"Can she catch up—the black ghost! Go on, chase her! Chase the Demon King of the racetrack!"
To be honest, until this very instant, many people must have been wondering why that pitch-black phantom was even here on the track at all.
What was she really? What form of existence?
This Arima Kinen had shaken the entire world too much.
The level and quality of the entrants alone were overwhelming.
And on top of that came the sudden appearance of the black ghost—
Most of all, Gotham Song's terrifying [Zone], that silver-white fire burning like the wrath of heaven.
How powerful must an Uma Musume be, how strong a miracle of will must blaze, to spread to such vastness that even humans watching on television could see it clearly—and still erupt with such ferocity?
Unimaginable.
A scale this grand could only be lit by someone who truly crossed the boundary of life and death, someone who had created a miracle in the very meaning of existence.
Until the race ended, Gotham Song's figure stood in the hearts of all who watched—as close to a god as anything could be.
And yet, in that vast and dazzling ocean of silver radiance, a single knot of black remained.
A small, stubborn shadow refusing to fade—still chasing, still defiant.
She broke through the very fiercest of the flames, raising a charge so unyielding, so absolute, that no one could look away.
She was so close to succeeding…!
At least for this moment—this instant—no one cared anymore why the black ghost had suddenly, bizarrely appeared at the very start of the race, the moment the gates had opened.
Everyone held their breath, waiting, longing, for one thing:
If—if this silent black ghost could truly, in the midst of the silver pride blazing across the track, challenge such an absolute power… then maybe.
After all, she was a ghost. A supernatural being.
Humans too are monsters of emotion.
Later, once calm returned, reason would say:
Challenge Gotham Song? Are you insane?!
But right now, with everyone's hearts stirred, their expectations boiling—at least now—
Everyone wanted to see that impossible ending.
Can you overturn the inevitable? Black ghost—!
Can you seize the Demon King by the ankle, drag her down from the throne, strip her of that effortless strength, that aloof, imperious gaze?
Sunday Silence hurled her desperate challenge at Gotham Song.
"She's still accelerating—the black ghost, the black ghost! She's broken through the fire's wall completely! Can she catch her? If she's just a little faster, just a little—oh my god, am I dreaming this?!"
"Gotham Song—no… no… Caesar, Ca… Augustus—the Demon King—she still has strength to accelerate?!"
The commentator could hardly believe it. She doubted her own eyes.
What kind of joke was this?! This had been a top-speed duel from the very start—and Gotham Song could still accelerate?!
At her current speed, even just to finish, she would already smash the Arima Kinen's record of all time, reaching a level so high that to speak of surpassing it would sound like madness.
And yet now—and yet now—!
Now Gotham Song still had energy left to go faster?
"No, no, no—this isn't a joke, this isn't a dream, this is reality! Audience, viewers, the black ghost's challenge has failed! It's not her fault—this is not her fault—she was already so fast…!"
If the black ghost had been an official runner, she would already have become a legend in another age.
A legend of history itself. Truly.
"Gotham Song—still, she cannot be defeated? By no means, by no method, can she be defeated? That monster, that Demon King, that existence destined to reign supreme…! Oguri Cap has begun accelerating too, her speed more than enough to fight for the front positions before the finish—but even with her patient pace at the forepack, even with her speed, she has no chance left to challenge Gotham Song now!"
"The race is ending! It's ending—!"
For a moment, the commentator could not control her emotions.
But at the very last, gazing at the silver flames that seemed eternal, breathing deep, forcing herself calm, she spoke words that, for her station, were nearly out of line.
"I think—though it may not be proper for me to say—everyone watching can see it too. This Arima Kinen has already become a race of historic measure. Every Uma Musume who ran here today could have been brilliant in any other Japanese race of years past."
Especially those who placed second, third, fourth, fifth.
Each of them had the strength, in ordinary years, to be crowned champions.
The commentator had hesitated before. But now, at last, she had her answer.
Why had the Japan Cup been trampled so utterly by Gotham Song?
"I think—it is not that the runners were not strong. On the contrary, most of these Uma Musume would have been hall-of-fame, even history-making in other years. But! Only this year—!"
Or rather: only with Gotham Song here.
Only then is it different. Absolutely different.
Only then, no matter how outstanding, no other Uma Musume has the right to say:
I can be a legend of history.
Because at least in this age, until Gotham Song retires, Japan will not have a second such force.
Japan can only look up to one sun.
"Only this year—none of them have the qualification to be legends. Because in this year's Japan, in this era's Japan—there is only one legend. Only one may wear the crown's glory."
And her name—?
Is…
"Gotham Song!"
