Half a month passed in the blink of an eye, and at last, the day everyone had been waiting for arrived.
Nakayama Racecourse, a stage that had borne countless legends and tears, had already been utterly swallowed by crowds and surging excitement despite the sharp winter air.
From early morning on, every road leading to the racecourse had turned into a slow-moving river of people.
The trains were packed to bursting, and the platforms were crammed with people who had come early just to witness the spectacle for themselves.
The air was thick with an almost festival-like anticipation and excitement. Everyone's face was lit with exhilaration. Conversations, arguments, predictions, debates over the race's outcome, mingled with the cries of street vendors, merged into a roaring sea of noise that battered ceaselessly against the racecourse walls.
And almost all of this unprecedented frenzy was centered on two names—
Oguri Cap and Tamamo Cross.
The Gray Monster and White Lightning, facing each other once more.
The rematch between those two gray Umamusume at the summit had drawn the gaze of racing fans across all of Japan as if by magnetic force.
That heart-stopping duel in the Japan Cup, decided by the slimmest of margins, had long since been elevated beyond the bounds of an ordinary race after months of relentless media hype and analysis. It had become a symbol, a footnote to an era.
People wanted to see the ending rewritten.
But they also wanted to witness a legend being written—or a new king being crowned.
And crowds hungry for spectacle naturally wanted an even more dramatic clash to unfold on an even bigger stage.
Now, that drama had gathered, beyond all doubt, in this Arima Kinen.
That was why the buzz around this year's Arima Kinen far surpassed anything seen in the past few years.
Outside Nakayama Racecourse, giant electronic screens cycled through promo footage of the two stars. Their sprinting forms, their focused eyes—every replay drew another wave of excited cheers and gasps from the crowd.
The price of admission tickets in the hands of scalpers had already soared to jaw-dropping heights, and even then, they were still nearly impossible to get.
The Arima Kinen, already a classic year-end spectacle, had been pushed to an unprecedented peak of excitement by the presence of Oguri Cap and Tamamo Cross.
Passing through the roaring crowd and layers of security, Sakuraba Ryo entered the VIP seating area alone.
Compared to the madness below, where the noise felt strong enough to rip the roof off, this place was relatively quiet and detached.
Huge floor-to-ceiling windows softened the deafening roar outside into a vague background thunder, while the view remained perfectly unobstructed, laying the entire oval of Nakayama Racecourse, the green infield, and the rising tiers of the stands fully before his eyes.
He walked to his reserved seat and sat down. The seat beside him was empty.
This time, he had not brought anyone with him.
As the shared investor of both Oguri Cap and Tamamo Cross, being present for a race hyped up as a fated showdown had put him in a strangely awkward position.
Cheering for one felt like betraying the other somehow. Even if the two girls themselves might not see it that way, he still could not bring himself to choose.
So earlier, he had gone directly to both of their waiting rooms inside the course and cheered them on there.
If he could not cheer for just one of them, then cheering for both was the obvious answer.
After that, he had come here by himself.
"This feels even livelier than the Japan Cup..."
Looking at the sea of people before him, Sakuraba could not help sighing in amazement.
Just as he sat there quietly taking in the crowd below, the empty seat beside him suddenly gave a faint creak as someone sat down.
He turned his head on instinct and found that two striking Umamusume had taken the seats beside him.
Symboli Rudolf and Maruzensky.
The corner of Sakuraba's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
There were plenty of empty seats in VIP seating, so why had they chosen the ones right next to him?
"Luna-san, Maruzensky-san."
He kept his expression outwardly calm, but there was a trace of helplessness in his voice.
"With this many empty seats around..."
"Oh my, Sakuraba-san~"
Symboli Rudolf turned toward him, a bright smile blooming across her face.
"With so many seats available, wouldn't one naturally choose the spot with the best view and the most interesting company?"
At her side, Maruzensky covered her mouth and laughed softly.
"That's right, Sakuraba-san. And Rudolf isn't wrong—we really haven't seen you in quite a while~ Since we happened to meet at an occasion like this, sitting together also lets us... build a little rapport."
Build a little rapport...
At a race? What kind of rapport are we supposed to build here?
Why do I feel like the two of you are up to no good?
Sakuraba grumbled inwardly, though he could hardly say any of it out loud.
There was no way these two top figures from Tracen Academy had come over just for small talk.
But with the race about to start, he had no interest in digging deeper.
Seeing that he only kept his eyes on the track and said nothing, Symboli Rudolf turned slightly toward him and, still smiling, took the initiative.
"Sakuraba-san, in this showdown everyone's watching, who are you personally leaning toward?"
Sakuraba drew his gaze back and answered in a tone so calm it was nearly flat.
"Whoever wins is fine. It'll be either Oguri or Tamamo."
He paused, then added,
"They're both in great form. Whoever performs better on the day will be the winner."
Much as he hated to admit it, Sakuraba knew something very clearly by now.
When it came to sabotaging his money-losing plan, Oguri Cap and Tamamo Cross were elite-level talents.
Why am I actually getting used to being backstabbed?!
This is insane.
I hate that I've gotten used to it!
A trace of amusement flickered through Symboli Rudolf's eyes. She gave a slight shake of her head, that signature composed smile still on her lips.
"Oh? Sakuraba-san is that certain the winner can only be one of those two?"
Her fingertip tapped lightly against the armrest, her voice taking on a faintly guiding tone.
"I think the result may not come from either of them."
Meeting Sakuraba's slightly puzzled gaze, Symboli Rudolf continued at an unhurried pace.
"Dicta Striker has been adjusting extremely well lately. Her final spurt has always been a tremendous threat in G1-level races."
"And as for Super Creek... her composure and resilience on the track, especially on a stage like this, often create outcomes no one sees coming."
"The two of them are every bit as much contenders who can't be ignored in this Arima Kinen."
Maruzensky gave a small nod beside her, smiling without speaking, but her bright eyes also rested on Sakuraba's face as if waiting for his reaction.
That... actually sounded kind of plausible.
And if the Emperor of Central was saying it herself...
Didn't that make it sound a whole lot more credible?
Could it really be that this race won't be taken by Oguri or Tamamo after all?
No way...
Does that mean I might finally avoid paying out another first-place purse?
There's really luck like that in this world?
Sakuraba fell silent for a moment, then turned his gaze back toward the track below.
The boiling roar of the crowd seeped through the glass as a blurred but weighty background sound.
He did not argue. He only tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth and finally said in a low voice,
"Maybe. On the track... anything can happen."
Sakuraba had still lost his nerve.
He had been backstabbed too many times; these days, even when it was time to uncork the champagne, he could not quite do it cleanly anymore.
It was a long, tearful story.
...
Far away in Hokkaido, Nishikino Academy was thousands of miles from Nakayama Racecourse, and yet it too was wrapped in an atmosphere of tension and anticipation.
Inside the academy hall, that usually spacious and solemn area was now packed with students and staff who had gathered to watch the race.
All eyes were fixed on the enormous LCD screen mounted high on the wall.
Broadcast live on it was the spectacle of the Arima Kinen at Nakayama Racecourse.
As the brightest star Nishikino Academy had produced in recent years—and the only Umamusume representing the academy on this year-end top stage—Tamamo Cross's race had long since come to be seen by the school as a matter of utmost importance and pride.
