A/N: Hayase's Social Link was pretty entertaining honestly. I enjoyed it. I still think Makoto should've joined the Kendo club in Reload, but this is alright.

Freestyle763 - Unfortunately, there are only twenty-two Arcana cards. Once I reach number XXI, that's it.

Star - XVII

The arcana is the means by which all is revealed.

The light of hope shines brightest in darkness, yet it is fragile—easily extinguished by despair. Mortals gaze upon the stars, seeking meaning in their distant glow, but they are cold and indifferent to the struggle. Does hope sustain humanity, or does it blind them to the futility of their defiance? Mortals place their faith in the unreachable, yearning for salvation that may never come. Will their guiding light endure, or will it fade as they approach the end?

The air was thick with the scent of damp grass and anticipation, the track stretched out before them like a silent challenge. Two rivals stood side by side at the starting line, both lost in thoughts they'd never say out loud. Overhead, clouds drifted lazily across a muted sky, and a soft breeze tugged at the flags around the field as if urging them onward.

It's only been a few months, but their time together seemed to last for years. It felt like old times, but they knew this race was different. They pushed each other to their limits for months and sometimes even beyond. They had a strange friendship, one born out of mutual respect and a little bit of fire.

Mamoru Hayase stretched his arms, glancing at Makoto Yuki from the corner of his eye. Makoto, ever serious, was bent low, eyes on the track. Mamoru couldn't help but grin, half in nostalgia and half in nerves. He was both happy and sad. His wish came true; he had a rival to push him to new heights. However, this was going to be their last race. After today, the two would say goodbye, and a small, stubborn part of him wasn't ready to let him go yet.

"So," Hayase said, voice cutting through the stillness, "think you'll finally beat me?"

Makoto straightened, giving him a look that could melt ice. "You'll find out soon enough."

They both laughed, the sound rich with memories and a bittersweet edge. The track, once a familiar battleground, was now a reminder of what had once defined them—and what would soon become just another memory.

The Gekkoukan track team gathered along the sidelines, eager to see their ace take on the king. They remembered how Makoto had nearly bested Mamoru at the summer meet, and his teammates were anxious to see if today would be the day he finally took the crown. Makoto's team was cheering him on, their voices mixing with the buzz of a small crowd of onlookers, students who had drifted over to watch the showdown.

Akihiko stood near the front, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with focus. He hadn't seen Makoto in the summer competition but had heard the story—second place, with Mamoru just a breath ahead. He understood rivalry and the drive to win. His heart raced at the thought of watching Makoto give it his all.

Nearby, Yukari had paused mid-step, a practice bow still in hand. She'd been leaving archery practice when she saw the crowd gathering. She stayed to watch, caught by the strange, quiet power of two people testing the limits of what they could become.

The sky darkened slightly as the two rivals crouched, readying themselves for what might be their final race together. The world around them seemed to decelerate, the wind whispering through the flags as if to say, go on, give it everything.

The coach stepped onto the field, his gaze sweeping over the crowd that had gathered. This was the moment he had waited for, the kind of race that only comes once—a clash between rivals who'd brought out the best in each other.

"Runners, ready?" he called out, his voice steady but carrying a weight that made the crowd fall silent.

Mamoru and Makoto dropped into position, focused and unblinking, each breathing a calming sigh as they readied themselves for the signal. Every muscle was tense, coiled for that single burst forward.

The coach's voice cut through the silence, "On your mark! Get set!…"

The air seemed to hold its breath.

"GO!"

In a flash, they were off, feet striking the track in a relentless rhythm that echoed across the field. Makoto surged ahead, pulling in front by a hair, but Mamoru quickly closed the gap, reclaiming the lead with an ease that made it look effortless. It was neck and neck as they rounded the first turn, each runner locked in, matching the other's intensity stride for stride. The crowd held its breath, the tension building with every second.

As they crossed the line for the second lap, a new record flashed on the timer. The crowd erupted, voices rising like a wave as they cheered on the fierce duel between rivals. Onlookers could feel the raw energy radiating from the two runners, each refusing to give an inch. Makoto's teammates shouted his name, while Mamoru's fans chanted for their champion, their voices a powerful undertone to the pounding rhythm of the runners on the track.

