Bonus Chapter: “Breaking the News”
Scene 1 – Whisper on the Wind
—-: Saki
The best stories never announced themselves.
They crept in through steam vents and half-closed doors. They whispered their way into notebooks and hearts. And if you were sharp enough, quick enough, nosy enough — they found you.
Saki crouched just behind the brass-latticed screen beside Hangar 3, a teacup microphone pressed to her ear and notebook already open across her knees.
She wasn’t eavesdropping.
No — she was “investigating the emotional infrastructure of team dynamics,” as she preferred to phrase it on her official Hinode Academy student press badge.
Inside the hangar, voices echoed.
"...she’s serious this time," came a low voice — possibly from Wild Tempo's second pilot. "Said she might step back for good after the Anniversary Race."
“Rin?”
“Yeah. Says she doesn’t like flying backup. That she’s being replaced by the 'Silver Show.'”
Saki’s hand froze halfway through writing. Her pen scratched across the margin of a quote she hadn’t finished from this morning’s homeroom.
Rin leaving?
The girl who practically owned the sky? The one who flew like rage wrapped in grace? The one who never lost — and never forgave?
She flipped to a fresh page.
HEADLINE: "Crimson Gale No More? Rumors Swirl Around Rin’s Last Flight"
Subhead: Could the Silver Dart be flying solo for good?
Her heart was pounding. Not from excitement — from instinct.
This was big.
Maybe too big.
But she was already writing it.
Scene 2 – “The Column Drop”
—-: Saki
Saki tapped out the final line, fingers stained with ink, and held up the freshly printed paper sheet to inspect the layout. The headline gleamed with bold certainty under the warm flicker of the gaslamp over her desk.
She hesitated.
A part of her itched—itched—with doubt. The quote wasn’t official. Rin hadn’t confirmed anything. No one had. It was a murmur, a maybe, the soft kind of truth that needed time and tenderness.
But Saki’s breath caught when she imagined the looks — the rush of attention, the wide eyes scanning the first column of the new issue. She imagined readers stopping in their tracks.
She would be the one who got there first.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
And besides, it wasn’t untrue… right?
She rolled the page into a copper tube and sprinted down the brass stairwell of the clubroom. Pipes hissed steam in the walls. Gears clicked as she pulled the lever labeled: Courtyard Bulletin – Live Feed.
With a clunk and hiss, the press activated. The paper zipped through the pneumatic line and shot toward the main courtyard display.
The hammer dropped.
By dinner, the school would be buzzing.
Scene 3 – “Unraveling Tensions”
—-: Saki
There was a sound that always followed one of her big stories.
It wasn’t applause. Not exactly. It was sharper — the distinct crackle of whisper networks igniting like dry grass in a summer wind.
Saki stood just off-center from the main courtyard bulletin post, pretending to fuss with a fountain pen. Her eyes flicked across the crowd. Students clustered like flocks of startled crows. Pointing. Chattering. Gesturing toward the latest edition hanging under the copper-framed glass:
Crimson Gale No More?
Rumors Swirl Around Rin’s Last Flight
She didn’t have to wait long.
“Who the heck printed this?”
Kazuki’s voice cut the air like a snapped tension cable. The Wild Tempo co-captain stormed across the cobblestones, shoving aside two juniors mid-gossip.
A few paces behind him, Rin walked at a slower pace. Her expression unreadable. Her lips a tight line.
Saki swallowed.
Rin stopped in front of the bulletin. She read every word. Slowly.
She didn’t shout.
She didn’t cry.
She just… turned her head.
Her eyes locked with Saki’s across the courtyard.
And then she walked away.
No fireworks. No declaration.
But the silence hit harder.
Saki’s notebook trembled in her hand. Not from cold. From something deeper. Something sour.
That had not gone the way she pictured.
She’d wanted to stir the pot, not spill it all over the floor.
Scene 4 – “The Confrontation”
—-: Saki
The gears of the clubroom’s rotary press had long gone still, and the steady drip-drip of a condenser pipe was the only sound besides Saki’s frantic scribbling. The next edition lay crumpled beside her. Useless. Too late. Too hollow.
“Didn’t mean for it to blow up like that,” she whispered to herself, trying to will the guilt away with ink.
“Didn’t mean it?”
The voice was so soft, Saki nearly dropped her pen.
She turned. Mei stood just inside the doorway. No noise. No warning. She might as well have appeared there, folded from shadow and candlelight.
Saki straightened. “Hey, look, I was going to—”
“You didn’t ask her.”
Mei’s voice was as level as always, but tonight it carried a weight like forged iron. “You heard a whisper. And printed it as truth.”
Saki stood. “I heard it from three different teams. And Rin—she didn’t deny it either—”
“She doesn’t owe you a denial.” Mei stepped forward. “You want truth, or just attention?”
The words landed like cold steel. Not screamed. Not dramatic. Just honest. Quiet. Devastating.
Saki opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Mei turned to go. Stopped.
“Not everything is a story,” she said. “Some things are scars.”
The door closed with a hiss and click of air seals. Saki sat back down slowly, her hands limp at her sides.
And for the first time since joining the paper…
She didn’t want to write.
Not yet.
Scene 5 – “Correction Column”
—-: Saki
The ink ribbon sputtered once — then caught.
Saki stood alone in the cold, metal-gutted printing room, wrapped in a canvas jacket two sizes too big and guilt too sharp to shake off. She’d skipped breakfast, skipped drama club, skipped sleep.
The headline was small. No bold font. No firework title. Just a simple banner:
“Clarification: The Crimson Gale Rumor Was Unfounded.”
The article below had no byline. No flair. Just facts.
“After further investigation, we’ve determined that the recent rumors surrounding Captain Rin’s status on the team were speculative and unconfirmed. Hinode Academy’s racing culture thrives on teamwork, not gossip.
We regret the confusion.”
She read it twice. Then again.
It wasn’t enough.
But it was true.
She loaded the flyer stack into the auto-distributor and hit Print 100.
Outside, the soft whistle of airships in pre-dawn warm-up drifted across campus like wind chimes in fog. Somewhere out there, Rin was probably already at the hangar. Maybe she’d read this. Maybe she wouldn’t.
Saki stepped outside and walked across the courtyard in bare socks. The grass wet, the morning haze blue. She tacked one printout to the main student council board — right below a half-torn flyer for the anniversary festival.
She didn’t sign her name.
She didn’t need to.
From now on, if she wrote it — it would be worth reading.
