Within the C.H.A.S.E. observation room, the tension that had held everyone in place finally shattered, the trainees erupting into celebration as the result flashed across the screen. Some threw their arms around each other without restraint, others pumped their fists into the air, whistles cutting through the noise as cheers rose from every corner of the room, all of it directed toward the newly crowned champion, Hachimitsu Melody. The energy surged, loud and uncontained, yet in the midst of it, Red and Lightning remained standing apart, having leapt to their feet at the same time. Their reactions starkly different, their eyes wide as they stared at the replay looping over and over again.
On the screen, the moment played back in perfect clarity, that streak of yellow slicing through the field, slipping between four runners in rapid succession before surging past the leaders and claiming the finish line in a burst that still felt unreal even on repeat.
Red slowly lifted a trembling finger toward the display, his jaw hanging open as though he was still trying to process what he had just witnessed. "T-tell me I ain't losin' it, Light," he said. "Tell me that's not—"
"The Royal Flush."
Lightning's answer came without hesitation, though a slow, almost disbelieving grin had begun to curl at the edge of her lips as her eyes remained fixed on the screen. "I haven't seen that in years," she continued. "Lucky Strike used to pull that off, it was her signature, and what Melody just did…" She exhaled softly. "She didn't just imitate it, she executed it flawlessly."
"The Royal Flush…" Hidehito repeated, his hand rising to his chin as he studied the replay with renewed interest, his analytical mind already breaking the movement apart. "A technique that allows a runner to exploit the smallest gaps between competitors, slipping through spaces that should not be viable while remaining just within the boundaries of the rules."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "It requires not only precision in movement, but a complete awareness of the blind spots created by surrounding runners, allowing the user to advance without being obstructed until the final moment, where they overtake with decisive force."
He closed his eyes briefly, a faint grin forming. "I can see why those who witness it describe it as something akin to magic."
"Magic?" Red shot back as he dragged a hand down his face before gesturing wildly at the screen. "That ain't magic, that's straight-up nutso! One bad step, one wrong angle, and she'd have clipped somebody and gotten herself thrown out of the race." He shook his head, still reeling. "Hell, we've seen people get axed for way less. Super Creek got flagged just for cutting in too tight on a line."
"That's exactly why it works," Lightning replied as her eyes remained locked on the replay. "Execution has to be perfect, every step measured, every angle calculated down to the smallest margin, because you're riding the edge of the rules the entire time."
She folded her arms, her expression settling into something more thoughtful. "Lucky made a name for herself doing that, slipping through spaces no one else would even attempt, brushing right up against the line without ever crossing it." A faint smirk touched her lips. "That's why they called her the Houdini of the Turf."
Lightning let out a low chuckle, a grin settling across her face as she folded her arms, her eyes still fixed on the replay looping across the screen. "And calling it magic ain't far off," she said. "She used to be a street performer long before she attended Strider. After she retired, she went right back to her roots and took it all the way. She's not just dabbling in it either, she's one of the best magicians out there now."
A hint of amusement slipped into her words. "Last I heard, she's selling out shows in Vegas every night. Never managed to get tickets myself, though…" She paused briefly, her expression softening just a fraction. "Then again, it's been a long time since we last spoke."
"No kiddin'," Red muttered, raising an eyebrow as his gaze drifted back to the screen, the disbelief still lingering in the set of his expression. "Still, that kid's what, thirteen? And she's already pullin' moves straight outta the greats' playbook." A smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head toward Lightning. "At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if she starts swipin' your moves next."
Lightning huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking her head. "Wouldn't surprise me either," she admitted, the grin still there. "And honestly, I'd like to see the day she tries."
Hidehito exhaled softly, his attention lingering on the image of Melody as it replayed once more, his expression thoughtful, measured. "Hachimitsu Melody…" he murmured, as though weighing the name. A warm smile followed. "I have little doubt she will go far in this sport. In fact, I would go so far as to say she may become one of the defining racers of her generation." His gaze shifted slightly. "If I were still at Tracen, I would have taken great interest in training her myself."
"Yeah, yeah, you lucked out, old timer," Red said with a grin, waving it off before glancing back at the group behind him. "Then again…" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I'd say you're doin' just fine with the crew you've got already."
Hidehito inclined his head slightly, the smile never quite leaving. "You're too generous," he replied. "They still have much to learn, and even more to refine."
Red rolled his neck with a loose stretch before turning fully toward the girls, his grin widening with sudden intent. "Anyway…" he said, clapping his hands together once. "I won that bet, so cough it up."
The room fell quiet for a beat. The girls froze, eyes widening as they looked at him, then at each other, a silent understanding passing between them before they moved all at once.
"Oh! That reminds me, I—uh—I've gotta go bathe my cat!" the uma with the white streak blurted out, already backing toward the door.
"Yeah, me too!" the other chimed in without missing a beat as both of them spun around and bolted. The rest of the team followed suit.
"Hey! Don't even think about it!" Red barked, already vaulting over the sofa in one clean motion as he took off after them. "Ya don't get to skip out on a bet, get back here! No one short-changes Red Harlow, ya hear me? No one!"
He trailed off as he rushed out the door, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing down the hall before the door swung shut behind him.
Lightning pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, weary breath. "Lord, give me strength," she muttered, though the faint hint of a smile betrayed her as she lifted her gaze back to the screen, where Melody stood waving to the crowd. Her ears twitched as her expression softened. "You did good, kid. Bee would be proud."
Hidehito stepped closer, his presence settling beside her as his gaze followed hers. "It would seem Tracen is on the verge of something significant," he said quietly.
Lightning glanced at him, one brow lifting. "What do you mean?"
"Hana now has a new champion of her own," Hidehito continued, his tone calm but certain. "Others will respond in kind, and I have little doubt that my daughter already has her own contender prepared." He paused, letting the thought settle. "What lies ahead will not simply be competition, but a clash of ideologies, of training philosophies, of ambition."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"It may well surpass the rivalries I once shared with Musaka." He exhaled. "To be young again, with that kind of fire. I do miss it."
Lightning's gaze softened as it drifted downward, settling on the muted pattern of the carpet as though the answer she was searching for might be buried somewhere within it. "Do you think that's why he did it?" she asked quietly. "Chasing a second chance, trying to reclaim something from the past, even if it means doing it in the shadows?"
Hidehito considered the question for a moment before giving a slight shrug, his expression thoughtful rather than dismissive. "I cannot say for certain," he replied, his tone measured, "but I am confident it runs far deeper than that." His copper eyes shifted toward her, steady and perceptive. "A man like Logan Deschain does not act on impulse or nostalgia alone. He is defined by focus, by conviction, by an almost unrelenting will. Whatever decision led him down this path, it was not made lightly."