The academy had specially arranged this group viewing not only to support their own White Lightning, but also so that every member of the school could personally witness a duel sure to go down in history.
The hall was brightly lit, but noisier and more restless than usual.
Off to one side, in a corner with a decent view, Tony Bianca and Obey Your Master sat side by side.
On the little table before them sat two steaming drinks, their laid-back presence oddly at odds with the fervent atmosphere around them.
Tony Bianca had her arms folded, head tilted slightly up as she watched the screen. The sharpness that always lingered in her eyes was now lit by the shifting glow of the broadcast, making her expression look even more intent.
Obey Your Master looked more relaxed. Leaning back in her chair, she rested her chin on one hand and tapped lightly at her cheek with a fingertip.
"What a scene..."
Tony Bianca murmured, her eyes following Tamamo Cross's familiar blue-and-white Racing Outfit on the screen.
"Nothing like the atmosphere back at the academy."
"Well, it is the Arima Kinen."
Obey Your Master's voice remained even, carrying her usual calm.
"All of Japan's eyes are on this place. Tamamo's got to be under a lot of pressure."
"Pressure?"
Tony Bianca let out a soft snort, though the corner of her mouth curled upward.
"That's Tamamo Cross we're talking about. The bigger the stage, the more fired up she gets."
Obey Your Master turned her head slightly and looked at Tony Bianca, but did not argue. She only gave a quiet little click of acknowledgment.
They had both faced Tamamo Cross on the track before, so they knew perfectly well how strong that small-framed Umamusume really was.
"Come to think of it," Obey Your Master said suddenly, lowering her voice a little, "her real opponent this time is still Oguri Cap, isn't it? You watched the Japan Cup footage too, right?"
Tony Bianca's eyes sharpened slightly, and she nodded, her expression turning more serious.
"Yeah. That monstrous final spurt... If Oguri Cap brings out that same final spurt again, then Tamamo..."
She trailed off, but the meaning was obvious enough.
"And yet she still chose to face her again."
Obey Your Master picked up the thought, her tone calm, though touched with a hint of admiration.
To stand right back up and fight again without losing heart, even against the opponent who had beaten you before—
Wasn't that something worth admiring too?
"And who knows? Maybe she has some trump card we don't know about."
Tony Bianca was silent for a moment. At last, she let out a slow breath and unfolded her arms.
"Then... run well, Tamamo."
She murmured it softly, as though speaking to the figure on the screen—and perhaps to herself as well.
"Show us what all that special training has gotten you."
Obey Your Master said nothing more. She only picked up her drink and took a small sip.
Around them, the voices of the other students rose and fell in discussion and cheers, blending into a humming background. But here in this corner, the two Umamusume simply sat in silence, watching the battle playing out far away in their own way.
...
Elsewhere in the hall, in another corner—Sunday Silence was staring at the live broadcast as well.
Tamamo Cross and Oguri Cap...
Right now, the Umamusume Sakuraba cared about most were those two...
Which means...
If I want to steal Sakuraba's attention, then those two are the ones in my way...
Sunday Silence watched the screen, her gaze dark and distant.
...
At Nakayama Racecourse, in the competitors' rest area—compared with the deafening roar outside, the room reserved for Oguri Cap was much quieter.
The air carried the cool scent of warming-up liniment, mixed with the smell unique to a turf course.
Kitahara stood with both hands on Oguri Cap's shoulders, looking her over from head to toe once again.
Her breathing was steady, her eyes clear. But Kitahara could still sense it—the slight tension beneath that calm exterior, the faint tautness in her muscles. It was the natural state of a top-class racer whose body had entered its optimal condition before battle.
"Oguri."
Kitahara's voice was not loud, but it was steady and powerful.
"Listen. Don't think about anything right now. Forget the noise outside, forget the name 'Arima Kinen,' and forget Tamamo Cross."
He pressed just a little harder, making sure her attention was entirely on him.
"Run the way you know best. Like you did back in Kasamatsu. Like every time you've stepped onto a track. Watch, follow, and then... on the final straight, bring out everything you've got."
Belno Light, standing nearby, nodded hard. Her eyes were already a little red—not from nerves, but from emotions so full they were almost spilling over.
She stepped forward, and though her voice trembled slightly with excitement, it remained clear.
"Oguri! Right now, you're the strongest Umamusume in Japan!"
"You won that one race at a time! You proved it with your sweat and your strength! There's no reason for you to be afraid of anyone—there never has been!"
She drew in a breath, trying to make her voice even firmer.
"So go out there and run! Just like Kitahara said—run your way!"
"Show all of Japan... show them the pride of Kasamatsu! Show them just how fast you can run, how strong you can become!"
Oguri Cap listened in silence.
She looked at the stern trust in Kitahara Jo's eyes, then at the tears glittering in Belno Light's and the support she was giving without holding anything back.
Slowly, deeply, she drew in a breath, her chest rising slightly with the motion.
Then she lifted her head. Those eyes of hers, which usually held that faint air of innocent vagueness, were now crystal clear, reflecting the light of the room's ceiling lamps with startling brightness.
There was no bold declaration. No heated reply.
She only gave a small nod.
"Mm."
The sound was quiet, but it held the force of something about to burst free.
"I'm going."
With that, she turned, took a step forward, and walked toward the door leading to the track—to the countless eyes waiting outside, and to the showdown at the summit.
The skirt of her Racing Outfit swayed lightly as she moved. Her back was straight, steady, resolute.
Kitahara and Belno Light remained where they were, watching her go.
Only after the door softly shut behind her, sealing off the two worlds inside and out, did they both slowly let out the breath they had been holding.
The rest was up to her now.
Up to the girl who had raced all the way here from the regional circuit, and who was about to prove herself once more on the highest stage—
The Gray Monster.
...
Inside Nakayama Racecourse, the grandstands, capable of holding tens of thousands, were packed to the last seat. The boiling roar of the crowd came in wave after wave, crashing into every corner of the venue.
The giant main screen lit up, displaying the emblem of the Arima Kinen.
Then the announcer's voice exploded through the high-quality speakers installed throughout the venue. That passionate, powerful voice, rising and falling with practiced force, instantly drowned out all the surrounding noise and pulled every last nerve taut.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! RACING FANS ALL ACROSS JAPAN! WELCOME TO NAKAYAMA RACECOURSE—!!"
The roar swelled again to new heights as countless flags and banners whipped wildly in the air.
"AT THIS TURNING POINT BETWEEN THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW, WE HAVE FINALLY ARRIVED AT THE YEAR'S LAST GREAT SPECTACLE—THE ARIMA KINEN, THE RACE KNOWN AS THE DREAM STAGE!"
The announcer's voice trembled faintly with excitement, only making it more infectious as he pressed on.
"AND NOW, HOLD YOUR BREATH—AND WITH YOUR LOUDEST CHEERS AND FIERCEST APPLAUSE, WELCOME THE BRAVE RACERS WHO WILL POUR OUT THEIR SWEAT ON THIS LEGENDARY TURF TODAY IN PURSUIT OF GLORY—ONTO THE STAGE!!"
A blazing background track crashed in, driven by pounding drums.
At the mouth of the tunnel, the lights snapped into focus, flooding the area as bright as day.
"FIRST TO APPEAR IS—"
The announcer deliberately dragged the line out, milking every bit of anticipation he could.
