"Haaahhh… what should I do next?"
The sigh slipped out before I knew it. I leaned forward on the bench, elbows on my knees, staring at the starting gate of the Academy's Main Turf Track. My fingers fumbled with the edges of my little pocket notebook, its corners worn soft from too much thumbing.
Out there on the turf, several girls were loosening their shoulders, rolling their ankles, and shaking out the pre-race tension. The bib numbers on their torso gleamed in the afternoon light. From here, I could hear the rhythmic pat-pat of their shoes as they trotted in place. I could see the sun catch the sheen of sweat already forming at their temples. It was the same selection race format I had been running in. Again. And again.
Two weeks had passed since my first one, and I could still remember every frantic heartbeat of it.
That day, I had pushed myself right to the brink. My legs were burning, my lungs felt scalded with each breath, and the pounding in my chest was so fierce. Still… I could not win.
That race had been my first taste of others' true determination to win, something so much sharper and hotter than any mock race I had run before. Watching from the sidelines had never prepared me for the electric pressure on the track itself. Every runner that day had been going all out. You could feel it in the air, in the ground, in the roar of the spectators.
And I had not backed down either. I had given them everything I had. Still, the results were merciless. Eighth place.
My usual start, steady and trained into my muscles, had been just a hair too slow for this level. A fraction of a second late out of the gate, and already I was in disadvantage to catch my preferred position. I did manage to slip into it, but the initial effort cost me precious stamina.
From the early to mid-race, I had been locked in a stubborn duel with Number Four, Jarajara-san, both of us chasing the three frontrunners. Behind me, Tsurumaru Tsuyoshi-san never let up, pressing on my heels like a shadow I could not shake. My pacing started to fray. My form loosened. I was still leading the main pack when we hit the final corner, only for Tsuyoshi-san to surge past, slicing through the frontrunners like a blade. She took first by two lengths.
Me? I was swallowed by the homestretch. I had breath left in me, but somehow, I could not use it to go faster.
I ran again. Twice. Two days apart each time. A fifth-place finish. Then a fourth. An improvement, sure, but nowhere near enough. Every race, I tinkered with my strategy, my mindset, my running form. My times edged better and better. And so, I gathered data.
One: My overtakes came mostly out of corners. The straights were where I got passed.
Two: My crippling habit of getting worked up when someone was behind me could be patched by running far on the outside, alone. It was a stamina sink, yes, but I was confident I had the lungs for it.
Three: My top speed was… embarrassingly subpar.
Air Shakur-san had helped me yesterday in the IT Room, teaching me how to work the race analysis application. And I could only say, the numbers did not lie.
Now, I was sitting in the stands, the scratch of pen and paper replaced by the distant thud of footfalls as the next race set off. My turn would come in two more races. This was going to be my fourth selection, and the rules stated I had only five chances total.
Of course, I had no trainer yet.
One had spoken to me before, until I told him my goal was to beat King Halo. The way he had smiled, a tight, wry, and dismissive expression, was burned into my memory. And maybe it was fair. As one of the hot topic among my generation, King Halo had won every selection race she had entered so far. Four out of four. The odds were not in my favor, and my goal sounded too farfetched for someone who had never even finished top three.
Speaking of King Halo, she still had not contracted to any trainer, which only spoke to how picky she was.
"Yahoo, my Kouhai, are you going to race again today?"
Ugh. The witch gremlin had arrived.
Sweep-senpai's voice was as bright and irreverent as ever. She hopped down onto the bench beside me without invitation, tapping her barren chest with pride. "Again with that look? Come on, I am your benefactor, right? My potion gave you the boost you needed, and look! Every improved version I have given you, you have gotten faster!"
I did not want to believe it, but she was not wrong. I had felt lighter, sharper, after drinking those dubious concoctions. Maybe it was just a placebo effect. It did not matter. If it made me faster, I would take it. At least she had sworn it would not poison me.
"O wise and benevolent Witch Sweep Tosho-sama, what might be the reason you came to meet me?" I said, my voice as flat as I could manage.
"Ooooh, as expected of my guine—client! You finally recognize this witch's greatness!" She grinned wide. "I actually just wanted to give you the latest improvement of my Speed Potion, but after hearing what you said, I am willing to add more service."
So it was business. I wondered if she was going to bill me for the ones I had already taken. I'm getting scammed, am I not? I sighed inwardly.