Lightning let out a sharp breath, her jaw tightening as she lifted her gaze toward him. "Maybe," she said, though there was resistance in it. "But it was still reckless, even for him." She shook her head, frustration threading through her words. "Now the entire world knows he's out there, and worse, that he's tied himself to the MRA. It's not just stirring things underground. It's sending shockwaves through the URA as well. The media might not be able to touch it yet, but once the right people start connecting the dots, it's only a matter of time before everything blows open."
She looked away again, something more personal slipping through the cracks of her composure. "I held onto that idea for so long," she admitted, quieter now. "Every day since I put this badge on, I kept thinking, maybe one day we'd be back on the same side again." A faint, bitter edge crept in as she exhaled. "Seeing it fall apart like this… it just…"
The words didn't come.
Hidehito allowed the silence to linger before speaking again. "Perhaps you are looking at this from the wrong angle," he said, drawing her attention back to him. "Consider this instead, if you would." He paused briefly, choosing his words with care. "Imagine that Deschain had always been part of the MRA, and that he stood before you now, asking you to join him. Set aside how he came to be there, and focus only on the question itself."
Lightning's eyes widened slightly. The shift immediate.
"Ask yourself honestly, Captain," Hidehito continued, his gaze steady. "If he asked you to cast aside your badge and walk into the shadows with him… would you?"
"O-of course not!" Lightning snapped, almost reflexively, her hand rising to her chest as though to steady herself. "I made a promise when I joined C.H.A.S.E., I swore I'd bring the MRA down, no matter what it took, no matter who I had to stand against to do it."
Hidehito inclined his head slightly. "Even if that someone is your former trainer?"
Lightning fell silent. For a moment, there was nothing but the weight of the question hanging between them.
Hidehito exhaled softly. "That is where the conflict lies," he said at last. "Your convictions are strong, unyielding in most respects, yet they begin to waver when they intersect with him." His gaze softened just slightly. "And that is understandable. You hold him in high regard." He paused, then added more quietly, "Perhaps even more than that."
Lightning glanced at him, the implication landing without needing to be spoken further.
"You understand him," Hidehito went on, "just as he understands you. Both of you are driven, steadfast in your own beliefs, unwilling to compromise what you stand for." He held her gaze. "So, if you would not abandon your path for him, then it stands to reason that he would not abandon his for you."
Lightning's expression eased, the hard edge in her features softening as the weight of his words settled in, not all at once, but enough to leave a quiet stillness in their wake.
"This is only a guess," Hidehito said, his tone measured as he chose his words carefully, "but I believe the heart of his decision lies with that girl he's been training." His gaze shifted slightly, thoughtful, as though piecing together something he could not yet fully see. "I do not know who she is, but I know the kind of runners he takes under his wing. She will be the same kind he has always chosen. The lost, the broken, the ones the world has already cast aside." His eyes returned to Lightning, steady and knowing. "The kind that once made up the Godly Fifteen. Umas like you."
Lightning's ears twitched at that, her tail giving a sharp flick behind her.
"Whether he is chasing glory or something far more personal, Deschain has made his choice," Hidehito continued. "And if there is one truth I have learned as a trainer, it is this, when it comes to our girls, we are willing to go further than anyone else would understand." He paused briefly, letting the thought settle. "The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can begin to let go of the man you once knew, and see him for who he has become."
He placed a hand on her shoulder, the gesture brief but grounding, before turning to leave.
"Red's been talking to you, hasn't he?" Lightning said just before he could take another step.
Hidehito paused.
"Do not be upset with Detective Harlow," he replied, glancing back over his shoulder, his tone gentle despite the faint smile that followed. "For all his rough edges, he cares more than he lets on." His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. "And if I may be honest, so do I." The smile softened slightly. "You remind me of my daughter, in more ways than one. Good day, Captain."
With that, he rounded the couch and made his way to the door, opening it with quiet ease before stepping out into the hall.
The door closed behind him with a soft click. Left alone, Lightning let out a slow breath and sank back into the couch, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly as the sounds of celebration continued to spill from the screen, filling the room that now felt far too quiet.
"In other news…"
Lightning's sapphire eyes lifted toward the screen as the broadcast shifted, the image cutting cleanly to a press conference where a podium stood beneath the emblem of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, Chief Ando positioned behind it, his posture rigid, his expression composed as a barrage of camera flashes lit the stage in rapid bursts. A row of microphones crowded the lectern, each marked with the insignia of competing news outlets, their presence a quiet testament to the weight of what was being addressed.
"Superintendent Ando of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department has issued a statement regarding the rising threat of the Gurentai, who have terrorized citizens across Tokyo in recent weeks," the reporter's voice carried over the footage. "Groups of youths, some as young as fourteen, once dismissed as loiterers and vandals, have now escalated into organized assaults and robberies, with their numbers continuing to grow."
Ando didn't flinch under the lights, his gaze steady as he spoke. "I would like to personally assure the public that this matter is being addressed with the utmost priority," he said. "We have increased patrol presence and deployed additional personnel across all affected areas. Until this situation is brought under control, we strongly advise all citizens to remain indoors after hours and avoid unnecessary travel. This is for your safety. We also urge anyone with information to come forward and report any sightings of these individuals."
Lightning's gaze narrowed slightly as she watched, her arms folding as she leaned back just enough to take it in. She had seen this before, not here, not in this city, but the pattern was familiar all the same, troubled kids from broken homes, searching for something to belong to, only to fall into the wrong hands along the way. The difference was scale. Back home, it stayed small, petty theft, minor scuffles, nothing that spiraled this far, this fast, and certainly not into something that could force a citywide response like this.
Something about it didn't sit right.
There was a thread beneath it, something just out of reach, a quiet insistence in the back of her mind that this wasn't happening on its own, that it was being pushed, shaped, maybe even orchestrated, but without proof, it was nothing more than a suspicion she couldn't act on.
She exhaled softly, her gaze lingering on the screen a moment longer before shifting away.
As much as she and Red would have liked to dig into it, to pull at that thread until it gave, Nishimura had been clear, and for once, he wasn't wrong. The last thing they needed was to hand Ando an excuse to sideline them and wrestle control of C.H.A.S.E. from them completely.
Lightning scoffed under her breath.
For now, she would wait, watch, and move carefully.
****
The sound of applause filled the private box, echoing off the walls as the men in dark suits clapped in unison, their expressions remaining as composed and unreadable as ever even as a few of them set off party poppers, sending bursts of color and drifting confetti across the room. The celebration felt strangely restrained and extravagant all at once, a quiet spectacle contained within polished walls.
