Chapter 17

The steam from the bathroom followed me down the hallway, clinging to the back of my neck as I walked into my bedroom.

Outside the window, a steady rain since afternoon washed over the neighborhood street, drumming against the glass. 

I pulled a clean shirt over my head, stepped into a pair of sweatpants, and rubbed a dry towel across my damp hair. 

Even after scrubbing with soap, the sharp scent of pool chlorine lingered on my skin. I picked up a cheap citrus body spray from my dresser, spritzed my collar twice, and tossed the plastic bottle onto the unmade bed.

It helped a little, but mostly I just smelled like an orange that had fallen into a public pool.

I pulled out my desk chair, sat down, and opened the bottom drawer.

Tucked between an old stack of soccer magazines and a spare notebook was a gray lockbox. 

It was made of stamped aluminum, secured by a small brass latch. I used to keep my Pokémon cards in here, but for the past two years, it had served as my private savings bank.

I flicked the latch open and lifted the lid.

The bottom of the metal box was almost bare.

I stared down into the empty space, blinking once to make sure the bathroom steam hadn't blurred my vision.

Sitting in the corner was a single thousand-yen note, folded twice down the middle. Beside it lay a small cluster of silver and bronze coins: two hundred-yen pieces, a fifty-yen coin, and four scratched ten-yen coins.

Total balance: one thousand, two hundred and ninety yen.

"Where did it all go?" I whispered to the empty room.

I leaned back in my wooden chair, staring at the white ceiling while I ran through my expenses of the past two months.

My New Year envelope from my grandparents had thirty thousand yen in them. 

It had felt like an infinite fortune on the first of January. 

Then came the middle of February. 

I had purchased an annual student pass to the municipal sports center. That single swipe of an online payment had wiped out twenty thousand yen in five seconds. Though it wasn't like I regretted it or anything since it was such a good deal.

The rest had evaporated through the daily friction of training.

My monthly allowance from my parents was five thousand yen. 

In the latter half of February alone, the local bus to the aquatic center had cost two hundred and twenty yen round trip, six days a week. 

Add in a pair of silicone goggles to replace the ones that snapped during my third workout, two spare swimming caps, a roll of waterproof athletic tape, and the budget was already gasping for breath.

Then came the foods.

Swimming two kilometers a day burned through fuel like a furnace. Every evening when I stumbled out of the facility, my stomach growled so violently that I ended up stopping at the convenience store beside the bus stop. 

A carton of soy milk and a packaged chicken breast cost four hundred yen. And so on and so forth.

I rubbed my face with both hands, letting out a dry sigh.

My twin sister, Yuri, was famous in our house for being a complete financial disaster. She would blow her entire monthly allowance within the first five days on energy gels, sweet red-bean buns, and limited-edition sneakers, spending the remaining three weeks begging our mother for spare change.

At least I had my dignity as the older brother and as the sensible twin. 

I believed I was the low-maintenance son who kept his head down, saved his pocket money, and rarely asked for anything beyond new soccer cleats once a year.

Yet here I was, looking down at twelve hundred yen like a broken gambler.

"I won't survive if I have to live like Yuuki," I murmured as my respect for Yuuki just blossomed in my heart.

I picked up my smartphone from the desk and tapped the screen awake.

I opened the transit navigation app, staring at the route I had mapped out earlier from the locker room bench.

Fuchu-Honmachi Station to Funabashi-Hoten Station on the JR Musashino Line.

The one-way fare was one thousand and thirty four yen.

Round trip: two thousand, and sixty eight yen.

In other words, my current savings couldn't cover the train fares.

Tomorrow was the first of March. 

My regular monthly allowance of five thousand yen would arrive tomorrow morning at breakfast. 

Under normal circumstances, that would keep me afloat. 

But if I took that fresh five-thousand-yen note, broke it on next Sunday morning to pay for a day trip to Chiba, half my monthly budget would vanish before the first week of March was even over.

And of course, let us not forget about the consequences.

For the remaining three weeks of the month, I would have to walk forty minutes to the pool instead of taking the bus. I would have to skip my post-swim protein snacks and starve my sore muscles while still had to walk home for another forty minutes.

It would also trigger an endless cycle of budget drought at the end of the month from this point on. I might've had to beg for spares like Yuri.

I looked at the dark window pane, watching the rain slide down the glass in uneven streaks.

Or, I could just stay home.

The race would be broadcast live on national television, it was a G2, after all. I could sit under the kotatsu in the living room, make a cup of instant tea, and watch her run for free. 

Why waste three hours on a crowded train to stand in the freezing wind for hours more? The voice in my head said.

But..

It would be the biggest and the most prestigious race in her career so far.

And the venue was sitting a mere ninety minutes away on a direct train line.

If I hadn't watched her in person, I had a hunch I would regret it. More importantly, I wanted to see her run with my own eyes.

"Damn it," I grunted, pushing my chair back with a scrape of wood against floorboards.

I had to ask for an increase.

The thought made my stomach churn with embarrassment and defeat. 

Going down to the dining room to ask my parents for more money made me feel like an irresponsible child. Worse, I couldn't even tell them the real reason I needed it. 

I had grown up in a house with a former Umamusume racer for a mother and a Tracen student for a twin sister. Despite being surrounded by racing my entire life, up until recently, I had never once gone out of my way to buy a racing paper, followed the weekend fixtures, or asked to visit a track.

If I told my mother now that I needed extra cash to make a trip all the way to Chiba to watch a race in person, she would, without a doubt, notice something. 

