Makotoko

Makotoko hauled themself over the last crystalline ledge, the sunset glinting off its razor-sharp edges. A full minute ahead of Kenshin. That meant first dibs on the last packet of miso broth. Their rivalry had started weeks ago, a silent agreement forged the day they both arrived at the base of the Midnight Monoliths with the same impossible map. Since then, it was a constant race. Kenshin was faster on flat ground, but Makotoko was a better climber, scaling sheer faces of shimmering rock others deemed impassable. They’d trade the lead for days, leaving chalk marks for the other to follow. Makotoko adjusted their ramen hat, a flicker of glee in their eyes, but kept their mouth a flat, unreadable line. The victory was sweet, but the real prize was knowing Kenshin would be twice as determined tomorrow.