Rudolf looked around, her magenta eyes widening slightly at the unexpected display, her ears twitching with faint confusion as she took in the contrast between the noise and the stillness in their faces. Beside her, Takao remained composed, a gentle smile resting on her lips as she lowered the binoculars onto the coffee table before folding her hands neatly upon her lap.
"I suppose congratulations are in order for my darling granddaughter," Takao said as her gaze shifted toward one of the men standing nearby, a subtle motion of her fingers enough to summon him. "Please inform the manager that our reservation is confirmed, and do remind him to prepare an extra helping of sashimi." A faint note of fondness touched her words. "Melody always has quite the appetite after a race, especially one such as this."
"At once, Takao-sama," the man replied with a slight bow before turning and making his way toward the exit.
Takao drew in a slow breath as her attention returned to the track beyond the glass, her eyes settling on Melody, who still stood at the center of it all, waving to the sea of faces that called out her name. A soft, almost nostalgic smile lingered.
"She looks so much like her mother," she murmured. "Standing there, waving to the crowd. Just as Hornet did after the Kentucky Derby." She gave a quiet shake of her head. "They said she would never make it, that she would fall short, and yet she proved them all wrong." Her gaze softened further. "And now Melody has done the very same."
Rudolf inclined her head, a small smile forming at her lips. "I never doubted her," she said, her tone carrying quiet confidence before her curiosity returned, her ears flicking lightly. "Though I must admit, I am very interested in that technique she used in the final stretch. It was extraordinary."
Takao's ears twitched in thought as she considered it. "If I were to hazard a guess, I would say it bears resemblance to something from the Godly Fifteen," she said. "Hornet once mentioned a runner whose movements were said to resemble magic itself." A faint chuckle followed. "Melody used to study them endlessly, almost as though it were a pastime rather than an interest."
"Is that so?" Rudolf replied, her interest piqued. "Perhaps I should take the time to study them as well."
Takao laughed softly, the sound warm and unforced. "Retirement does not mean we should cease learning, Rudolf-chan." Her gaze lingered on the world beyond the glass, thoughtful, serene. "The world remains vast and full of wonder. One simply has to know where to look."
The older uma gave a gentle tilt of her head, the gesture both graceful and dismissive of any need for formality. "I won't keep you any longer," she said. "I imagine the Student Council President would much rather be down there, celebrating with her team, and with her junior."
Her hand settled once more upon her knee as she exhaled softly. "As for me, I shall remain here. These old bones are no longer suited for such excitement, though I will happily enjoy her performance from the comfort of this room. Later, my husband and I will have our own celebration with Melody."
Rudolf inclined her head before rising to her feet, smoothing the faint creases from her skirt with practiced ease. "The pleasure was mine, Takao-sama," she said, offering a respectful bow.
"You must visit the manor sometime, Rudolf-chan. I do so enjoy your company, and it has been far too long since I last saw Maru, Brian, and Fuji-chan." She waved a hand lightly, as though already picturing it. "Do bring them along, and kindly pass along my regards to your family." Her expression shifted, hardening ever so slightly. "All of them, except your grandfather. That man shall receive nothing from me."
"Perhaps one day," Rudolf replied gently, straightening as she let out a quiet breath. "And in time, I hope you might find it within yourself to forgive him. Grandfather is… well, he is who he is, but I do not believe he harbors any ill will toward you."
Takao's gaze held steady. "Forgive me, Rudolf-chan, but some wounds run far too deep to be reconciled with understanding alone." A pause followed before her tone softened just enough. "However, for your sake, we shall leave the matter there."
Rudolf gave a small nod. "Then we are in agreement."
She turned slightly, her ears twitching as her tail gave a faint, idle sway. "Please extend my regards to Tetsua-sama," she added before beginning toward the exit.
"Rudolf-chan."
The call stopped her mid-step.
She turned back.
Takao's expression had changed, the weight of something unspoken settling into her eyes. "Wherever he may be at this very moment," she said quietly, "no matter how many years pass, you must know that he loves you very much."
Rudolf's expression softened, a quiet understanding settling in as she offered a small, sincere smile. "I know," she replied. "Take care, Takao-sama."
With that, she turned once more and made her way to the door, which one of the guards opened for her with a respectful bow as she stepped out into the hall. The door closed behind her. Takao let her gaze drift back to the screen, where Melody still stood beneath the lights, the celebration continuing in full.
"Well then," she murmured, "let us see what my darling granddaughter has prepared for her Winning Live."
She glanced over her shoulder. Behind her, the men who had stood so rigidly moments before had quietly repositioned themselves, now dressed in black and yellow haori, each holding a glowstick in either hand, their expressions as blank as ever despite the transformation.
Takao chuckled softly. "Ah, how I have missed this."
****
Melody stepped into the underground walkway, the echo of her boots following her down the long corridor as she lifted a towel to her brow, wiping away the sweat that still clung to her skin. Even now, the entire experience felt distant and unreal, as though she had yet to fully return from it, from the moment she surged into the lead to the instant she crossed the finish line, her name resounding across the grandstands as the victor.
She had won races before, G2s and G3s that had carried their own weight, their own significance, but nothing compared to this, nothing matched the sheer magnitude of a G1, especially one as storied as the Shūka Shō, and with it came something she hadn't expected.
Relief from the doubts that had followed her, the insecurities that had lingered in the quiet moments, the fear that had threatened to take hold in the final stretch, all of it had fallen away in the wake of that victory. For once, she had not simply proven something to the world, nor to the voices that had sought to tear her down, not even to those like Fujii who had questioned her place on that track. She had proven it to herself. Every step she had taken, every ounce of strength she had drawn upon, every decision she had made in that race had been her own, not circumstance, not luck, not the shadow of a legacy.
It had been her. Her strength, her speed, her skill.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Melody carried herself with her head held high, not out of defiance, but because she finally believed she had earned the right to.
Her steps slowed as her gaze lifted, catching on a familiar figure standing just ahead, arms crossed in that same composed stance she had come to know so well. Hana did not move at first, her expression as firm as ever, her eyes steady as they settled on Melody, though as the moment stretched, that hardness began to ease, softening gradually into something far warmer, something that rarely showed itself so openly.
A smile, and the sight of it broke something loose inside her, and before she could stop herself, Melody's vision blurred as tears welled and spilled freely down her cheeks, her pace quickening into a run as she closed the distance and threw herself forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Hana without hesitation. Hana caught her with the same quiet steadiness she always carried, returning the embrace without a word, her presence grounding in a way nothing else could be.
