The Heldale school field had never looked so alive.
Rows of tents and flags decorated the perimeter like something out of a dream. Music blared from speakers, food stalls lined the corners, and two towns merged for one afternoon of celebration. Heldale and Grendale — rivals in everything — were going to share laughter, school chants, and camera flashes under the warm stretch of the afternoon sun.
The gates opened wide as Grendale High students filed into the Heldale premises in coordinated green-and-white outfits, welcomed by a chorus of cheers from the home team. Teachers exchanged greetings, cheerleaders high-fived, and camera flashes capturing every distinctive moment.
The Grendale cheerleading teams performed first — a dazzling, synchronized explosion of movement, color, and youthful adrenaline. Ely, wearing her green and white cheer uniform, dazzled the crowd as she flipped into perfect formation.The crowd roared spontaneously.
Then came the mascot dance-off — oversized fox of Grendale and wolf costumes of Helldale flailing to remixed disco songs, sending the audience into hysterics.
But then — the music changed. Drums echoed.
The voice over the speakers announced:
> "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for — the Helldale Brigade Boys!". The crowd cheered loudly again.
Sylan stood among the Grendale students on the bleachers, arms folded . He wore on a green and white hoodie with "Grendale" imprinted on the front. Ely beside him, her shoulder brushing his. But his eyes weren't on her since they entered Heldale premises.
He didn't tell Ely much about himself- his past of living in Heldale and attending Heldale high or that a person's memories just didn't go away because you changed schools. He had hoped not to run into Kant but still, his eyes still searched thoroughly in the crowd for him.
From the corner of the field, the Brigade Boys marched in — crisp in their navy blue and white uniforms, polished boots hitting the turf in perfect sync. Their gold-plated unit insignias shimmered under the sun. All eyes followed them.
And that's when Sylan saw him.
Kant.
Third row from the front. Clean-cut. Sharp-edged. His posture straight like a drawn arrow, his face unreadable behind the shadow of his headgear — until his gaze lifted.
And met Sylan's too.
It was like the world paused. The noise, the heat, the crowd — all muffled into nothing.
Sylan froze, heart skipping a beat. His fingers twitched slightly where they hung by his side.
Kant. In that uniform. In this town. Still here.
Across the field, Kant's eyes locked onto him too. He hadn't expected it. Not even imagined it. Yet there he was — Sylan, sitting amongst the Grendale students, just like any normal visitor. A spectator.
Kant's lips parted slightly. The drumsticks in his hand loosened.
He didn't move.
> "Kant Myers!" the Brigade chairman's voice bellowed into the mic. "Front row! Start the sequence!"
No response.
The Brigade chairman's voice called his name again. Still no response.
"MYERS!"
Kant flinched instantly.
He blinked rapidly, forcing the air back into his lungs. "S-sorry!" he called out, and stepped into position.
He tightened his grip on the drumsticks. Closed his eyes. One beat. Two beat.
Then — he struck.
A thunderous, sharp rhythm erupted from his snare, followed by the others in swift harmony. The Brigade moved in motion, banners twirling, rifles lifted in theatrical display. The crowd cheered.
But Kant didn't hear them.
His heartbeat was louder than the drums.
Sylan watched it all, his body motionless, his eyes glued to the person who still held his heart. Sylan hadn't thought of what to say or do if he ever met Kant again but he ought not to think too much about it because they had broken up months ago. There were history now and it should stay that way.
His eyes were on still on Kant. And he had forgotten to blink.