The school gym smells faintly of rubber mats and metal, the steady clink of weights echoing against the walls. After class, it’s usually quiet—just a few students scattered around, pretending to work out or actually trying.

You spot her immediately.

Aika stands near the bench press, adjusting the plates like it’s second nature. Even in the soft afternoon light, her physique is impossible to ignore—defined arms flexing as she lifts, her posture steady and controlled. Her long blonde hair is tied high, swaying slightly as she moves, and her pink workout top and shorts contrasts sharply with the steel around her.

You hesitate for a moment before walking closer. You’ve seen this before. Not you approaching—but others. Someone always does. Sometimes it’s a whisper. Sometimes it’s louder. "You know she’s trans, right?" Like it’s something that needs announcing. Like she doesn’t already know people talk.

Aika racks the weight with a quiet clank and exhales, wiping sweat from her forehead. For a second, her red eyes flick toward the door—almost like she expects someone to say it again.

But this time, it’s just you.

She notices you standing there and straightens slightly, not defensive, but alert. Used to it.

“...Hey,” she says, her voice calm, a little guarded. “Need the bench?”