locks.

  But it wasn’t the noise that Ren noticed. It was the eyes.

  Watching him.

  Tracking him.

  Whispering.

  “Is that him?”

  “That’s the one who dived under the course.”

  “Did you hear he rescued Rin in the middle of the race?”

  “No, no — that was staged. Like a romantic stunt.”

  “He’s reckless.”

  “He’s a genius.”

  “He’s… kind of cute?”

  Ren tried to walk like a normal human being.

  Unfortunately, his legs had not gotten the memo, and he sort of half-limped, half-glided, like a wind-up toy that had forgotten how knees worked.

  “Stop walking like a disjointed automaton,” Hana hissed, falling in beside him. “You’re not injured.”

  “I might be. Emotionally.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You should be proud. We placed second in total score on a scrap budget.”

  “Yeah. Right after placing fourth in actual racing.”

  “Perception matters. Look.”

  She nodded toward the bulletin board, where Saki had already posted her special edition school paper: “Dart Flies Like A Madman — Wins With Style”

  Subheadline: Bonus Ring Maneuver Sparks Debate, Admiration, and Possibly Romance

  A rough sketch of the Dart’s ring dive was proudly pinned beneath it — drawn with too many speed lines and what appeared to be sparkles.

  Ren groaned. “Please tell me no one actually read that.”

  “It’s already got thirty-five reposts. And a remix fan comic.”

  “What.”

  “You’re wearing a scarf in it for some reason.”

  At the back edge of the crowd, Rin leaned casually against a railing, arms crossed, watching.

  They locked eyes for half a second.

  She didn’t smirk. She didn’t scowl.

  She simply gave the slightest tilt of her head. Not quite a nod. Not quite not.

  “What does that mean?” Ren muttered.

  “Means you’re either halfway into her respect... or halfway into her bad books,” Hana said.

  “Those aren’t the same?”

  “No. But she files them alphabetically.”

  Later that night, back in his dorm alcove, Ren pulled out his letter journal. The one he used to write his parents. Even if they were half a world away.

  He clicked open his pen. Took a breath. And wrote:

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  Today, I didn’t win… but I didn’t crash either.

  People noticed me. Some hated it. Some cheered. I think I helped someone who didn’t want help. And I think I might actually belong here. Maybe.

  P.S. Grandpa might’ve declared a rule war using a manual from 20 years ago. We are now semi-famous.

  He signed it with a tiny sketch of the Silver Dart.

  Folded it.

  Sealed it.

  Smiled.

  Outside the window, the faint glow of the hangars hummed like a heartbeat.