"Thank you," Melody managed as the words fought their way out between uneven breaths, her grip tightening as though she feared letting go might somehow undo everything that had just happened. "Thank you, Hana-san, I couldn't have done it without you."
Hana exhaled softly before drawing back just enough to look at her, her hands rising to brush away the tears that continued to fall, her gaze steady and reassuring in a way that made Melody's chest tighten all over again. She said nothing at first, simply letting the moment breathe before her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.
"I merely showed you the path," she said at last, calm, almost gentle despite the weight behind it, "but everything that came after that, every decision you made, every step you took, that was entirely your own."
The warmth lingered only briefly before it shifted, as it always did with her, discipline reasserting itself with quiet precision as her expression returned to something far more familiar. Without warning, her fingers moved, pinching firmly at Melody's cheeks and pulling them apart just enough to draw a startled yelp from her.
"And speaking of which," Hana continued, her tone sharpening as she held her in place, "I do not recall ever instructing you to attempt a maneuver we have never once practiced in the middle of a G1 race."
"Ow, ow, ow, Hana-san—!" Melody protested, her words coming out strained and muffled as she tried, unsuccessfully, to pull back, her eyes watering for an entirely different reason now.
"What were you thinking?! That was stupid. That was foolish, and that was reckless!" Hana went on, releasing her at last but fixing her with a firm, unwavering look, "and if your timing had been off by even a fraction, you could have been disqualified, or worse, seriously injured!" Her arms folded once more as she continued. "The next time you feel the urge to improvise at that level, I would greatly appreciate being informed beforehand. You are well aware of how much I dislike surprises."
Melody rubbed at her cheeks, still stinging as she let out a small, helpless whine, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her completely. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry, Hana-san," she said, nodding quickly despite herself. "I won't do it again."
Even as she said it, there was something lighter in her words, something that hadn't been there before, because for the first time, the weight she had been carrying no longer felt like something she had to fight alone.
"Melody-chan!"
The call reached her just as Hana stepped aside, and Melody turned in time to see Kitasan Black and Satono Diamond hurrying toward her, their pace quick and unrestrained as they closed the distance in seconds. Kitasan reached her first, throwing her arms around Melody in a tight embrace that nearly knocked the breath from her, the force of it carrying all the excitement she had yet to release.
"Congratulations, that was incredible!" Kitasan exclaimed, bright and overflowing with pride as she held on just a moment longer before pulling back, her eyes shining.
"I have to agree," Diamond added, stepping closer, her composure still intact but her admiration clear as she studied Melody with a soft, impressed smile. "I have never seen anything quite like that before. Not even Rudolf-san could have replicated what you did in that final stretch."
Kitasan let out a small laugh, still riding the high of the moment as she leaned in slightly. "The press is going to eat that up, you know that, right? They'll have your final spurt on replay for weeks, breaking it down frame by frame just like they did with Teio-san's run at the Arima Kinen." Her grin widened. "You're not getting away from this one anytime soon."
Melody rubbed the back of her head, letting out a small, embarrassed chuckle despite everything, her shoulders easing as she tried to wave it off. "Come on, it wasn't anything that special," she said. "It just… happened."
"Sorry to interrupt," Hana cut in, her tone calm but firm as she adjusted her glasses, her gaze settling squarely on Melody, "but this reunion will have to wait."
Melody blinked, turning back to her.
"You should be heading to the dressing room," Hana continued, her arms folding as her expression returned to its usual composed sharpness. "You have twenty minutes before your Winning Live, and I would very much prefer you not walk on stage looking like you've just crawled out of a battlefield."
"Oh, right," Melody said quickly, her eyes widening as the realization hit her all at once.
She turned back to Kitasan and Diamond, her smile returning just as easily. "Kita-senpai, Dia-senpai, I'll catch up with you both later, okay?"
"Of course," Diamond replied with a small nod. "Good luck out there, Melody-chan."
"Go give them a show," Kitasan added, her energy undimmed as she lifted a hand in encouragement. "We'll be cheering for you the whole time."
Melody nodded, her smile lingering as she turned and broke into a jog down the corridor, her steps lighter now as she disappeared around the corner. Hana remained where she stood, her gaze following her for a moment longer, and though she said nothing, that same quiet smile found its way back to her lips once again.
****
"Up next, we have the Winning Live performance from today's champion," Akasaka's voice carried across the grandstands, cutting cleanly through the lingering roar of celebration as anticipation began to build once more.
"We have, of course, seen Melody perform before," Hosoe added, her tone composed as ever, though there was a note of regret woven into it. "However, it is unfortunate that both Northern Lights and Seventh Heaven have withdrawn from the performance. Their trainers had extended apologies on their behalf, though it is certainly a missed opportunity for the audience."
"Even so," Akasaka continued, "we've been hearing that Melody has prepared something special for today's performance."
A low mechanical rumble began to roll beneath the stands, the sound of gears turning and mechanisms shifting as the platform between the track and the grandstands slowly began to rise. Metal groaned softly under its own weight as the full stage emerged, expanding outward with precision, screens sliding into place both vertically and horizontally as the structure assembled itself in full view of the crowd. The ambient light dimmed across the venue, the world falling into a controlled darkness as spotlights ignited one by one, converging upon the stage and reflecting off the drifting silver confetti that still lingered in the air.
Almost instantly, the crowd responded.
Glowsticks lit up across the stands in waves of lavender and neon green, raised high in eager hands as cheers surged once more, louder now, sharper, filled with expectation as the entire structure seemed to pulse with energy.
Light watched the stage rise with wide, unblinking eyes, her excitement impossible to contain as she bounced lightly on her toes, completely absorbed in the spectacle unfolding before her. Beside her, Dahlia allowed a softer smile to form, the memory of another performance slipping into her thoughts, Scarlet standing beneath those same lights, moving in perfect rhythm with the others as the crowd roared her name, every step practiced, every motion effortless.
Her gaze shifted to Logan.
"So," she said, a teasing grin tugging at her lips, "you ever miss being up there? Maybe pull out a guitar, play a few chords for the crowd?"
Logan let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he folded his arms. "Kid, I haven't touched an instrument in years," he replied, his tone easy but honest. "Same goes for singing. I'd probably sound like absolute garbage if I tried now."
Dahlia nudged him lightly with her elbow, her ears flicking as she glanced at him again. "Don't sell yourself short," she said, her voice softer this time. "Maybe… we could play together sometime."
Logan tilted his head slightly, a wry grin forming as he looked at her. "Careful," he said, a hint of challenge slipping in, "I might end up showing you up."
Dahlia snorted under her breath. "In your dreams, old man."
"It's starting!" Light suddenly cried, pointing excitedly toward the stage as she leaned forward. "It's starting!"