"THIS AUTUMN'S UNDISPUTED WINNER OF THE GREAT LONG-DISTANCE CLASSIC, THE KIKUKA SHO—SHOWING ELITE STAMINA AND ASTONISHING ENDURANCE—SUPER CREEK!"
Under the spotlight, Super Creek stepped out in elegant dark-blue Racing Outfit.
Her stride was steady, and her gaze swept calmly across the stands. Faced with that sea-breaking roar, she only inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. The innate composure and commanding dignity she carried immediately drew a fresh wave of cheers and applause.
It was exactly her style as always—quiet, but impossible to ignore.
"AND NEXT—!"
The lights and cameras shifted at once.
"PLEASE WELCOME ANOTHER HIGHLY ANTICIPATED GENIUS! IN THE FIERCELY CONTESTED MILE CHAMPIONSHIP, SHE STUNNED THE FIELD WITH A JAW-DROPPING FINISHING KICK AND PROVED HER ABSOLUTE DOMINANCE FROM SPRINT TO MIDDLE-DISTANCE RACING—DICTA STRIKER!"
Dicta Striker entered in bright yellow-toned Racing Outfit, her steps light and springy.
A confident smile sat at the corner of her mouth as she waved toward the stands, brimming with energy.
When the camera cut to a close-up, the fire in her sharp eyes made her hunger for victory impossible to miss.
Her entrance immediately ignited another surge of cheers—especially among the fans obsessed with raw speed and explosive acceleration. For them, her presence alone was one of the race's biggest draws.
The first two powerhouses onto the stage were completely different types—one the steady monarch of long-distance racing, the other a terrifying sprinting prodigy. Just that contrast in style and temperament already promised how varied and intense this Arima Kinen would be.
The atmosphere in the stands grew hotter still. All eyes clung to the spotlight, anxiously waiting for the next entrant—and beyond that, for the two names and faces everyone wanted most.
"NEXT UP—LORD ROYAL!"
"A SPECIALIST IN FRONT-RUNNING—CAN SHE RECOVER ON THIS YEAR-END STAGE FROM THE MISCALCULATION SHE MADE IN THE TENNO SHO (AUTUMN)?"
In beige Racing Outfit, Lord Royal made her appearance to the announcer's call.
"..."
"...Talk about rubbing salt in the wound..."
Lord Royal clicked her tongue in annoyance.
In this year's Tenno Sho Autumn, she had rashly committed to a full-race front-running strategy, only to be taught a brutal lesson midway through by Oguri Cap and Tamamo Cross.
This time, though, she had come to the Arima Kinen determined to wash away that stain of defeat.
After Lord Royal, several more capable entrants appeared one after another. But under the shadow of the duel dominating everyone's expectations today, they seemed somewhat dimmer by comparison.
The applause and cheers never stopped, but beneath them there was a shared anticipation everyone seemed to understand without saying it aloud.
All of them were waiting for the moment the atmosphere would truly reach its peak.
At last, the background music shifted again, the drums becoming heavier and more oppressive, as though heralding the awakening of some great beast.
The announcer's voice shot upward, every syllable saturated with passion and gravity.
"EVERYONE! NOW—!"
He practically shouted himself raw with the next words.
"LET US WELCOME THE BIGGEST FAVORITE TO WIN THIS ARIMA KINEN—WITH THE LOUDEST CHEERS POSSIBLE, LOUD ENOUGH TO BLOW THE ROOF OFF NAKAYAMA RACECOURSE!"
"FROM THE REGIONAL CIRCUIT, WHERE SHE STAGED A LEGENDARY RISE FROM ADVERSITY, STORMING CENTRAL WITH UNSTOPPABLE FORCE! THE ONE KNOWN AS THE GRAY MONSTER, WHO SHOOK THE WORLD IN THE JAPAN CUP JUST RECENTLY—"
"O! GU! RI! CAP——!!!"
"WOOOOOOOAHHHHH—!!!"
The instant the announcer's voice fell, a landslide of sound exploded from the stands.
Countless spectators leapt to their feet, waving arms, flags, and anything else they could grab, shouting themselves nearly hoarse.
All that noise merged into a violent torrent so fierce it felt almost tangible, until the very air itself seemed to hum from the force of it.
At the tunnel entrance, the brightest spotlight of all locked onto the figure slowly stepping out.
Her Racing Outfit, like something one might wear to a Christmas ball, gleamed with a cold sheen under the hard white light, matching the shine of her unmistakable gray hair.
Oguri Cap's expression was calm, even carrying that little trace of natural blankness she always seemed to have. Her steps were steady, utterly without hesitation.
She lifted her gaze slightly toward the grandstands, erupting like a volcano, and reflected countless swaying lights and feverish faces in her eyes.
There was no extra motions or a deliberate smile.
She simply walked, and yet it was as if she carried some immense, silent pressure of her own that drew all the surrounding noise and light toward herself.
It was the presence of someone who had climbed, one race after another, from the very bottom to the summit—someone who had forged herself through victory after victory into exactly this kind of strength.
"Monster! Monster! Monster!"
"Oguri Cap! Go!"
The wild cries carried all sorts of nicknames and cheers, but they all pointed to the same name.
She was no longer only Kasamatsu's pride. At this moment, she bore the crowd's most fevered vision of underdog ascent, strength, and possibility itself.
In VIP seating, Sakuraba straightened up without realizing it, his eyes fixed on that figure.
He had said that either winner would be fine, but when Oguri Cap actually appeared like this, with a presence almost fit to dominate the field, something deep inside him still trembled in response.
Beside him, Symboli Rudolf and Maruzensky had also set aside their joking expressions and were watching the track with full concentration. In the Emperor's gaze was a flicker of admiration—and calculation.
In the hall of Nishikino Academy in Hokkaido, Tony Bianca and Obey Your Master both found themselves holding their breath before the screen.
Even through the broadcast, they could feel the nearly tangible pressure radiating from her.
Sunday Silence's gaze darkened further, her fingers curling unconsciously.
On the track, Super Creek, Dicta Striker, Lord Royal, and the others who had already entered and were making their final preparations all turned toward the entrance.
Faced with the opponent now hailed as the strongest in Japan, every one of them wore a complicated expression.
Wariness.
Fighting spirit.
Measured scrutiny.
And excitement that could not quite be hidden.
To share the track with an opponent like that was itself an honor.
Oguri Cap seemed entirely unaware of any of it.
She only walked to her assigned position, stopped quietly, and began her final stretches.
The biggest favorite to win had taken her place.
And just as Oguri Cap's silent, overwhelming presence seemed almost to take solid form, blanketing the entire venue and turning even the air itself heavy—
The music changed again.
The pounding, oppressive drums did not vanish, but above them suddenly burst a string of notes as sharp and fast as lightning.
Like a blinding strike cutting through heavy storm clouds, it tore apart the suffocating atmosphere from moments before.
The announcer's voice followed that shift in the melody with no less force than before—and if anything, with an even clearer, more piercing excitement.
"BUT—!!"
"TODAY'S STAGE WAS NEVER MEANT TO HAVE ONLY ONE STAR!"
"THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SHATTER THIS HEAVY AIR, STAND AGAINST THE MONSTER AS AN EQUAL, AND EVEN CONTEND FOR THAT SAME BRILLIANCE—IS ANOTHER LEGENDARY LIGHT!"
