Oliver ended up on a team with Kenji, a lanky but quick-footed guy who always placed well in gym, Yuto, a quiet but athletic student, and Ryota, a muscular jock who played soccer and took these exercises far too seriously.
As the teams formed, Oliver's gaze wandered—not toward the competition, but toward a small group of girls chatting to the side, adjusting their gym uniforms and tying their shoelaces. His eyes flickered over them—taking in the smooth curves of their legs, the bounce of their thighs with every movement, and the way their shirts clung to their figures just right.
'Damn…'
He wasn't trying to be a perv or anything—but he was still a teenager with a healthy appetite, and she looked damn good.
His eyes lingered on one girl in particular—Mika, the school's volleyball ace. She stretched, her back arched in a way that made her shirt rise slightly, revealing a faint hint of toned abs.
Oliver swallowed hard.
Another girl, Ayane, was adjusting her socks, her long legs bending in a way that made his imagination run wild for a moment. He quickly shook his head, snapping out of his daze.
'Focus, dammit.'
A sharp whistle cut through the air, bringing him back to reality. The first runners took their positions.
The baton was passed.
One by one, runners darted across the track, their feet pounding against the pavement. Oliver's heartbeat quickened as his turn approached, not from nerves—but from a strange sense of anticipation. He wanted to see if what he was feeling was real.
Yuto sprinted toward him, baton outstretched.
Oliver grabbed it—the moment his fingers wrapped around the baton, something clicked inside him. His muscles reacted before his mind could even process it, propelling him forward in an instant. The world seemed clearer, his perception of the track sharper.
His strides felt effortless.
Each step carried him farther than he expected, his feet barely skimming the ground before pushing off again. He wasn't blindingly fast, nowhere near the level of a trained athlete, but it was... more. Just a little more than what his body should've been capable of.
The power surged through his legs, his balance unnaturally stable, his breathing steady. It was exhilarating.
He was faster than he should have been.
Not so much that it felt supernatural, but enough that he knew something had changed within him.
Oliver passed the baton to Ryota and slowed to a stop, his heart racing—not from exertion, but from realization. He barely registered his teammates clapping for him, and Kenji's voice barely reached his ears, something about how he was "finally taking gym seriously."
He turned and looked at the track, his gaze resting on the distance he had covered. His fingers twitched.
His breath was steady. He had used a lesser movement technique—and it worked.
The warmth inside him circled.
He clenched his fist, exhaling slowly.
His adrenaline racing, and his blood pumping more clearly with each breath, this was his first taste of true martial arts, and he loved it.