But for Mamoru and Makoto, the crowd had faded away. In that moment, there was only the track, the wind, and the familiar presence at their side—one last race, and no one ready to back down.

When Makoto first challenged Hayase, he had been outpaced, outmatched, and barely able to keep up. But those days were behind him. Months of relentless training had brought him to this moment, to this race, where he finally matched Hayase stride for stride. He wasn't about to let it end without pouring everything he had into these last few moments.

For Mamoru Hayase, the thrill was electric. He'd known Makoto was talented, but watching him grow from an underdog into a true rival was beyond anything he'd expected. His heart pounded, excitement surging through him as Makoto pushed him to a pace he rarely had to reach. Just when he thought he might pull ahead, there was Makoto, refusing to fall behind. They barreled around the next turn with such speed that a gust of wind rose in their wake, rippling through the grass and stirring the crowd into a frenzy.

"Go, Yuki!" Akihiko cheered.

"You're almost there, Makoto-kun!" Yukari stated.

As they rounded the final corner, the last straightaway stretched out before them—a narrow, unforgiving line to the finish. The noise of the crowd faded, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the pounding of their feet. Mamoru was the king of speed, but Makoto, the Wild Card, was right there, neither of them backing down.

"Stay strong!"

"Give it all you got!"

Every muscle burned as they threw themselves into the last stretch, running at full tilt, neither willing to entertain the thought of defeat. They flew forward, bodies leaning, every ounce of strength, every hard-fought inch of progress, pouring into this final push.

The finish line rushed toward them, and for one timeless, breathless second, it was anyone's race.

Like a sonic boom, they exploded across the finish line, the force of their speed sending a shockwave through the air. The crowd gasped as both runners barreled past, almost too fast to see where one ended and the other began. The sheer intensity of their final sprint left a hush across the field, the last echoes of their footfalls reverberating like thunder.

For a heartbeat, everything was still. The runners, the crowd, and even the coach held their breath, eyes glued to the track as the electronic timer processed the results. The roar of the crowd began to rise again, excitement building as the display finally flickered with the times, showing a victory separated by fractions of a second.

But to Mamoru and Makoto, those tiny numbers barely mattered. Standing there, panting and drenched in sweat, they shared a look—one of respect, of exhaustion, and of the rare, wordless bond forged between rivals who had given everything they had. They had raced, and they had been matched, neither holding anything back.

It was unbelievably close, but in the end, Mamoru Hayase emerged as the victor. By a mere fraction of a second, the Star clinched first place, his name flashing across the timer with the slightest of leads. The crowd erupted, half in celebration and half in stunned amazement at the breathtaking finish.

Makoto took a few steps, bending over to catch his breath, his chest heaving. Despite the loss, he couldn't keep the smile from creeping onto his face. He had given everything he had, pushed himself to his limits, and he had made Hayase fight for every inch of that victory.

Mamoru straightened, a grin spreading as he turned to face his rival, extending a hand, which Makoto accepted without hesitation, gripping firmly. Their palms were slick with sweat, but neither cared.

"That was a good race," Mamoru said, his voice steady despite the exhaustion.

Makoto nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It was. I almost had you. Guess I still have some work to do."

Mamoru laughed and clapped Makoto on the back. "Me too. You scared me for a second there. But I've gotta hand it to you—you've come a long way since the summer meet. I'm impressed."

Before Makoto could respond, a blur of movement came from the sidelines. Kazushi tackled him out of nowhere, pulling him into a playful headlock. "Way to go, dude! That was legendary!" he shouted, grinning from ear to ear.

Makoto laughed, trying to wrestle free. "Kaz, seriously—let me go! I can't even breathe!"

Yuko was next, pouncing on Makoto with pride and affection.

Mamoru stood back, chuckling as Makoto's fellow track team members rushed over, cheering and clapping them on the back. Their congratulations came in waves, a mix of pride and awe for both runners. Even Mamoru's fans joined in, their admiration spilling over the usual lines of rivalry. For a moment, the race didn't matter—what mattered was the respect earned and the camaraderie shared.

Next time, the Moon Arcana.