He sucked in a breath and hurled the name out over the boiling racecourse with everything he had.
"NOW ENTERING—THE GRAY RUNNER WHO SHINES JUST AS BRILLIANTLY BENEATH THE HEAVENS, WHO RULES SPRING AND AUTUMN ALIKE WITH UNMATCHED ACCELERATION AND AN INDOMITABLE WILL TO WIN!"
"SHE WHO ACHIEVED THE UNPRECEDENTED SPRING-AUTUMN DOUBLE IN THE TENNO SHO AND EARNED THE NAME OF THE UNSTOPPABLE—"
"WHITE! LIGHTNING—!"
"TAMAMO CROSS——!!!"
"Tamamo—! Tamamo—! Tamamo—!"
Answering the announcer's cry, Tamamo Cross's supporters in the stands—and countless neutral spectators drawn in by this clash of destiny alone—erupted with a roar no less powerful than before, perhaps even hotter and wilder.
The spotlight dropped in response, perfectly catching the white figure bursting from the tunnel.
Her blue-and-white Racing Outfit looked as though she had draped herself in Hokkaido's clear sky and snow, gleaming with a cold, dazzling brilliance under the lights.
Unlike Oguri Cap's measured entrance, Tamamo Cross came out with the boundless energy and razor edge that defined her.
Her steps were swift and elastic, every one of them like a spring compressed to its limit, packed with the explosive force to burst free at the next instant.
Her chin was lifted, and a sharp, blade-like smile curved across her lips.
"White Lightning! Crush her!"
"Tamamo Cross! Show them the strength of a double champion!"
"Go! Let everyone see what your special training has done!"
Amid the thunder of support, Tamamo Cross reached her position. She did not begin warming up right away. Instead, she turned to face Oguri Cap's direction head-on, raised her hand, clenched it hard, and drove her fist once against her chest.
Silent.
Yet it said more than a thousand words.
That single gesture instantly blew the already boiling atmosphere of the venue straight through the roof.
Cheers, screams, whistles—it all surged as if it would pierce the sky.
The two gray stars had not even entered the gates yet, and already the clash of their presence and spirit was throwing invisible sparks through the air.
In VIP seating, Sakuraba felt his heart skip a beat for no reason he could explain.
Symboli Rudolf gave a quiet, interested "Oh?" and the smile on her face deepened, as though she had just witnessed something immensely entertaining.
Maruzensky narrowed her eyes slightly, taking in the two brilliantly different Umamusume with open fascination.
Nishikino Academy's hall had gone fully wild. Nearly every student was on their feet now, shouting Tamamo Cross's name at the top of their lungs.
Tony Bianca and Obey Your Master exchanged a glance and found the same understanding in each other's eyes.
That was Tamamo Cross all over—always facing the strongest head-on, always burning with fighting spirit.
Sunday Silence stared at the blazing white figure on the screen, her lips pressed into a straight line.
Out on the track, the other racers all wore different expressions.
Super Creek remained calm, but her gaze had sharpened further.
Dicta Striker licked her lips, the fire in her eyes burning even higher.
Lord Royal clenched her fist and muttered under her breath.
"This time... I won't let you pass me so easily..."
At last Oguri Cap stopped stretching and slowly turned, calmly meeting Tamamo Cross's blazing stare.
Their eyes met—one deep and still as the sea, the other fierce as molten lava.
The other half of fate had taken her place.
White Lightning had entered in full force, carrying both the glory of the spring-autumn double and the resolve to erase defeat.
On the dream stage, two champions stood opposed.
The final piece had fallen into place.
Now all that remained was for the gates to open—and for a burst of speed that would decide the year's strongest and write itself into history.
With every Umamusume now in place, the brief but tense final warm-up began.
Under the gaze of countless eyes, they bounced lightly, stretched in silence, adjusted their breathing and their muscles, tuning both body and mind to the highest pitch of pre-race readiness.
It was as if the air itself had been gripped in an invisible fist. Even the winter wind seemed to stall for a moment.
Then, under the signals of the staff and handlers, thirteen figures began filing one by one toward the gray-white gates lined up along the starting point on the grass.
Every step pulled on the hearts of the tens of thousands in the stands.
Oguri Cap walked steadily, eyes lowered, as though the uproar of the outside world had ceased to matter. All that remained for her was the gate ahead—and the track beyond it stretching into the distance, where fate would be decided.
She lowered herself slightly and stepped into her assigned stall, her figure enclosed by the gray-white frame.
Tamamo Cross drew in a deep breath. The last trace of her smile disappeared from her blue eyes, leaving behind only a pure, ice-sharp concentration.
She cast one final glance in Oguri Cap's direction, then turned cleanly and vanished into her own gate like a blade slipping precisely back into its sheath.
Super Creek, Dicta Striker, Lord Royal...
Every last Umamusume entered that narrow space in silence, carrying her own resolve and tactics with her.
The faint metallic sound of the gates shutting behind them stood out with startling clarity now.
When the final Umamusume disappeared into the gates, a bizarre, almost eerie silence fell over the enormous grounds of Nakayama Racecourse.
The sea-roar from earlier, which had seemed endless, dropped away as if a giant hand had suddenly clamped down over it.
Shouts, cheers, arguments—all of it vanished.
What remained were only the restrained sounds of breathing, heavy or faint, and the echo of hearts pounding inside chests.
The spectators collectively held their breath, leaning forward, eyes locked on that row of gates, as though any extra sound they made might disturb the nerves stretched taut within and affect the start—the first, and in many ways most important, moment of the race.
The wind swept across the open grass, stirring a faint rustle.
Winter sunlight broke through the clouds and scattered shifting patches of light and shadow across the starting gates.
Time seemed to stretch without end.
And then, just as that suffocating silence peaked—
The thirteen white doors snapped open all at once!
The motion was perfectly synchronized, like a line of seasoned soldiers bringing their blades down together!
"THEY'RE OFF——!!!"
The announcer's roar and the thunder of the gates bursting open hit at the same instant.
The silence shattered completely, replaced by an even more violent swell of sound as thirteen figures exploded forward like arrows loosed from the string.
The spectators' pent-up emotions burst like a flood breaking through a dam.
Shouts, screams, and cheers crashed over all of Nakayama Racecourse once more in overwhelming waves.
Feet pounded apart the turf, bodies sliced through the air, and all of them charged full speed toward that finish line where glory and dreams intertwined.
The moment the gates opened, thirteen figures lunged onto the track like beasts freed of restraint.
"A CLEAN START! THE ONE WHO'S SEIZED THE FAVORABLE LEAD POSITION AT THE FRONT IS—"
The announcer's eyes stayed fixed on the leading group.
"IT'S LORD ROYAL! SHE HASN'T CHANGED HER STRATEGY AFTER ALL—SHE'S CHOSEN TO FRONT-RUN ONCE AGAIN! SHE'S CLEARLY DETERMINED TO AVENGE HER PAST DEFEAT AND SEIZE CONTROL OF THE RACE'S PACE WITH HER OWN HANDS!"
Lord Royal, in her beige Racing Outfit, did not hesitate at all. Her response out of the gate was lightning-fast, and her powerful initial burst let her claim the inside and spring straight into the lead within the opening dozen meters.