The platform rose fully into place, and at its center, Melody stood beneath the lights, now dressed in her performance uniform, a carefully tailored ensemble of white, lavender, and maroon that caught the glow of the stage as she stepped forward. The reaction was immediate, the crowd erupting into cheers, whistles, and cries that rolled across the grandstands in waves.
Melody lifted the microphone to her lips, her breath steady as her voice carried through the speakers, clear and resonant. "Thank you, all of you, for being here today," she said, her gaze sweeping across the sea of lights. "None of this would have been possible without you."
She extended a hand toward the stands, her expression soft but certain. "As umas, we train every day, we chase our dreams with everything we have, but none of it means anything without the people who stand by us, who believe in us, who cheer for us no matter what." Her words warmed. "The fans."
Light cheered along with the rest of the crowd, her voice joining the thousands around her, while Logan watched on with a quiet smile, something reflective settling behind his gaze.
Melody drew the microphone closer to her chest, her fingers tightening slightly as her expression shifted, something more personal, more intimate taking hold. "Ever since I was little, I made a promise to my late mother," she said. "That when I won my first G1… I would honor her in the only way I knew how."
She took a breath, lifting her gaze again to meet the crowd.
"I know many of you remember her," Melody continued with quiet confidence as it reached every corner of the grandstands. "Kadokawa Hornet, not only as a racer, not only as one of the Godly Fifteen, but as an idol who gave everything she had to the stage as well." A faint, heartfelt smile settled on her lips as her gaze swept across the sea of lights. "And this… was her favorite song, and mine as well."
She drew in a steady breath, her grip tightening just slightly around the microphone as the music began to swell. "So, for those of you who remember it, I hope you'll sing along with me."
The music began to rise, familiar and unmistakable as it filled the stands, the first notes alone enough to send a ripple through the crowd. Melody lifted her head fully as she faced the sea of lights before her.
"This is Golden."
The grandstands erupted.
[BGM: Golden – Japanese Version, Originally by Huntrix, Cover by Kurenai Natsuki]
Logan slowly pulled his shades from his face, his eyes widening as the first notes of the song filled the entire structure, rising above the roar of the crowd as Melody's voice carried across the stands with a clarity that struck deeper than he expected. The moment the melody settled in, recognition hit him all at once, not as something distant or nostalgic, but as something immediate, something vivid.
He remembered this song.
Not as the world knew it, polished and perfected beneath stage lights, but as it had been in its earliest form, scattered across loose sheets of paper and half-formed ideas. Hornet would sit at her keyboard for hours, tapping out notes, stopping, starting again, pencil in hand as she scribbled lyrics across the page, only to groan in frustration moments later before crumpling the paper and tossing it aside to join the growing pile at her feet. He had lost count of how many drafts she had burned through, how many times she had rewritten the same verse, chasing something she couldn't quite define but refused to settle for anything less than perfect.
She had dragged him into it too, running the song over and over again, asking for his thoughts, changing a line here, adjusting a note there, until what began as a rough sketch finally took shape into something she was proud of. Weeks of effort, of trial and error, of stubborn persistence had led to the version the world would eventually hear, and when it was released, it had taken off in a way neither of them could have fully predicted, climbing charts, drawing attention, becoming something far bigger than the two of them sitting in that small room could have imagined.
He still remembered the night she stood on that stage, holding the award in her hands, her smile brighter than anything else in the room.
And now he stood there watching her daughter. Their daughter, sing those very same words, carried by the same melody, moving to the same rhythm that had once taken shape beneath Hornet's hands. Every note, every step, every gesture echoed what had come before, yet there was something unmistakably her own in it, something that elevated it beyond imitation.
Melody's voice flowed with a clarity and grace that felt even more refined, more resonant, as though she had taken what was once written and breathed new life into it, a living testament to the name she carried and the legacy she now shaped with each passing moment.
She stood beneath those same lights, singing with everything she had, her movements instinctive, reaching out toward the crowd in a way that felt achingly familiar. The overlap was impossible to ignore, the way she carried herself, the way she smiled, the look in her eyes as she gave herself to the performance without hesitation.
For a moment, the present blurred, and he saw her.
Hornet.
The same energy, the same presence, the same unshakable connection to the people watching her, as though the distance between them didn't exist at all. Logan's breath caught as his vision blurred, tears welling in his eyes before slipping free, tracing down his rough-shaven cheeks as his lips trembled despite himself. He didn't look away.
He couldn't.
Beside him, Dahlia shifted her gaze toward him, the change in his expression not going unnoticed as a soft, understanding smile formed at her lips.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
Logan blinked, the word pulling his attention just enough for him to glance at her, his hand rising instinctively to wipe at his face as though to hide what had already been seen.
"For what?" he asked.
"For everything," Dahlia replied, her gaze drifting back to the stage where Melody continued to sing, blending with the crowd that had begun to join in. "For being there when I had no one else to turn to. For bringing me here." A small laugh slipped out, softer this time. "Master was right, I needed this."
Logan studied her for a brief moment before a faint smile returned, quieter than usual but no less genuine, as he followed her gaze back to the stage. "Anytime, kid."
"And for the record," Dahlia added, tilting her head slightly as her gaze remained on the stage, "my mom loved this song too."
Logan let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and filled with something warmer than before, his eyes lingering on Melody as the music carried on.
"Yeah," he said, the single word settling with a weight that needed nothing more. "So do I."
****
At the far reaches of the grandstands, where the roar of the crowd softened into a distant hum, the young man in the black turtleneck and overcoat stood apart from it all, his back resting lightly against the wall as his arms remained folded across his chest. The music surged through the stands, carried by the speakers as the audience sang along in unison, glowsticks swaying in waves of color, yet he did not move with them, his dark eyes fixed forward, steady and unreadable as he watched her command the stage.
"I thought I'd spotted a familiar face, though I hadn't expected it to be yours."
The voice came from his left, worn by age yet sharpened by a familiarity that carried weight behind it, and Rufus turned just enough to acknowledge it, his gaze settling upon the older man who now stood beside him. Musaka leaned lightly upon his walking stick, his posture slightly hunched but steady, the red Hawaiian shirt and Panama hat lending him an air of casual ease that did little to hide the presence beneath it.
"It has been a long time… Rufus."
"Roppei-san," Rufus replied as he inclined his head in greeting. "I trust you have been keeping well."
Musaka let out a low groan, shaking his head before a chuckle followed, the sound carrying a mix of exasperation and amusement. "If I had a coin for every time someone called me that…" he muttered, tapping the tip of his cane lightly against the ground. "It's Musaka."