"GOTHAM SONG——!!!!"
The Demon King who crushed countless foes thundered across the line at last, amid the glory of the crowd screaming her name.
Behind her remained only fire still burning, and the Uma Musume powerless to do anything but chase her back.
The commentator, watching the finish line, seeing the focus of every eye, added one last thing she could not leave unsaid.
"Just as there was once a Year of Ruka—I think many years from now, Japan will remember this year by a name of its own.This era can have only one title—and it belongs to the Demon King."
"The Year of Song."
Her voice was swallowed by the thunder of the crowd.
Gotham Song had expected the cheers, of course.
She hadn't expected the race to twist and turn so wildly—but the people could not possibly be stingy with their roar.
Gotham Song's thoughts, however, went further.
She looked around the track, then turned toward the finish's far side, to the Uma Musume still running.
Sunday Silence led.
But her black ghostly body was already fading, thin as paper.
She met Gotham Song's gaze with a teasing smile—and then suddenly vanished, scattering like smoke on the wind.
In that last instant, Gotham Song understood the ghost's silent question:
[I'm leaving, little one. Will you miss me?]
Who'd miss you, you troublesome old hag…!
Gotham Song shook her head.
It was impossible to judge what went through that ancient ghost's mind.
She didn't bother to guess.
Her gaze shifted to the back, to Phantom Ruka.
The little one's face held less defiance now, more disbelief—crushed utterly, her fragile worldview shattered.
Even her stride grew dull.
She was overtaken at the end by the ones behind.
Gotham Song understood her feelings.
Even freed of McQueen's restrictions, she was defeated so easily.
It overturned her whole world.
Sorry, little wildcat. Tonight, maybe when you're trying to sleep—I'll comfort you.
Then came McQueen, surpassing Phantom Ruka with solid, unshakable effort.
Then Manhattan Cafe, still chasing.
Twin Turbo still clung on, though Oguri Cap had passed her.
But even so, in a 2500-meter race, a short- to mid-distance runner like her had still beaten El Condor Pasa.
Two Uma Musume who ran on grit alone—and still they endured to the end!
Gotham Song lingered at the line, waiting.
Waiting for those drenched in frustration to reach her.
The truth was, she hadn't really noticed the flow of the race at all.
She had simply run.
Accelerated when she felt like it.
Released her [Zone] when her instincts urged.
Never thinking, only obeying impulse.
The only moment she'd been truly snapped awake—was by that ghost's sudden assault.
And yet, here McQueen was.
Here she had come, by her own power.
Strength earned by effort, strength all her own.
The purest thing.
The thing Gotham Song most loved to see.
Strength that belonged to McQueen alone.
She smiled.
She watched McQueen arrive before her, and cut off her words of apology:
"Shh. You've already grown strong on your own. If you want to be stronger—then chase me, your onee-san."
She winked.
Manhattan Cafe, finishing nearly alongside Mejiro Castle, pinched her cheek with a tug:
"And what about me?"
"Ahaha, Cafe-neesan, you weren't far behind either! Besides—no matter how far I run, I'll always be here waiting for you!!!"
Cafe sighed helplessly.
Beside her, McQueen pressed her face in her hands, replaying Song's words.
Song-neesan acknowledged me. She said she'd wait for me. Then…
My efforts weren't wasted after all…
I'm so glad.
Seeing McQueen already too dazed to think, Cafe didn't press further.
Well, since Song had said so, all she could do was keep watching her, never let that idiot run too far ahead.
That was her duty as elder sister.
Yes—it had to be.
Cafe tried to convince herself.
Almost unconsciously, she reached for her friend, wanting to ask whether Gotham Song was really so sly, whether it was worth chasing.
But her calls went unanswered.
She faltered, uncertain.
And in that moment—someone slipped an arm around her waist.
"Eh…?"
"Hehe. The top three, of course we have to do the victory parade."
Cafe blinked, then nodded, not resisting Gotham Song's hand at her waist.
After a moment's hesitation, she wrapped her arm around in return.
And then she felt McQueen's arm too.
?
The black-haired girl turned her head, about to speak—but Gotham Song broke into a trot first, stealing the chance.
Cafe could only sigh, and follow, running under the stands, the three of them side by side, showing the glory of the top three.
On the far side, unseen by her, McQueen wore the same expression, the same thought.
For one miraculous instant, the two shared the exact same wish, their hearts in perfect sync:
If only Song (neesan) would hold just me.
But reality was this:
Gotham Song's arms around both, three pressed tight together with no space between, showing their victory to the world.
And with the flash of cameras, they became an eternal image in the history of Uma Musume.