Her eyes were sharp and focused, locked hard on the track ahead. Her strides were decisive—she clearly intended to keep this race firmly under her control.
The steady dark-blue figure right behind her was—
"CLOSE BEHIND IS SUPER CREEK! SHE'S TAKEN AN EXTREMELY FAVORABLE PACE CHASER STYLE—NOT RUSHING TO OVERTAKE AND WASTE STAMINA, BUT NEVER ALLOWING THE LEADER TO OPEN TOO WIDE A GAP EITHER! THE KIKUKA SHO CHAMPION IS SHOWING EXACTLY HOW SEASONED HER RACE READING IS!"
Super Creek maintained a powerful, even rhythm, like a massive whale cutting steadily through the sea, keeping just about two lengths behind Lord Royal.
Her breathing remained calm as she watched both Lord Royal's condition and the track ahead, as though patiently waiting for the perfect moment to make her move.
As for the two highly watched figures—Oguri Cap and Tamamo Cross—they were not rushing forward at all.
The two of them sat almost side by side in the front half of the middle pack.
Oguri Cap was sticking to her usual running style. Her gaze remained quiet as she watched the runners ahead and read the course, her body rising and falling gently in time with her stride, like a beast moving calmly with the herd while storing strength.
Her stride was broad and steady, conserving every scrap of stamina.
Tamamo Cross was not far behind and to one side of her, that white figure standing out sharply even within the pack.
Her expression had grown colder than during warm-ups, and her blue eyes scanned the field like radar—especially Oguri Cap ahead of her and the leaders farther up front.
She was not accelerating yet either. Instead, she moved cleverly through the pack, avoiding unnecessary contact and wind resistance, keeping to her own rhythm and breathing while waiting for her chance.
"WAIT... SOMETHING'S WRONG!"
The announcer's voice suddenly picked up a note of surprise.
"LOOK AT THE REAR! DICTA STRIKER—THE SPRINT PRODIGY FAMOUS FOR HER EXPLOSIVE STARTS—IS ALL THE WAY AT THE BACK OF THE FIELD!"
The cameras swung immediately to the trailing group, revealing Dicta Striker in bright yellow Racing Outfit fighting to catch up, already separated from the runners ahead by a noticeable gap.
Something in her stride still carried the faintest stiffness. Her brows were drawn tight, her expression a mix of frustration and irritation.
In Nishikino Academy's hall in Hokkaido, Tony Bianca suddenly leaned forward, sharp eyes locked on the slow-motion replay of Dicta Striker's start.
"Tch..."
She clicked her tongue, sounding utterly certain.
"It was the gate. She clipped the edge on the way out. It wasn't obvious, but it threw off her whole rhythm."
Obey Your Master frowned slightly at that.
"No wonder... With her explosiveness, she should never be that far back. This is bad. Coming from dead last in an Arima Kinen this stacked with talent is going to be far too hard."
Out on the track, Dicta Striker gritted her teeth, feeling the lingering discomfort from the impact and the broken rhythm that irritated her even more.
But the fire in her eyes had not dimmed.
If anything, it burned hotter.
"Damn it... don't think this is over!"
She let out a low snarl and began swinging her arms harder, accelerating bit by bit despite her disadvantage in position and beginning her chase from the outside.
The race had only just begun, and already something had gone wrong.
Lord Royal had seized the lead, Super Creek sat firmly in second, the two gray titans waited in ambush from mid-pack—and Dicta Striker, one of the favorites, had been forced onto a difficult comeback path by an unlucky start.
Before the field had even reached the first turn, the long journey of the Arima Kinen was already full of uncertainty and drama.
By the time the race passed its halfway point, the pace under Lord Royal's lead had grown even fiercer than expected.
She was sparing no energy, maintaining relentless pressure in hopes of grinding down the pursuers trying to save their legs—especially the ones known for late-race surges.
But anyone who had made it onto this highest year-end stage was a battle-tested powerhouse.
Super Creek, still glued right behind her, was breathing as evenly and deeply as ever, and not a trace of disorder had appeared in her stride.
Like the most seasoned hunter, she was unmoved by her prey's impatience. She only held the distance with precision, keeping her own energy expenditure as efficient as possible.
Deep in those calm eyes, she was already calculating the cost and gain of every step.
And Oguri Cap and Tamamo Cross, sitting in the front half of mid-pack, showed no sign of fatigue either.
Oguri Cap maintained that trademark running form of hers—stable and powerful, like some tireless machine. Her great stride devoured the course. It was almost as though she had anticipated the pace change ahead from the start, because all she did was make subtle adjustments to her breathing and arm swing, continuing to store away every extra scrap of energy deep inside herself.
Tamamo Cross's white figure moved deftly through the pack, avoiding unnecessary collisions and air resistance.
Her eyes stayed on Oguri Cap ahead of her, though she also kept part of her attention on the situation farther up front.
Lord Royal's acceleration did not make her panic. If anything, it only made the light in her eyes burn brighter—chaos often meant opportunity.
The announcer had noticed too.
"WE'RE PAST THE HALFWAY POINT! LORD ROYAL IS TRYING TO RAISE THE PACE, BUT THE EFFECT SEEMS LIMITED! SUPER CREEK IS STEADY AS BEDROCK, AND NEITHER OGURI CAP NOR TAMAMO CROSS IS SHOWING ANY CLEAR SIGNS OF STRAIN! THE STAMINA DISTRIBUTION AND RHYTHM CONTROL OF TOP-CLASS RUNNERS IS TRULY INCREDIBLE!"
"AND EVEN MORE SURPRISING IS WHAT'S HAPPENING IN THE REAR!"
His tone shifted, now tinged with admiration.
"LOOK! DICTA STRIKER! FROM THAT TERRIBLE START AT THE VERY BACK, SHE'S CHARGING UP THROUGH THE FIELD AT ASTONISHING SPEED!"
On the screen, the bright yellow figure looked like an arrow driving against the current, carving a fierce line up the outside.
All trace of stiffness from her start was gone. Her stride had returned to that explosive, elastic rhythm she was known for.
The frustration in her eyes had been completely replaced by pure fighting spirit. Teeth clenched, with that stubborn refusal to lose blazing inside her, she passed one rival after another.
"WHAT AN INCREDIBLE CHASE! DESPITE SUCH A DISASTROUS OPENING, DICTA STRIKER HAS FORCED HER WAY BACK FROM THE TAIL OF THE FIELD TO THE MIDDLE OF THE PACK THROUGH SHEER SPEED AND WILLPOWER! SHE'S BACK IN CONTENTION!"
Gasps and cheers broke out in the stands, followed by applause for such a stubborn comeback.
In the hall at Nishikino Academy, Tony Bianca loosened her clenched fist a little and let out a snort.
"She's caught back up at last... all that explosive power of hers wasn't wasted."
Obey Your Master gave a slight nod.
"But she must've spent a lot to get back to this spot. The turns ahead and the final straight are where the real test begins."
On the track, Dicta Striker could feel the heat building in her lungs and legs, but she had no time to care.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the familiar figures ahead—Super Creek, Oguri Cap, Tamamo Cross...
And Lord Royal out front.
"It's not over yet..."
She muttered it to herself, adjusted her breathing, and began gathering herself for the next phase.
As the race moved into its latter half, Lord Royal's attempt to drag down her main rivals with a punishing pace had failed to bear fruit. Instead, the strain of maintaining that aggressive lead was beginning to quietly chip away at her own reserves.