He exhaled, the edge softening as a grin tugged at his lips. "But well enough, I suppose. Cholesterol's creeping up on me these days, though I've come to terms with it." His eyes lingered on Rufus, studying him more closely now. "When did you get back?"
"A good while ago," Rufus answered as his gaze drifted briefly toward the stage, the performance unfolding in full beneath the lights, though it seemed to hold little real pull over him before his attention returned. "I reached the conclusion that I had been away long enough." There was a faint, almost wry undercurrent to his words as he continued. "I spent some time in Los Angeles, then moved on. Europe, the Middle East, Africa, China, South-East Asia, Australia. I made a point of seeing as much of the world as it would allow me."
He exhaled softly. "It is rather amusing, in a way. I have spent the better part of my life running from this place, yet despite all of that distance, I find myself drawn back to where it all began." A small chuckle followed, though there was little humor in it. "A particularly cruel sort of irony, wouldn't you say."
Musaka let out a low breath of agreement. "Indeed," he replied, closing his eyes behind his shades for a moment before reopening them, his expression settling into something more contemplative. "So, does that mean you're here to stay this time?"
Rufus did not answer immediately, his silence stretching just enough to suggest consideration rather than hesitation, his gaze settling somewhere beyond the stage as the music swelled around them.
"Perhaps," Rufus said at last, the word arriving unhurried, as though he had turned it over more than once before allowing it to surface. "That will depend entirely on whether this place can hold my interest long enough to justify putting down roots." His gaze remained steady, though there was a subtle shift beneath it, something cooler beginning to surface beneath the calm. "And whether the ghosts of my past have the decency to leave me in peace."
Musaka studied him for a moment, the weight of that statement not lost on him, before a faint, knowing look crept in, one brow lifting slightly.
"Speaking of ghosts," he said, his tone quieter now, more deliberate. "Do they know?"
Rufus shook his head once, the motion subtle but definitive.
"No," he replied. "And, if I may be frank, it is neither their business nor their concern."
Musaka fell quiet for a moment, a slow breath leaving him as he shifted his weight and rested both hands atop his cane, the faint creak of the wood grounding him as his gaze lingered on Rufus, not with judgment, but with the kind of understanding that only came from time.
"I'm not about to tell you to live and let live," he said at length. "Heaven knows I've carried more grudges than I care to admit over the years." A faint, knowing breath slipped from him. "Back then, I was young, hot-headed, with enough fire in my blood to burn the whole damned world if I felt like it. I've been wronged, same as anyone else, chewed up and spat out more times than I can count, and more often than not, it was by people I trusted, people I cared about." His grip tightened slightly against the cane. "I told myself I didn't deserve any of it, that sooner or later, they'd get what was coming to them."
He paused, the weight of that belief settling between them before he continued.
"But when you get to my age," he said quietly, "you start to feel it. How heavy all that becomes. Carrying those grudges, holding onto every slight, every bit of anger, it's like dragging a sack of rocks uphill for the rest of your life." His expression softened, though there was something worn beneath it. "And the cruel part is, the people you hated, the ones you wanted answers from, they don't always stick around long enough for any of it to matter. No apologies, no closure. Just gone."
A soft chuckle followed.
"Case in point, Jo's father, my brother," Musaka continued, his words settling into something more distant as his gaze drifted past the present, as though he were looking into a memory that had never quite let him go. "Our old man was a trainer down in Kasamatsu. Never had the kind of talent that would carry him to the nationals, but that never stopped him from trying, not for a second. He poured everything he had into it."
A faint breath left him. "Trouble was, that meant he was hardly ever home, and by the time I turned thirteen, our mother had had enough. She ran off with the first man who came along with a pocket stuffed full of yen, and just like that, it was the two of us left behind."
He adjusted his grip on the cane.
"I never minded the work," he went on. "Training didn't bother me, not really. But my brother…" A faint shake of his head followed. "He despised it. Not just disliked it, mind you, he hated it. Said it was the one thing that tore our family apart, laid every bit of the blame at our father's feet, at that obsession he could never let go of. And no matter how much time passed, he never forgave our old man for it. Didn't even show up for his funeral."
Rufus's expression was leveled, though the old man could tell he was listening intently. Musaka exhaled slowly, the memory settling heavier as he spoke.
"So, of course, when he found out I'd gone and earned my National License…" A low, humorless chuckle slipped out. "He went ballistic. And somewhere in the middle of all that shouting, all that bitterness, things were said that never should have been said, lines were drawn that never needed to exist in the first place, and before either of us realized what we were doing, we'd turned our backs on each other."
He shook his head again, slower this time, the motion weighed down by the years that followed.
"He was angry. I was angry. Angry at our parents, at the world, at the choices that had been made for us and the ones we made ourselves, and instead of facing any of it head-on, we took the easier path." His tone lowered slightly. "We took it out on one other."
He blinked behind his shades.
"Then one day, he was gone," Musaka said as he let out a slow breath. "And all I was left with were those words… the kind I would give anything to take back, knowing full well I never will."
"It took me years to learn what became of him after we parted," he continued. "Turns out he and Jo had grown estranged somewhere along the way. In fact, the fallout was so spectacular, Jo had his last name legally changed to his mother's. That's how much he wanted nothing to do with the man." His jaw shifted faintly. "That anger he carried, that bitterness toward trainers. It didn't fade, it only got worse. From what I've heard, he let it consume him. Became abusive. And when Jo started showing an interest in becoming a trainer himself…" He exhaled sharply. "That was the final straw."
Musaka shook his head, the motion small but heavy.
"Whatever dreams that boy had back then were worn down, piece by piece, first as a child and then as a young man," Musaka said. "For a long while, he carried that same anger, that same bitterness his father had clung to, like it was the only thing he had left to hold onto." He let out a quiet breath, the memory settling before he continued. "It wasn't until I found him again, years later, that I saw what was left of him. Not the boy I remembered, but something closer to an empty shell, drifting without direction."
A faint, wry edge crept into his tone then, softening the heaviness just slightly.
"So, I did what any reasonable man would do," he added. "Gave him a swift kick in the ass and reminded him he still had a spine." His gaze shifted toward the stands where Jo now stood among the others. "Took some time, a fair bit of stubbornness on both ends, but he found his way back." A small smile and a nod followed. "Turned into the man you see out there now."
The smile faded, replaced by something quieter.
"But that regret never quite leaves you," he went on. "Because you can't help but wonder… if I had set my pride aside back then, if I had mended things with my brother when I still had the chance, would any of it have turned out differently?" His gaze drifted again, distant. "For him. For me. For Jo."