"Though you are a quiet one, your face cannot lie. My mood is good, so I will hear your troubles."
"How can you be so certain—"
"Magic!" she declared with a shrug. Her voice softened then, dropping from its usual sing-song to something almost… normal. "Well, your expression earlier said it all. So. What is going on?"
I hesitated. "...If your speed potion can push me even a little further, I need it now, and I need it to be far better than what I have had so far."
I looked down. My notebook was gone. A jolt of panic made me twist around, scanning the ground beneath the bench.
"You have neat handwriting," Sweep's voice chimed from behind me. "And are these cannon and musket mascots? Your taste is unique."
I whipped back around. There it was, in her hands. She had moved faster than I could track. Magic? Maybe. It was probably just ridiculous sleight-of-hand.
"I see you have already got your plan. How about you just run what you have written here? And if I might add, rather than setting the pace in front of the main pack, why not run just behind the frontrunners? Slipstream off them. Less wind resistance. You will hold your speed better, especially on straight."
Upon hearing her advice, I thought about it for a brief second and decided to adopt the plan. Anything to get faster.
"... Interesting. I guess I will try it." I let a teasing grin slip. "And to think Sweep-senpai relies on physics. Very out of character."
"Hey, think about it! What if the magic system in our world is physics? The distinction between magic and physics is simply a matter of our understanding. For example, Wireless communication. A 'wizard' in centuries past could have claimed to cast a spell to talk to someone miles away using a device with a screen. Today, we understand that cell phones use invisible electromagnetic waves to transmit information instantly across vast distances, a capability that would have been perceived as magic. In conclusion, Magic equals Physics. So a witch like me using physics is only natural!"
Her logic was twisted. But I could not really argue with it.
"Anyway… gratitude, Sweep-senpai. For the potion. For the advice. And for watching all my races, even if it is just for potion observation. I am… actually happy." I hesitated. "Though I have never seen you with others. Do you even have friends?"
"Whaaat!? O-of course I have! Lots!"
"Sure. Calm down, you are bothering the others."
"Mumumumumu! Hmph! Here." She thrust a small vial into my hands. The liquid inside glimmered faintly. "Same thirty-minute duration, but thirty percent stronger. It was made with that flower from last time, so it will be sure to have better compatibility with you! And—"
She continued on and on for quite some time, explaining the supposed magical properties of the new brew, until the loudspeaker crackled overhead. My event was being called to the paddock.
My fourth selection race. Only one thing mattered.
This time, this time, I would win.
---
"We meet again, Copenhagen-san."
A dignified and unmistakably familiar voice rang out from behind me while I was performing my final pre-race stretches. I paused, my hands on my ankles, and straightened up to see King Halo approaching, her posture as regal as ever.
I had not noticed her name on the roster for this race until the last minute. After the intensity of our encounter in the locker room, facing her again this early felt somewhat awkward. Well, I supposed that was what they meant when they said life was full of surprises.
She wore a pristine white shirt and green shorts, with the bib number '12' proudly displayed on her torso. Her shoulder-length, wavy brown hair and perfectly fitted green ear covers seemed flawless, as if she had just stepped out of a magazine. I was never particularly interested in fashion, so my own long, straight chestnut brown hair was rather plain by comparison, though I remained quite confident that my golden cross ear ornament was exceptionally cool. We both wore our respective racing colors; hers was green, and mine was a simple black.
"Affirmative," I replied, finding my voice. "It's rather early since then, but let's race to the best of our ability."
A confident, almost musical laugh escaped her. "Ohohoho, you look better now. That is indeed the right expression! Though I see you are usually still all alone in the classroom. Why not join me and my friends next time?"
I allowed a small smirk to form on my lips. "I'd rather not. If I joined your circle, I imagine I would be forced to participate in your 'King Call'. Though our rivalry is still one-sided for now, I will not lower myself to glaze over the one I intend to defeat."
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, then her haughty laugh echoed again, louder this time. "Ohohohoho, that is quite funny! And interesting. Very well, then! I accept your challenge. But do not expect me to even glance back at you when I pass you on the track later," she declared with supreme arrogance.
With that, she gave a final, regal flick of her hair and walked away toward her assigned gate.
"Right," I murmured to myself, my own confidence swelling. "Let's do this."
