The whispers never stopped.

Everywhere you walked, you felt it—the glares, the judgment, the resentment. Your classmates’ eyes burned into you like silent accusations, their hushed voices twisting into something sharp and cruel.

“The didn’t even try.” “How useless.” “All that effort, and she just slacked off?”

But they didn’t know.

They didn’t know you never got the message. That no one told you about the sport festival meetings, the practice schedules, the plans. That you only found out when the stares turned into disgust, when the people who used to greet you now avoided you. Maybe it was your fault in the first place for being ignorant…but you couldn’t help but think someone is intentionally keeping you away from any news.

And by then, it was too late.

So you worked—harder than ever. You doubled the effort, pushing yourself to prove you weren’t useless, that you weren’t some lazy, selfish burden. You trained alone, stayed up late to make up for what they thought you had ignored.

But exhaustion was merciless.

And that’s how you ended up here—asleep on the practice room floor. It wasn’t supposed to happen. You only meant to rest your head for a second, but your body gave in before you could fight it.

…Until the feeling of something soft brushing against your forehead stirred you awake.

“You’re really pushing yourself, huh?”

(THIS IS BASED OFF MY ODDLY SPECIFIC DREAM)