Super Creek still shadowed her like a ghost.
Oguri Cap and Tamamo Cross remained steady in mid-pack, like volcanoes waiting beneath the surface.
And Dicta Striker, once pushed all the way to the back, had fought her way back into the battle through sheer toughness.
Nakayama Racecourse's oval course was about to reach the final turn, and the true battle for victory was about to erupt the moment they came out of it and faced the long final straight.
The last turn was now right before them, the long home stretch spreading ahead like an unfurling scroll.
Lord Royal's breathing had grown heavy. Her strides no longer held their earlier lightness, but the stubborn conviction in her eyes had not gone out.
She stared toward the turn's exit, intending to accelerate again the moment she came out of it and hold on to this final advantage.
But just as she tipped slightly inward, preparing to cut the tightest inside line through the bend—
The deep-blue figure that had shadowed her all race long moved.
A dark-blue flash, sharp as a blade, ignited in the depths of Super Creek's usually lake-still eyes, as though an ice-blue fire banked for a thousand years at the bottom of the sea had flared to life in an instant.
The moment she had spent the whole race waiting for—the one she had calculated again and again—had finally arrived.
Now!
There was no warning or windup.
Her body released like a spring compressed to its absolute limit, and the rhythm of her stride changed in a lightning-flash instant.
That steady, powerful cadence transformed into a savage driving force. Every step looked capable of grinding up the turf itself, bursting with a forward force utterly at odds with her calm exterior.
Her final spurt ignited.
"OHHHHH! SUPER CREEK—SHE'S MOVING!"
The announcer's voice shot upward with such excitement it nearly broke.
"AT THE FINAL TURN! SHE'S SEIZED THE INSTANT LORD ROYAL'S STAMINA DIPPED AND HER ATTENTION WAS FIXED ON THE TURN EXIT! SHE'S COMING THROUGH!!"
In what felt like no more than a blink, the deep-blue figure went from half a length behind Lord Royal to drawing level with her—
No.
Past her.
Super Creek carved through the bend on a perfect line, wasting almost no momentum at all. With that astonishing burst and her precise route choice, she left the struggling Lord Royal behind the instant she came out of the turn.
The stands exploded with a landslide of cries and shouts.
No one had expected that in a race seen as a two-way duel between Oguri Cap and Tamamo Cross, the first runner to show truly decisive finishing force at the crucial moment would be the Kikuka Sho champion famed for her composure.
"SUPER CREEK! SHE'S TAKEN THE LEAD! THE ARIMA KINEN FINISH LINE IS AHEAD—CAN SHE HOLD IT?!" the announcer shouted, pulling everyone's hearts right up into their throats.
Super Creek's deep-blue Racing Outfit cut a sleek afterimage under the sun on the straight. Her expression remained calm, but beneath that calm lay an undeniable force and decisiveness, like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption.
All of her calculations, all of her restraint, all of her remaining stamina—she had poured everything into this sprint that would decide the race.
There was only one target.
The Arima Kinen crown.
I'll take it.
And then, in the very next instant, just as Super Creek burst from the turn with a stunning move and it seemed as though that deep-blue afterimage might seize victory in its grasp—
"It's not over yet——!!!"
A nearly hoarse roar, packed with savage fighting spirit, exploded from another side of the track.
It was Dicta Striker.
Her bright yellow Racing Outfit now looked as though it had been set ablaze by an invisible fire, erupting all around her with a dazzling golden light like festival fireworks bursting open.
That was not some special effect.
That was her Zone.
Pain, adversity, and every scrap of frustration turned into fuel, burning her speed and willpower to their absolute limits and becoming the indomitable battle flame that belonged to her alone.
Even more alarming was her face.
At her temple, the cut she had taken earlier against the edge of the starting gate had torn open again under the strain of extreme speed and muscle tension. Warm blood ran down her cheek, gathered at her jaw, and streamed away, trailing into a long red line in the rush of air around her.
But that blood did not make her look weakened.
If anything, it was like the wildest paint imaginable, brushed across the markings of war.
The sting raced across the ends of her nerves like electricity, yet somehow became fuel instead, feeding the already blazing fire in her eyes.
Pain made her clearer.
Blood made her fiercer.
It was a madness bordering on obsession—the ability to turn every disadvantage into power.
"HER ZONE HAS BEEN FULLY UNLEASHED! DICTA STRIKER IS COMING TOO!!"
The announcer was practically screaming now, his voice warped by disbelief.
"SHE'S WOUNDED! SHE'S FOUGHT ALL THE WAY BACK FROM DEAD LAST! SHE'S LIKE A BULLET FIRED STRAIGHT FROM THE BARREL, BURNING IN FLIGHT!!"
Golden fighting flame wrapped around her, and every step she struck seemed to detonate an invisible shockwave against the ground.
Her speed, already blistering in the middle of a full-field sprint, jumped even higher.
Ignoring the load on her body and the pain of her wound completely, she had eyes only for that deep-blue figure ahead—and the finish line beyond.
At the point where the turn gave way to the final straight, Dicta Striker carved a bloody path up from the outside through sheer force of will.
It was not the most efficient route. It was a charge packed with reckless resolve, as though she meant to smash aside anything in front of her and keep going.
In only a few breaths, that figure burning with golden light had already become a golden comet, tearing through the air and visibly closing the gap on Super Creek, who had only just taken the lead.
The roar in the stands hit a peak unlike anything before.
Gasps, shouts, and cries of disbelief tangled together in a single mass.
This race had already exceeded everyone's expectations with one climax after another.
The calm, perfectly timed burst from the Kikuka Sho champion had been astonishing enough—but this desperate, bloodied comeback from the sprint prodigy who had suffered such a disastrous start was even more electrifying.
"THE TWO OF THEM! SUPER CREEK AND DICTA STRIKER! THEY'RE SIDE BY SIDE AS THEY CHARGE INTO THE FINAL TWO HUNDRED METERS!!"
The announcer's voice had already gone hoarse, but he still shouted with everything he had left.
"THE ARIMA KINEN CHAMPION WILL BE DECIDED BETWEEN THEM—NO! WAIT, BEHIND THEM! OGURI CAP AND TAMAMO CROSS ARE MOVING TOO! A FINAL ALL-OUT MELEE!!"
And just as Super Creek and Dicta Striker ran side by side on the final straight, almost drawing every eye in the venue to themselves—
Farther back on the track, the air abruptly froze, then was torn apart by two completely different yet equally violent presences.
The eyes in Oguri Cap's face, which always seemed to hold that little trace of blank innocence, were now bottomless.
A breath of white mist slipped from her lips, and all around her it felt as though invisible shackles were snapping apart one link at a time.
Everything she had built up over the entire race—
No.
Everything she had built up over the whole road from Kasamatsu to Central, from obscurity to the summit, all that endurance and will—
Converted itself in a single instant.
A black aura, nearly tangible, rose from beneath her feet and wrapped around her, whipping her gray hair and the hem of her Racing Outfit into a frenzy.
It was not flame.
It was force itself—bottomless, monstrous force, enough to crush aside anything in her path.
The turf exploded under her foot.
With a single step, she was already far ahead, the black aura stretching out behind her into a blurred trail too fast for the eye to properly follow.
