Into the Apex

The Beginning of Something More

Masachika Kuze had always been a solitary figure. A young racing prodigy, he was used to the bright lights of competition, the roar of engines, the rush of adrenaline. But when he stepped into the classroom for the first time at his new high school in Tokyo in September 2015, the world felt... different. Less predictable. More... complicated.

He was 15 years old, but with his racing career, Masachika had already lived more than most people his age. His mother had walked out on him when he was young, leaving him to grow up with a father who had never known how to show love. His father, a distant and harsh figure, seemed to take out his frustrations on Masachika. Racing had been his escape—his one constant. But now, in a classroom filled with unfamiliar faces, he was forced to confront the reality of a life outside the racetrack, a life he'd spent so little time thinking about.

That was when he met Alya Mikhailovna Kujou.

It was the first day of class, and the teacher had begun assigning seats. Masachika walked in late, as usual, his mind still focused on the upcoming race. His eyes scanned the room before landing on a seat in the back, next to a girl he had barely noticed when entering. Alya's silver hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights, falling like a cascade of moonlight down her back. Her pale skin and striking, sharp features gave her a refined, almost ethereal appearance that set her apart from the rest of the class. Her delicate build—modest breasts, a small waist, and slender shoulders—gave her an air of fragility, but something in her demeanor contradicted that impression. There was a calm authority about her, and her silver eyes, like chips of ice, seemed to pierce right through him.

"Hello," she said softly, with a faint but knowing smile. "I think we're seatmates."

Her voice was calm, yet something in her gaze made Masachika pause. It was almost as though she could see straight through him. He blinked a few times, still processing her words.

"Uh, yeah," he stammered, running a hand through his dark hair. "I guess so."

Alya didn't say much after that, but Masachika couldn't help but notice the quiet confidence in her demeanor. She wasn't like the other girls—who were busy gossiping or already forming friendships. Alya kept to herself, her sharp gaze moving across the room as if she was quietly analyzing everything around her. Despite her delicate frame and almost porcelain-like beauty, there was something about her presence that felt unshakable, as if no one could move her unless she allowed it. And that only intrigued him more.

Over the next month, they exchanged brief words now and then, always polite, but their interactions remained minimal. Masachika was preoccupied with his racing, and Alya, though sitting next to him in class, never seemed to show any interest in forming friendships. Yet, despite their differences, something about Alya's presence slowly began to pull him in.

It was the little things. The way she would make small gestures, like offering him a pen when his ran out of ink, or how she would sometimes glance at him from the corner of her eye when they walked together to class. But it wasn't until October, when they found themselves in the school's library together, that their connection truly started to deepen.

Masachika had been sitting at a table, trying to finish his homework. He had a race coming up, but his mind kept drifting to everything else. The air in the library was cool and quiet, and he found the stillness comforting. That's when he heard the soft footsteps of someone approaching.

"Mind if I sit here?" Alya's voice broke through his thoughts, her expression unreadable.

Masachika looked up from his book and, almost instinctively, motioned to the empty seat across from him. "Sure, go ahead."

Alya sat down, setting her books gently on the table. Her slender frame barely made a sound as she settled into the chair. She glanced at Masachika for a brief moment, her silver eyes unreadable, and something about her gaze made him feel oddly self-conscious. Her sharp features and quiet presence seemed out of place in the noisy chaos of high school life, yet she carried herself with an unwavering poise that felt almost intimidating.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. But then, Alya surprised him with a question.

"Do you ever get... tired?" she asked, her tone almost hesitant.

Masachika blinked, caught off guard. "Tired? What do you mean?"

"I mean... tired of always pushing yourself. Always going after something, like racing or school," Alya continued, her eyes focused on her book now, though her voice still held an edge of curiosity. "Do you ever feel like you're just running on autopilot?"

Masachika was quiet for a moment, taken aback by her question. He had never really thought about it. Racing was all he knew. But now that she brought it up, he realized that, yeah, maybe he was tired. Tired of the constant pressure, tired of the way his father would look at him with disappointment whenever he failed to meet his expectations.

"I... guess I don't really know how to stop," he admitted quietly, his voice almost lost in the space between them. "My mom left when I was young, and my dad... he's not exactly the warm, supportive type."

Alya's eyes softened, a flicker of something kind behind them. "That sounds hard. I'm sorry."

Masachika didn't know why he said it, but something about her presence made him want to open up. Maybe it was because she was the first person who didn't judge him for it.

"Yeah, it is," he said, his voice low. "But racing's always been my way of escaping. It's the only thing I've ever been good at."

Alya nodded, understanding without needing any more explanation. She didn't pry, but she didn't let him go either. Instead, she simply offered him a small, knowing smile, and for the first time in a long while, Masachika felt something—comfort.

By November, the friendship between Masachika and Alya was beginning to feel more like something else. They were spending more time together, talking about everything from school to their personal lives. Yet, neither of them had acknowledged what was slowly growing between them.

One evening, after school, they found themselves walking together down a