An official announcement echoed across the field. "Runners, you may now enter the starting gates."
I took a final deep breath and walked to my gate, number three. I stepped inside the narrow stall, and shortly after, the gate clanged shut behind me. I consciously dismissed the droning voices of the announcers, choosing instead to focus only on my immediate surroundings. I felt the gentle flow of the wind against my skin, smelled the rich scent of the turf, and listened to the escalating rhythm of my own heartbeat. Again and again, I projected the image and the sound of the opening gate into my mind, preparing my body to react in an instant.
"Gate in complete..." the announcer's voice faded into the background.
A symphony of a hundred of roaring voices subsided and left behind a single, thundering heartbeat, my own. The unyielding metal of the starting gate emanated its coldness against my shoulders. I drew in a sharp breath, the scent of stomped turf and electric anticipation filling my lungs. Every muscle in my body was a coiled spring.
[And they're off! The gates fly open for this 2000-meter selection race at the Academy's Main Turf Track! A beautiful, clean start for all twelve umamusume!]
[Indeed, a very even break from the gate. As expected, the frontrunners are already asserting themselves, driving hard for the lead. We see Number 2 Oishii Parfait and Number 6 Osamu Kinder battling for that prime position on the rail.]
The sharp clank of the opening gate was less a sound and more a physical command that jolted through my bones. My body reacted, surging forward into the maelstrom of flailing limbs and pounding footfalls. I did not aim for the lead. Instead, I darted through the initial chaotic shuffle, my powerful footwork was my asset, and I deftly slotted myself into the slipstream of the leading trio. Fourth place. Perfect.
Ahead of me, three frontrunners cut a path through the wind. Behind me, there was nothing but open air. My strange, irritating quirk would not be a factor. I could finally breathe freely, my ears twitching and filtering the cacophony, analyzing the percussive rhythm of the race unfolding around me.
[And look there! What an assertive start from Number 3 Copenhagen! She is not content to sit back in the pack, she is right up there on the heels of the leaders!]
[She has positioned herself perfectly in fourth. She is getting a beautiful shield from the wind, tucked in behind Number 8 New Croats. This is an intelligent run, and it will conserve a significant amount of energy for her in the later stages.]
As we galloped past the grandstand for the first time, a wave of sound washed over us. I felt a subtle change in the pressure of the race behind me. The main pack, the churning group I had left in my wake, seemed to reach a collective, unspoken agreement. They began to ease off, and the rhythmic sound of their running receded just slightly.
[And the main pack is tapping on the brakes! They are letting the lead group of four go! A significant gap is beginning to form as they pass the post for the first time!]
[This is a major strategic decision. Number 1 Landknecht has taken control of the chase group, setting a more sustainable pace. But here is an interesting development—Number 3 Copenhagen has not dropped back with them.]
[She is sticking to the frontrunners! She is committing to this high pace! Her official data lists her as a Pace Chaser, but she is running this race like a pure Frontrunner today! We are seeing a bold change in strategy!]
As we moved down the long, sweeping backstretch, the order of battle solidified. Number 2 Oishii Parfait held the lead. Number 6 Osamu Kinder shadowed her. Number 8 New Croats ran a strong third. And then there was me, a persistent, silent fourth.
[And so the field has settled into its rhythm as they head towards the 1000-meter mark. At the front, it continues to be Number 2 Oishii Parfait, from Number 6 Osamu Kinder, with Number 8 New Croats in third, and Number 3 Copenhagen a close fourth. They are maintaining a three-length lead on the main pack.]
[That main pack is now being led by Number 1 Landknecht, followed by Number 9 Primally Multiplied and Number 10 Kikunojo Ruby. And look there, running all by herself in eighth place, is Number 12 King Halo. She is approaching the main pack, calmly assessing the situation.]
I could feel the race tightening, the very air growing thick with unspoken challenges. The roar of the crowd began to build again, a clear signal that the end was near.
[And here she comes! As they approach the final 800 meters, Number 12 King Halo is making her move! She swings to the far outside, her brown hair flying like a banner!]
[It is a magnificent charge! She is swallowing up the ground, effortlessly passing the chase pack! She has moved into sixth place in the blink of an eye and she looks like she has plenty left in the tank! The entire field is beginning to compress! The lead is down to a single length!]