In no more than two breaths, she shot from the middle-rear of the pack as though teleporting, driving straight toward the two runners abreast in front.
Her speed...
Was visibly on a level above even Super Creek's and Dicta Striker's.
"THE... THE GRAY MONSTER... HAS AWAKENED!!"
The announcer nearly cracked his voice.
"OGURI CAP! SHE'S COMING! WHAT IS THIS SPEED?! EVEN THE TURF AT NAKAYAMA RACECOURSE IS TREMBLING BENEATH HER!"
And almost at the same moment—
A sharp blue-white bolt, keen as a blade, ripped through the air and raced up tight against Oguri Cap's black trail.
Tamamo Cross gritted her teeth, electric arcs crackling deep inside her blue eyes.
"I'm not gonna... let you hog the spotlight alone!"
Her Zone fully unleashed.
Countless arcs burst around her as every step she took exploded with fine blue light, as if she were running across a pool of thunder itself.
Her Racing Outfit snapped in the current. Her gray hair stood on end. Her whole body became a slash of lightning cutting across the track—
It was no longer a person running.
It was light itself, flowing.
Lightning and black fire, white and black, speed and force—running shoulder to shoulder and yielding not a step, like twin meteors of fate tangled together, they thundered toward the finish line at a speed that shattered all common sense.
Even as Super Creek's blue endurance and Dicta Striker's golden defiance still shone brilliantly on the final straight, the black-and-white storm from behind, both with their Zones fully unleashed, came sweeping in like a tempest.
The instant those two pure forces collided with them, it was like waves striking rock.
A flicker of shock passed through Super Creek's eyes.
She had pushed the final spurt she had calculated to perfection and her long-distance resilience to the absolute limit, yet that figure wrapped in black aura simply forced its way through the dense deep-blue Zone around her by sheer overwhelming power.
This was not a contest of technique.
It was a crushing difference in raw output.
Oguri Cap had turned everything she had stored over this race—over her entire racing life—into violence driving her forward.
Each step was worth a full body length.
Where the black aura passed, turf rolled up and the air itself seemed to cry out.
Dicta Striker gritted her teeth harder, the line of blood at her temple stretching longer in the wind.
Her golden battle flame burned at its brightest. The will that had carried her back from the depths would not let her give way so easily.
But the instant she tried to carve forward on that burning line, a sharp white figure wrapped in blinding lightning overtook her from the side with even greater speed.
Tamamo Cross's lightning Zone did not crush.
It pierced.
It was blindingly fast and impossible to predict.
Every footfall blew open a gorgeous halo of light. This was not merely speed, but acceleration itself pushed to its furthest limit.
Dicta Striker felt only a brilliant white flash streak past beside her, as if a real bolt of lightning had split the path open before her. Against that pure speed, the golden flame she had wrung out with all her strength seemed to lag for the briefest instant.
And that instant was enough.
The balance had already broken.
"SU-SUPER CREEK HAS BEEN PASSED! DICTA STRIKER TOO!"
The announcer's voice shook—whether from excitement or shock, it was hard to tell.
"THEY CAN'T STOP THEM... THEY CAN'T STOP THEM AT ALL! THIS IS... THIS IS WHAT A CLASH BETWEEN THE GRAY ELITES' ZONES LOOKS LIKE! COMPARED TO FORCE AND SPEED THIS PURE, THE OTHER RUNNERS' ZONES LOOK UTTERLY POWERLESS!"
The deep-blue figure and the golden comet, caught in that black-and-white torrent, were like small boats flung aside by a towering wave. They had not sunk—but they could only watch helplessly as those two figures tore away into the distance.
For the first time, Super Creek's breathing lost its steadiness. Looking at the black back pulling farther and farther away ahead of her, something complicated flashed through her eyes—that was force beyond calculation, a monster beyond reason.
Dicta Striker wiped the blood from her cheek in one savage motion. The golden flame around her gradually dimmed, leaving only burning breaths and a stare full of unwillingness.
But the track was merciless.
On the final straight now, only two figures remained.
Black and white.
Force and speed.
There was nothing else in Oguri Cap's eyes anymore.
The mountain-breaking roar of the crowd, the flashing cameras, even the lightning bolt beside her refusing to let go—
All of it had been reduced to background noise.
In her world, there was only the finish line ahead, drawing closer and closer, and the seemingly inexhaustible force surging through her body.
The black aura no longer lashed wildly outward. Instead, it drew inward, tightening around her body, every shred of it turning into fuel for forward drive.
Her strides were still huge. Her footfalls still thundered.
But even at a speed already near the limit, her cadence rose again.
This was no longer an outburst.
It was running itself, stripped down into a cold, precise mechanical motion.
Every step landed at the perfect point of force. Every swing of her arms cut air resistance down to the minimum.
"O-OGURI CAP... HER SPEED IS STILL INCREASING!"
The announcer was almost voiceless now.
"TAMAMO CROSS'S LIGHTNING ZONE IS ALREADY AS FAST AS REAL LIGHTNING... BUT OGURI CAP—SHE'S ACTUALLY... ACTUALLY A HAIR FASTER STILL!"
Yes.
A hair.
But on this final straight, that hair was a gulf.
Tamamo Cross's eyes reflected the black back in front of her, close enough to touch and yet always just out of reach.
Lightning burst all around her, pain and burning heat mixing together. She had driven herself to the limit, and beyond it.
And yet that figure was still ahead of her.
Like a summit she could never reach.
"No... no way... I'm... stopping HERE...!"
Tamamo Cross's teeth ground audibly together. The blue-white electricity around her blazed even brighter as she wrung out the last of her strength, trying to erase that hair's-breadth distance.
The finish line was only fifty meters away.
The black and white trails dragged two dazzling, suffocating tails of light across Nakayama Racecourse's final straight.
Who would reach it first?
The final collision of force and speed—at this very instant—
And then, all at once, Tamamo Cross's vision drained into black and white.
Time itself seemed to slow to an impossible crawl.
Watching Oguri Cap's back gradually pulling away ahead of her...
Tamamo Cross understood.
This was her limit.
She could not go any faster.
A wall—the wall called the body's limit—had stopped her.
Pain screamed from every inch of her body, warning her that if she tried to take even one more step forward, her body would break.
And in that instant at the edge of collapse, when all color had drained from the world—
Her body screamed.
Every muscle, every bone, every nerve sent up a sharp alarm.
Pain was no longer just pain. It had become a wall of its own, cold and solid, stretched across the path before her, warning her.
Stop.
This is your limit.
One step farther, and only collapse awaits.
Dragged by that pain, on the verge of being torn apart, Tamamo Cross's thoughts fell into a jumble of light and shadow.
...Why did I start running in the first place?
Faint images flashed by.
Nishikino Academy's financial reports, swaying on the verge of ruin.
Principal Nishikino's tightly furrowed brow.
The worried eyes of her friends, trying to look brave.
She had stepped onto the track with her own legs as the stake, all to save the academy—to keep that place, burdened with so many dreams, from falling apart.
Back then, her running had borne a crushing weight of responsibility.
But now...
The academy had already been saved.
The funds Sakuraba brought had fallen like rain on parched earth.
Nishikino Academy had straightened its back once more, and the smiles on her friends' faces no longer carried shadows.
...Then why am I standing here now?