She had an eagle eye for anything involving "youth." Since she already knew who was running at Nakayama that day, she would jump straight to the wildest conclusion, and the teasing would be relentless.

I took a deep breath, puffed out my cheeks, and walked down the stairs.

---

The ground floor was warm, filled with the rich aroma of simmering broth.

The dining table was already set for dinner. In the center sat a deep clay pot filled with sliced pork and napa cabbage, flanked by bowls of white rice and hot miso soup. 

Dad was sitting at the head of the table, wearing a gray knit sweater, slowly turning the pages of an evening baseball journal. 

Mom stood by the kitchen counter, ladling the hot soup into ceramic bowls with skillful movement.

"Yama, you're down early," Mom said, glancing up with a bright smile. "Help me carry these bowls to the table, will you?"

"Sure," I said, stepping into the kitchen.

I carried two steaming bowls over to the table, setting one in front of Dad and one at my own place. 

I sat down on the wooden chair, keeping my hands resting on my thighs. 

Dad folded his paper in half, setting it beside his glass of water. "How was the pool today, son?"

"Heavy," I admitted. "Did two kilometers of timed intervals. My shoulders feel like bags of wet sand."

Dad let out a low chuckle, picking up his chopsticks. "Water resistance is honest work. If the sore is there, you're in the right track."

Mom sat down across from me, handing Dad his bowl of rice. "Eat while it's hot, boys."

We picked up our chopsticks together, offering the customary greeting before digging in.

The pork was tender, cooked with ginger and green onions, melting against the hot rice. I ate in silence for the first five minutes, waiting for the right opening in the conversation. 

I swallowed a mouthful of rice, set my chopsticks down across the ceramic rest, and cleared my throat.

"Mom," I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible.

Mom paused with her soup spoon halfway to her lips, her yellow eyes flicking toward me. "Yes? What is it, Yama?"

"About my allowance for March," I began, feeling an awkward heat creep up the back of my neck. "I was wondering... would it be possible to get an increase for this month? Just for March."

The dining room went completely quiet.

Dad’s chopsticks stopped in mid-air above the clay pot. 

Mom slowly lowered her spoon back into the bowl, resting both elbows against the wooden table. 

She tilted her head, watching me with an expression of quiet curiosity. 

"An increase?" Mom asked softly. "You've never asked for an allowance bump before. Are you running short on school supplies?"

"No," I answered quickly, looking down at my rice bowl to avoid her gaze. "It's just... personal expenses. Some.. miscellaneous things I need to cover this coming week."

I stayed completely vague. 

I braced myself for the questioning. I expected her to lean forward with sharp eyes, and demand to see a detailed itemized receipt.

Instead, the question never came.

Mom’s expression softened into a thoughtful smile.

She reached out across the table, resting her warm hand briefly over the back of my knuckles.

"You've been going to the pool every single day, haven't you?" Mom said, her voice rich with usual warmth. "Rain or cold, you come home with wet hair, eat three bowls of rice, and keep studying in your room."

I blinked, looking up at her face.

"You're not the kind of boy who wastes money on foolish things, Yama," Mom continued gently. "You never have been. If you're asking for extra funds right now, I know it's because you're trying your best to prepare for the spring."

A sharp knot tightened in my throat.

Beside her, Dad set his ceramic cup down on the table with a solid clink.

My father looked at me across the steam rising from the soup. His dark eyes carried firm trust.

"An athlete should never starve his body, Yama," Dad said in his deep baritone. "And he should never skimp on his tools or his preparation. If you need money for your training, your travel, or your recovery, you never have to hesitate to ask us. That is what parents are here for."

The words landed against my ribs.

It's not really for that, though..

I felt like a liar. Maybe because I was.

Yet, I was already standing at the edge of the pitch. I couldn't back out. I had decided, and now I had to act on it.

"Thank you," I said, my voice dropping lower than usual. 

I bent at the waist, offering a deep bow from my chair. "I promise I won't waste it."

Mom laughed softly, reaching into the pocket of her apron.

She pulled out a small white envelope, sliding it across the wooden surface until it rested beside my water glass.

"I had your regular allowance ready for tomorrow anyway," Mom said with a wink. "Here's for this month allowance. I will add an extra five thousand yen to it tomorrow. That should give you plenty of breathing room for your expenses this month."

Ten thousand yen.

It was an enormous sum for a middle schooler.

"Thank you, Mom," I murmured, picking up the envelope with steady fingers. "Thank you, Dad."

"Eat your pork," Dad said with a small smile, pointing his chopsticks toward the pot. "You need your protein."

We finished the meal with easy, comfortable chatter about the high school baseball tournament and my sister's texts from the dormitory.

An hour later, I was back in my bedroom.

The rain outside had finally softened into a gentle drizzle against the roof.

I sat at my desk, opening the aluminum lockbox once again. 

I placed the crisp five-thousand-yen note inside, aligning it neatly against the metal bottom. 

Beside it, the lone thousand-yen bill and the loose coins seemed a little less pathetic now.

I closed the lid, clicking the brass latch into place.

To not feel conflicted like this again in the future, I had to be careful with my money. I would walk to school, pack my own drink in a thermos, and refrain from spending a single yen on snacks or souvenirs. If Yuuki gave me coupons, I would definitely take them.

And more than anything, I had to be there next Sunday.

"Can't wait," I said quietly.

I locked the safe, slipped the key into my drawer, opened one of my secondhand high school reference books, and started my study.