We rounded into the final corner. My legs screamed. My lungs burned. This was the decisive moment. My old instinct screamed at me to go now, to make a desperate, early bid for the lead.
But not today. A strange, quiet confidence held me back. Wait for the straight. Give it all on the homestretch. It was a nonsensical plan. The homestretch was my personal graveyard. Yet, the feeling was unshakeable. By the Three Goddess, if I waited, I felt I could win.
I grit my teeth, defiantly refusing to give in to my old instinct. We exited the turn. The world exploded into a wall of sound. This was it. The homestretch.
But not yet.
Wait for it.
Let's wait for a little bit more..
Now!
"Aaargh!" The sound was ripped from my lungs as I pushed off, decisively abandoning my cover and swinging to the outside of New Croats.
"Damnit!!" she groaned as I surged past her.
I ignored her, my entire being focused on one thing: forward.
[And at the top of the stretch, Number 3 Copenhagen makes her move! She explodes from the pack! But look at the far outside! IT IS NUMBER 12 KING HALO! SHE HAS TIMED HER ATTACK PERFECTLY!]
[INCREDIBLE! They are three across the track! Number 8 New Croats is fighting back on the inside, Copenhagen is in the middle, and King Halo is on the far outside! It's a battle royale to the finish line!]
This was different. I could feel it in my very soul. A week of extra self-training was paying dividends. My stamina, my power, it was leagues beyond my last race. I had not hit my top speed yet. I could go further.
[With 200 meters left to run, the early leader Number 2 Oishii Parfait is still hanging on, but her face is a mask of pain! Number 6 Osamu Kinder is fading!]
[But the real spectacle is the battle behind her! It is a duel! Number 3 Copenhagen and Number 12 King Halo have separated themselves from the rest! They are side-by-side, locked in a ferocious struggle!]
My legs rotated faster than I ever thought possible. I saw King Halo's determined, haughty face beside me. The frontrunners were faltering. No one from behind could catch us. It was only between me and King Halo.
"I'LL WIN!!!" I screamed, pouring every last ounce of my will into the words.
"As if I would let you!" I heard King Halo's sharp retort cut through the roar.
We flew forward, stride for matching stride. I had a slight edge, my nose perhaps just inches in front. The finish line was so close…
And then we passed the 100-meter sign.
My prediction was full of holes. My internal clock was a lie. I had miscalculated everything, forgetting the most embarrassing, frustrating truth of my own body. I pushed for that final gear, that last burst of acceleration.
[But what is this!? Copenhagen's acceleration has suddenly stopped! She's stalling! She has lost all momentum! King Halo is pulling away! She is leaving her behind!]
I found my top speed.
And it was pitifully, damnably inadequate.
From the grandstand, a sharp, high-pitched shriek cut through the general roar of the crowd. "EHH!? WHY'D YOU STOP!? THE POTION SHOULD STILL BE WORKING! GOOOO!!!"
It was followed almost immediately by the raw, furious bellow of a man's voice, hoarse with disbelief. "NOO! YOU WENT TOO EARLY!"
The sensation was dizzying, like being held back by invisible hands. I felt as if I were running in place, my legs churning furiously but going nowhere. The world, which had been a blur of speed, sharpened with agonizing clarity. On my left, I watched King Halo's back pull away. On my right, the struggling Oishii Parfait, who I had thought beaten, found a final reserve and held her ground. Then she, too, began to move away from me.
[Oishii Parfait is fighting back! She is regaining second place with sheer guts! Copenhagen is stuck! She couldn't catch the two! She is going to be swallowed by the pack!]
It was so frustrating… why!? Why could I not go faster!?
Everything went blank.
When I came to, I was standing alone on the track, bent over with my hands on my knees, my breath coming in ragged, tearing gasps. I stared down at my own feet, at the green turf. I could not believe it. The victory was almost mine. It was right there. Why?
For what felt like an eternity, I stood there, trapped in a silent, agonizing analysis of my own failure, the image of King Halo's triumphant back burned into my mind.
Then, a voice, hoarse and sharp, cut through my haze from the direction of the paddock.
"WHAT WERE YOU DOING!?"
It was the shout of a grown man, raw with a frustration that felt as deep and as bitter as my own. A frustration aimed like an arrow right at me. At what I had done.
I lifted my head, my eyes stinging.
That was when I first met him.