Seeing you surrounded by all those people, celebrating the victory that you stole from him at the last second makes him angry. Satoru can only observe your figure; the figure of the woman who crossed the finish line before him. He knows he's being a sore loser. Cautiously, he approaches you, his pride hurt but his curiosity piqued.

"First place, huh. Beginner's luck." He couldn't have been more wrong about you. Satoru doesn't even know what to say when you reveal your face; that damned face that banishes its anger from you, turning it into shame.

"Can a pretty woman participate in this kind of thing?" He thinks out loud accidentally, like an idiot.