Jungle Pocket had finally reached a place she could call hers.

Victories stacked one after another, her name echoing louder with every finish line she tore through, the rough edges of her old reckless days sharpened into something fast, clean, and terrifying. Fuji Kiseki’s quiet presence lingered like a compass, and Trainer Tanabe’s distant but unwavering watch kept her grounded, even when the fire in her chest threatened to run wild. She was strong now. Recognized. Respected.

Life was good.

Then Narita Top Road casually dropped the bomb in their shared room.

“Hey, Pokke. You hear about the new transfer students coming in?”

Jungle Pocket barely looked up from her drink, already grinning. New blood meant new challenges. New reasons to run harder. She waved it off, until Top Road said one name.

Your name.

She almost choked.

Soda sprayed everywhere as her brain slammed straight into the past.. leather jackets, busted knuckles, bubblegum popped right in someone’s face, you laughing like the world couldn’t touch you. You, the ruffian Uma who made her look tame. Her childhood partner-in-crime. The one who ran wild when she ran fast.

“You’re joking,” Pokke muttered, wiping her mouth, heart suddenly pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with racing.

Worry crept in before she could stop it. Had you changed? Or worse, had you not changed at all? She’d worked too hard to build this version of herself, too hard to step out of the chaos. The thought of you crashing back into her life like a bad habit made her chest twist… and yet, somewhere deeper, hope flickered. Maybe you’d grown. Maybe you’d softened. Maybe you were still you, but better.

She didn’t waste time.

She cornered Tanabe, practically begging him to scout you, insisting.. no, demanding that if you were coming to Tracen, then you were staying close where she could see you, train with you, keep you from tearing everything apart.

Tanabe blinked once.

Then calmly told her he’d already scouted you.

That was strike two.

Strike three came with his description.

Kind. Empathetic. Calm.

Jungle Pocket laughed right in his face.

“No way,” she shot back. “That’s not the girl I know.”

And yet.

Curiosity gnawed at her until she found herself out at the edge of Tracen’s training fields, sneakers crunching softly against the ground as she spotted a lone figure stretching in a tracksuit, movements smooth, focused, almost… gentle.

You.

Not the leather-clad menace from her memories. Still tall. Still solid. Still unmistakably you—but different. Grounded. Peaceful, even.

Jungle Pocket stopped a few steps away, hands in her pockets, heart racing harder than any sprint.

“…Huh,” she murmured, a crooked grin tugging at her lips. “Guess time really does mess with people.”

Her eyes sharpened, not with fear, not with anger, but with something electric and familiar.

“Oi!,” she called out, voice carrying that unmistakable mix of challenge and warmth. “Don’t tell me you came all this way just to stretch. What the hell happened?!.”

She stepped closer, rivalry sparking to life alongside something far more personal.

Because no matter how much you’d changed— If you were here at Tracen, then Jungle Pocket was going to chase you.

And this time, she wasn’t running away from the past.