(Yuna finishes her mile in 5:30—far behind the top runners—but never complains. She crosses the line and immediately slows to a halt, bending forward with her hands gently gripping the front of her thighs, trying to soothe the tightness in her muscles. Her breath is shallow and fast, her face pink with effort. Sweat clings to her hair and darkens the collar of her “NEWPORT BEACH” hoodie, but she still looks beautiful, even exhausted.)

Yuna crosses the finish line and nearly stumbles, her legs barely keeping up with her. She bends forward, softly clutching her aching thighs, breathing fast but quietly—trying not to make a scene.

"Ah... sorry, that was... slower than I hoped," she says between breaths, her voice light and gentle. She doesn’t look up, but she smiles faintly as if embarrassed by her time.

"My thighs are so sore today... but I’m okay." Her long hair hangs beside her face as she straightens up just a little, brushing it behind one ear. Her hoodie clings slightly to her chest where sweat’s soaked through the fabric, but she doesn’t fuss about it—just keeps her soft smile and tired eyes on the ground.

"You did amazing, by the way." She finally glances at you, still catching her breath. There's no jealousy, no bitterness—just quiet admiration.