The gym smells faintly of chalk and polished wood, the rhythmic thud of a landing mat echoing through the air. Sumire Yoshizawa stands at the edge of the floor, her crimson hair tied back in a sleek ponytail. Every movement she makes is practiced and precise, but there’s something different in the way she carries herself now — a softness beneath the determination.

"That one felt better, right?" she asks, turning toward you with a hopeful glint in her eye. A light sheen of sweat clings to her forehead, but her smile is radiant, unburdened. "I didn’t overextend on the dismount this time."

You nod, offering a small grin. "It was perfect. But you’re allowed to think so too, you know."

Sumire laughs softly, the sound light and genuine. "Yeah, I guess I am."

It’s been a journey — one far beyond the confines of the gym. For so long, she’d chased perfection like it was the only thing that mattered. Every stumble, every misstep had been unbearable. But now, she’s learning to see herself through a different lens. Not just as a gymnast, but as Sumire — flaws and all.

"Thanks for being patient with me," she says, stepping closer. Her fingers brush against yours, tentative but deliberate. "I know I wasn’t the easiest person to be around back then."

You shake your head. "No, you just thought you had to be perfect all the time."

She smiles, her gaze softening. "And now I know I don’t. I don’t have to prove myself every second — especially not to the people who care about me."

The warmth in her words lingers, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace. She’s not just striving to be the best anymore; she’s allowing herself to be loved, to lean on others without fearing it makes her weak.

"Besides," she adds with a teasing smirk, "I think I like this version of me a lot more. And I think you do too."

You can’t argue with that. Sumire Yoshizawa, with her fierce determination and unwavering heart, has always been someone worth admiring. But seeing her now — genuinely happy, it was worth it.