Rufus remained still throughout it all, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets, his back resting against the wall as though nothing in the conversation had unsettled him, yet the absence of any reaction spoke just as loudly, because even Musaka, with all his years, could tell that something had landed, however subtly, beneath that composed exterior.
Musaka gave a small shake of his head, as though brushing the weight of his own words aside before they lingered too long. "Ah, pay me no mind," he said, drawing in a breath and letting it out slowly. "Just the ramblings of an old man who's had too much time to think and not enough sense to keep it to himself." His tone shifted, lightening just enough to pass as casual, though the undercurrent remained. "Still, from what I hear, you haven't exactly been idle while you've been away."
He glanced sidelong at Rufus. "You've made quite the name for yourself overseas. Not just on the track, but on the stage as well. A rather impressive career, all things considered." A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Though I'll admit, your particular taste in music has never quite been to my liking."
Rufus let out a soft chuckle at that, the sound low and composed, carrying that same refined ease. "A man of your generation?" he replied smoothly. "I would have been deeply concerned if it had been."
A quiet chuckle slipped from Musaka, though there was a reflective edge to it as he tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on Rufus with a knowing look. "Still, Strider lost far more than it realized when you chose Stalliongrad Academy over them," he said. "Though perhaps," he added, the words measured, "it was a blessing in disguise, all things considered. Given how everything turned out."
Rufus closed his eyes for a brief moment, a faint exhale escaping him before he spoke. "That would be an exceedingly generous way of putting it," he replied. "From the moment I laid eyes on Director Rourke, I found him… unsettling, in a way that defied simple explanation, and that was long before the rumors began to circulate." His lips pressed into the faintest line. "Even then, Strider had already begun its decline. What once stood with distinction had, by that point, become little more than a shadow of its former self."
When he opened his eyes again, his gaze drifted briefly toward the stage, where the performance continued in full, the sound of Melody's voice carrying through the air before he turned his attention back to Musaka.
"Tracen, on the other hand," he continued, "appears to have fared rather differently in my absence. It has gathered quite the collection of talent. Hana Tojo, Kouji Okino, Hidehito Nase…" He paused, letting the names settle before his gaze sharpened slightly. "And of course, your nephew, Kitahara Jo."
A faint breath followed, the hint of something wry beneath it.
"Amusing, really," Rufus added with the faintest trace of dry amusement as his gaze lingered on Musaka. "Given how things have turned out, I cannot help but recall just how vocal you once were in your criticisms of him."
Musaka let out a laugh at that, the sound genuine as he shook his head. "As I said, people change," he said, a hint of pride slipping through as he straightened slightly. "I may have been the spark, but he got his act together, found his footing, and in all honesty, I couldn't be prouder of the man he's become."
The old man's expression settled, the last traces of humor fading as something far more serious took its place, his posture straightening just enough to signal the shift. "But let's spare ourselves the theatrics," Musaka said as his gaze hardened on Rufus. "I know why you're here, Rufus. Really here."
Rufus stilled for a moment, a soft breath leaving him as the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, more in acknowledgment than amusement. "Then I suppose the miscalculation lies with me," he replied smoothly. "I should have known better than to attempt to pull the wool over Tracen's Fairy Godfather."
Musaka let out a sharp scoff at the title, the irritation immediate and familiar. "I've told you before, I hate that damned name," he muttered, though the edge softened just slightly as he shifted his weight. "But word travels, Rufus, and it tends to move faster in the circles you and I are familiar with." His gaze narrowed. "Especially when it comes straight from Akikawa herself."
A brief pause followed as he studied him more closely, as though searching for something beneath the surface.
"Truth be told, I can understand parts of it," Musaka continued, "at least enough to see what might have led you back here." He let out a slow breath, the weight of it lingering in the space between them. "But even now, I can't quite piece together the whole of it, and more than anything else…"
He trailed off, the sentence left unfinished as a brief silence settled in its place, the roar of the grandstands rising and falling around them, distant and indistinct, as though the rest of the world had quietly stepped aside to make room for what remained unsaid.
"Why?" Musaka asked at last, his tone lower now, stripped of everything but the question itself. "Why now?"
Rufus did not answer immediately. Instead, a faint grin touched his lips, subtle but unmistakable, as he pushed himself off the wall with an ease that suggested the question had already been considered long before it was spoken.
"It would seem we've moved beyond pleasantries," Rufus said at last, his tone calm, almost courteous, though there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. "Very well, Musaka-san, I shall indulge you. You wanted the truth, and the truth is rather simple. I have grown thoroughly disinterested in the caliber of trainers I have encountered abroad."
He took a step forward, his gaze drifting toward the stage where Melody's performance continued to command the crowd, though his attention felt far removed from the spectacle itself.
"Time and again, I have found myself faced with the same pattern. Individuals lacking in discipline, in vision, in even the most basic self-awareness. Worthless, craven, incompetent, daft, irrelevant, and perhaps most disappointing of all, entirely oblivious to their own inadequacies." A faint, almost dismissive breath followed. "A textbook case of the Dunning–Kruger effect, if one were inclined to be clinical about it."
He paused then, turning his head just enough to look back at Musaka, and in that brief glance, something colder surfaced, something precise and cutting that caused the old man's posture to stiffen almost imperceptibly. There was a sharpness in those greenish-gold eyes, something bordering on predatory, as though he were no longer speaking of colleagues, but of prey.
"I travelled extensively in search of something worthy of my time," Rufus continued. "London, Mumbai, Hong Kong, Jakarta, Singapore, Manila, each place promised something different, something of value, and yet each delivered the same result." A faint tilt of his head followed. "Disappointment. Individuals draped in refinement and reputation, yet hollow at their core, all polish and no substance."
"And one by one," Rufus continued, a slight smile touching his lips. "I dismantled them. Not merely in competition, but in spirit. I broke them down until there was nothing left to salvage, bled them dry in ways both figurative and literally, until the only dignity they had left was the option to walk away."
A faint, almost indifferent breath followed. "Most chose retirement. Not out of wisdom, but because it was preferable to enduring the humiliation that would have followed had they remained."
Musaka felt it then, the weight of those words settling heavier than before, a bead of sweat tracing slowly down his cheek as he held his ground, though the tension in his posture betrayed him. Rufus allowed the silence to linger just long enough before continuing, the tone shifting again, the cold precision giving way to something more curious, more intent.
"And then," he said, "by sheer chance, I began to hear whispers of what has been unfolding within the Twinkle Series here in Tokyo. More precisely, within Tracen itself. I had assumed that with the Emperor retiring, the void left in her wake would usher in the inevitable decline that so often follows the departure of greatness." He paused, the faintest hint of acknowledgment in his words. "I was mistaken."
His eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful now.
"Names began to surface. Oguri Cap, Super Creek, Special Week, Tokai Teio, Kitasan Black…" he listed. "Champions who did not merely fill the void, but redefined it in their own way, and most of all the trainers who had guided them there." A faint tilt of his head followed. "I arrived expecting little more than a spectacle, a passing curiosity. A circus, if you will."
A quiet pause settled between them once more.
"And instead," Rufus said, "I found something far more compelling. Not simply a court fit for a king," he finished, the faintest hint of a smile returning, "but one worthy of conquest."
His gaze returned to the stage, settling there once more, though something within it had shifted, the earlier detachment giving way to a quiet calculation, as if what he now saw was no longer a performance, but a field waiting to be tested.
"And after what I witnessed here today," Rufus continued, "I find my assessment not only validated, but perhaps understated." He allowed the words to breathe for a moment, the weight of them settling before he went on. "In fact, I would be inclined to wager that what lies ahead will prove far more engaging than anything I have encountered thus far."
A brief pause followed, subtle, before he spoke again, softer now, though no less precise.
"For a world that prides itself on shining so brilliantly in the light," he said, turning his head just enough to meet Musaka's gaze again, the look that passed between them quiet, but heavy with implication. "And one that flourishes just as well in shadow."
Musaka's eyes widened. "Rufus… you don't mean—"
Rufus had already begun to move, stepping past him without breaking stride.
"You would be wise to prepare yourself," Rufus said. "and your nephew as well for what lies ahead." He allowed the faintest pause, just enough for the words to settle. "Because what is coming will not resemble rivalry, nor ambition, nor the petty struggles you have grown accustomed to. No, it will be an all-out war."
There was no rise in his words, no dramatics to dress it, only a quiet certainty that made it all the more unsettling.
"And when it has run its course," he continued, just as lightly, "when the flames have burned themselves out and what remains lies scattered in their wake. When Tracen stands in ruin and the URA is reduced to little more than ash…" A faint smile touched his lips, cold and restrained. "Only one will remain to claim that throne we all, in our own way, have spent our lives reaching for."
He then offered a lazy, almost dismissive salute over his shoulder. "Be seeing you, Musaka-san."
With that, he stepped away, slipping seamlessly into the current of the crowd as though he had never been there at all, his presence dissolving into the noise and motion of the stadium until nothing remained but the echo of his words.
Musaka did not move.
He stood where he was, watching the space Rufus had occupied long after he had vanished, before slowly lifting a hand to remove his shades. His eyes hardened as the implications settled in, his jaw tightening despite himself, the weight of what had just been set in motion pressing down in a way he could not ignore.
****
The late afternoon sun poured through the tall windows in soft, golden streams, spilling across the hospital room and settling into every quiet corner, warming the pale walls and casting long, gentle shadows across the floor. The air carried the clean, sterile scent of disinfectant, though it was softened by the presence of a carefully arranged bouquet resting on the bedside table, a woven basket filled with tulips, carnations, and roses, their colors vivid against the otherwise muted space. A small card rested neatly among them, signed in Saburo's hand, a quiet gesture that lingered in the background.
Scarlet sat in her wheelchair near the window, a blanket draped over her legs as she faced the flat screen mounted across from her, her full attention drawn into the performance unfolding there. Melody's voice filled the room, clear and bright even through the speakers, rising above the distant roar of the crowd as she sang beneath the lights, every note carried with a sincerity that reached far beyond the stage.
Scarlet smiled. Tears slipped freely down her cheeks, unrestrained as she watched, her gaze never wavering as the memory of the race replayed itself in her mind, from the explosive start to that impossible overtake, the moment that had defied expectation and carried Melody across the finish line in a way that felt almost unreal. It had been extraordinary from beginning to end, a performance that left no room for doubt, no space for hesitation, and as she watched her now, standing on that stage, singing with everything she had, Scarlet felt a quiet swell of pride that she could neither suppress nor deny.
She had done it. Not just the victory, not just the G1, but this moment, this dream that she had once spoken of so earnestly back at Tracen, the promise of standing beneath those lights and singing that one song, the one that had meant everything to her.
And she was shining.
"Congratulations, Melody," Scarlet murmured softly. "I can't wait to see how far you'll go."
The moment lingered, full and delicate in a way that felt almost untouchable, until it was gently disrupted by the soft chime of a notification, followed by the low, insistent vibration of her phone against her lap. Scarlet's gaze dipped, the warmth in her expression easing into something more focused as she reached down to pick it up, her fingers gliding across the screen as it came to life and brought it closer.
The number flashing across her screen was private, but Scarlet did not hesitate, because she already knew who it was. The phone continued to vibrate softly in her hand for a brief moment before she swiped to answer, putting it on speaker as the line connected and a voice slipped through, carrying a quiet sense of refinement that bordered on theatrical.
"Good evening, Miss Rose."
There was a faint regality to the tone, as though every word had been chosen long before it was spoken.
"Cavendish-san," Scarlet replied, her gaze steady as it remained fixed ahead, betraying none of the thoughts that moved beneath the surface.
"I trust you have taken the time to consider our… proposition," Cavendish continued, the pause before the final word subtle, intentional. "My master has been awaiting your answer with considerable interest."
Scarlet did not respond immediately. For a moment, her eyes lifted slightly, as though weighing something unseen, before she spoke.
"I accept."
There was no hesitation in it, no room left for doubt.
"Splendid," Cavendish replied at once, satisfaction threading cleanly through his otherwise composed tone. "My master will be most pleased to hear it." He allowed a brief pause, as though to let the weight of that settle. "There will, of course, be certain preparations that must be made, and such arrangements will require time. When all is in place, we will reach out accordingly."
Another pause followed, lighter this time, almost courteous.
"My master extends his regards, Miss Rose. It will be a pleasure working with you."
The line went dead. Scarlet lowered the phone slowly, resting it back against her lap as the faint hum of the room returned, the silence settling in around her once more. Her gaze drifted back to the screen, where Melody still stood beneath the lights, her performance continuing in full as the crowd roared in admiration.
Scarlet watched her in silence, the glow of the screen reflecting softly in her eyes as Melody moved beneath the lights with the same conviction that had carried her across the finish line. A faint smile found its way to Scarlet's lips, quiet but genuine, touched with something deeper than simple pride.
"You're chasing your dreams, Melody," she murmured, almost lost beneath the music. "And now… so will I."
Her gaze lingered on the screen, softening just slightly as the thought settled, though there was no uncertainty in it, no hesitation left to weigh her down.
"My only regret," she continued, steady despite the emotion beneath them, "is that it won't be on the same stage you're standing on."