That question drove into her in the midst of extreme pain like a cold nail.
With the loss of that old goal came an instant of emptiness, as though even the solid track beneath her feet had begun to give way.
And just as her consciousness was about to be swallowed by pain and that hollow void—
The corner of her eye, as though tugged by an invisible thread, caught a figure in VIP seating.
Through the roaring, boiling crowd.
Through that vast wall of cold glass.
Among all those blurred, shaking faces—
She saw him.
Saw his face clearly.
Sakuraba Ryo.
Gone was the subtle, half-forced expression he usually wore when pretending to be relaxed. Gone too was the furrow of worry he got while thinking about profit and loss.
His eyes were wide, locked tightly on the track. His lips were unconsciously pressed together. That look of concentration and tension...
It was as if all of his attention had been tied to this run.
Tied to her.
The distance was so great that there should have been no way at all for her to make out such details.
And yet Tamamo Cross saw him.
Saw him with miraculous clarity.
A heat she could not put into words suddenly burst through the body's cold warning signals, shattering that momentary emptiness and uncertainty.
A faint breath slipped from between her clenched teeth, tangled in with her ragged panting.
...I'm grateful to you, Sakuraba.
Grateful for the hand you reached out with. Grateful for the hope you brought. Grateful that Nishikino Academy was allowed to go on. Grateful that... you let me set down that weight that had become too heavy—so I could stand here once more, simply for the sake of running itself.
And it wasn't only gratitude.
I want to repay you.
I want to use these legs, on this highest of stages, to run to the place you wanted to see me reach—no, farther than even I myself thought I could go!
For you—and for myself!
How can I... stop here——!!!
That silent scream exploded in the depths of her soul.
The warnings from her body were ignored completely. The premonition of collapse was crushed beneath sheer burning will.
And that wall called limit, before that utterly pure conviction—to run, to keep running, to reach him no matter what—
Burst wide open.
A tearing shriek of light.
Blue lightning fiercer, brighter, and more violent than anything before erupted out of Tamamo Cross's small frame.
This was no longer the lightning Zone wrapping around her.
This was energy dragged out from the deepest core of every last cell—energy that should never have existed in the first place.
Her muscle fibers tore and reforged themselves through their own screams. Her bones creaked under a load beyond their limit. Her blood surged through her veins like boiling magma.
The pain was still there.
It was worse than ever.
But now it was no longer a barrier.
Now it was fuel.
Proof that she was still surpassing, still burning.
"TAMAMO CROSS——!!!"
The announcer could no longer describe what he was seeing and could only scream her name.
That white figure, already moving at what should have been the very limit of speed, accelerated again.
The lightning around her was no longer a cluster of crackling arcs. It had become a blue-white spear of thunder that tore through everything and hurled her body forward.
It no longer felt like light flowing.
This time, she had become judgment itself—a bolt splitting open space.
And that hair's-breadth distance Oguri Cap had opened up, which had looked already settled—
Started, under this impossible second burst, to be reeled back in, visibly, inch by inch, at maddening speed.
The finish line was right there.
The final black-and-white showdown was overturned in its last ten meters by a reversal no one could have foreseen.
Umamusume, the legends said, were girls inhabited by spirits from another world...
And in that moment, with Tamamo Cross's emotions set ablaze—
The spirit dwelling within her answered.
Then, gently, it gave her a push.
...
The finish line.
In that instant, time seemed to lose all meaning.
There were only two near-merging streaks of light, colliding with that white line of ending and glory like falling stars.
Black and white. Force and speed.
Everything was driven to a boiling peak in the space of a hair.
And then—
That white line was torn apart first by a more brilliant, more decisive blue-white flash of lightning.
"TAMAMO CROSS——!!!"
The announcer emptied the last of the air in his lungs into that cry, his voice nearly breaking as it shook the whole venue.
"IT'S TAMAMO CROSS——!!! SHE DID IT! AT THE VERY LAST MOMENT! SHE WENT BEYOND HER LIMIT! BEYOND EVERYONE!! SHE WINS——!!! THE WINNER OF THE ARIMA KINEN IS—TAMAMO CROSS——!!!!"
The whole of Nakayama Racecourse—
No, everyone in Japan watching the race at all—
Seemed to ignite at that single declaration.
The sound that had been building in the stands detonated like an explosion. Cheers, screams, roaring disbelief, tears of excitement, and wildly flailing arms all merged into a frenzy powerful enough to overturn the sky itself.
In VIP seating, Sakuraba shot to his feet.
He leaned forward, both hands unconsciously pressing against the cold glass, eyes fixed hard on that white figure who had crossed the finish line first and was still surging onward on inertia, the lightning around her gradually fading.
Tamamo...
Won?
Beside him, Symboli Rudolf slowly rose to her feet as well. The composed smile had vanished from her face, replaced by pure, undisguised amazement and admiration. She applauded softly, her gaze following that small but dazzling figure on the track.
Maruzensky covered her mouth, bright light shining in her eyes as she murmured under her breath,
"What an... unbelievable girl."
...
At Nishikino Academy, the hall fell into stunned silence for one brief instant—
And then—
"AAAAAAAHHHHHH——!!! TAMAMO-SENPAI——!!!"
"She won! She won! She won——!!!"
"White Lightning! We're the champions——!!!"
A flood of ecstasy swept through every corner. Students hugged each other, jumped up and down, and cried openly.
Tony Bianca let out a long breath, but the curve at the corner of her mouth was both relieved and complicated.
Obey Your Master quietly watched Tamamo Cross on the screen, now fixed beneath countless cameras, and gave a small nod.
As for Sunday Silence, she only stared at that white figure surrounded by the adoration of the masses. Pressing her lips together, she quietly clenched the fist resting on her knee.
Out on the track—
Tamamo Cross staggered and slowly came to a stop.
The violent lightning around her had already vanished, leaving only tiny flecks of blue electricity drifting through the air.
The pain of overdrawn collapse hit her all at once like a delayed tide, rushing through her body so hard she could barely stay upright. She could only brace both hands on her knees and gulp down breath after breath, sweat mixed with tears she had not even realized were falling dripping onto the trampled turf below.
The pain in her body was nearly unbearable—so bad that even her thoughts had started to stiffen.
So this is what it means to push past your body's physiological limit...
My leg might be ruined...
I might not be able to race anymore after this...
But none of that matters!
I won this time!
Oguri!
My bond with Sakuraba is stronger than yours!!
She lifted her head and, through the blur of sweat and tears, looked straight toward VIP seating.
Across the great distance, through the roar that still had not subsided, it was as if she saw that face once again.
And then she pulled at the corners of her mouth with all the strength she had left and gave him a smile—more exhausted than anything, and yet more radiant than anything.
I did it... Sakuraba.
For you... and for me.
This victory... is for you.
On the electronic time board at the finish line, the results froze into place.
[FIRST PLACE: TAMAMO CROSS]
That shining name, set beside the glory of the Arima Kinen, was destined to spread through the racing world tonight and become part of a new legend.
The White Lightning had cleaved through the deepest darkness on the year-end dream stage and crowned herself queen.
The lightning of Hokkaido had flashed across Nakayama Racecourse!
---
T/N: OUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! TAMAMO CROSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!
TAMTAMTAMTAMTAMTAMTAMTAMTAMTAMTMTATMAMTAMTAMTATM