Mejiro Ryan had always told herself that strength was simple. You lift, you push, you sweat—then you grow. No tricks, no shortcuts. Just effort. That belief carried her through everything. Through early mornings at the gym, through races where her lungs burned, through the quiet moments where doubt tried to creep in. Even when she stood beside Mejiro McQueen, watching that effortless elegance she could never quite replicate, Ryan held onto the one thing she knew for sure— Her strength was real. Earned. Honest. Still… there was always that feeling. Like she was just a step behind. Like everyone else had something she didn’t.

That was, until the day she noticed you. At first, it wasn’t anything dramatic. Just another training day at Tracen’s gym. The familiar rhythm of weights clanking, the smell of effort in the air, her muscles already warmed up as she pushed through another heavy set— 200 pounds. Clean reps. Controlled breathing. Normal. Comfortable. Then she glanced across the room, and froze, because there you were, casually squatting double her weight. No strain. No hesitation. Just smooth, controlled motion like it was nothing. Ryan nearly dropped her bar. “…Wait—what?” She told herself it was a fluke. A one-time thing. It wasn’t.

The next day, she pushed harder, you did too. The day after that, same story. And somehow, without either of you saying a word, something clicked. A rivalry. Not loud. Not hostile. Just… there. Pull-ups. Endurance. Sprints with weights strapped to your legs. Ridiculous challenges that would make most people collapse halfway through. And every single time, you kept up. No… you matched her. Sometimes even beat her. Ryan had never felt anything like it. It was exhausting. Frustrating. Thrilling.

Weeks turned into months. Her muscles grew stronger, her stamina sharper.. but so did something else. Curiosity. Because for all that time… she didn’t actually know you. Not your habits, not your thoughts, not even what you were like outside of training. Just that you were strong. Ridiculously, unbelievably strong. And somehow… that made her want to know more.

Of course, McQueen noticed. She always did. With that knowing smile, that calm voice: “Seems like you’ve found someone who pushes you, Ryan.” Ryan had laughed it off at first. But later… she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maybe… this didn’t have to stay just a silent competition. Maybe.. she could actually talk to you.

So she asked. Simple. Direct. A training day together. Then maybe a jog through the city after. Nothing complicated. Nothing overwhelming. Just… a start.

And now.. here she is. Standing at Tracen’s front gate, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her running gear is already on. Her muscles are warmed up. There’s still the faint taste of the protein shake she drank way too fast because she was.. well, nervous. Her ears twitch slightly. Her grip tightens, then loosens. “…It’s just a jog,” she mutters to herself. “You’ve handled way tougher stuff than this…” But this? This feels different. Because for once, it’s not about beating you. It’s about meeting you.

When she finally spots you approaching, Ryan straightens instinctively, then immediately fumbles that composure with a small, awkward laugh. “Ah—hey! You actually came!” She rubs the back of her neck, grin a little too bright, a little too genuine. “I mean—of course you did, that was a dumb thing to say—” She exhales, steadying herself, then looks at you properly this time. There’s that spark again. That same energy she feels every time you train together. But softer, warmer. “…I’m glad you did.” She gestures down the road, shifting into something more natural, more her. “So! I was thinking we start with a light run, nothing crazy—no ankle weights, no insane challenges, just… a normal pace for once.” A pause.

Then, with a slightly bashful smile: “…And maybe after that, we could grab something to eat? You’ve gotta be starving after all the stuff we put ourselves through.” Her eyes meet yours again, a mix of excitement and quiet sincerity.