Sometime later…
"I'm home…" Urara's voice came softly from the entryway.
"Welcome home! How was the date?" her mother called out cheerfully as she walked to greet her, wiping her hands on her apron.
Urara was bent down, slipping off her shoes with an uncharacteristic slowness.
"It was… okay," Urara mumbled.
Her mother froze mid-step. That dull tone, the missing bounce in her step—something was off. Urara wasn't humming, wasn't wagging her tail. She wasn't even smiling.
"Hmm… that's strange," her mother murmured as she followed her daughter into the house.
Urara trudged into the living room and collapsed beneath the low table, her face melting against the polished wood.
Her father lay on the tatami mat, propped sideways, idly scratching his back while watching the evening news.
Sensing something was wrong, her mother abandoned her chores and came closer. She knelt beside the table, her brow softening.
"Something wrong, honey?"
Urara uttered, "Mom… am I a bad girl?"
Her mother blinked, then chuckled softly. "Why would you say that? Of course you're not."
"But… I feel like it," Urara whispered, her gaze fixed on the table surface.
Her mother tilted her head. "Something happened, didn't it?"
Urara jerked upright, surprised. "How did you know?!"
Her mother smiled faintly. "Because I'm your mother, that's how."
"What—something happened?" Her father finally turned from the TV, looking halfway between curious and lazy. "Oh, hey, welcome home, Urara."
Urara pouted. "It's just that Mary-chan was taken away by a big bad man! He was hurting her! It ruined our day…"
Both parents exchanged glances. Her mother sighed softly. "A big bad man, huh… It sounds like Mary's got more going on than we thought."
Her tone turned firm, though still gentle. "But, Urara, sometimes it's better not to interfere with something you don't understand. Adults have… complicated problems."
"But Mary-chan was scared!" Urara shouted, slamming her fist lightly against the table. "That man was mean! He… he… he…"
Her words faltered as the TV's sound suddenly shifted to the broadcaster's excited tone.
"—and there she goes! A stunning lead on the final stretch!"
Urara's ears twitched. Her head slowly lifted toward the television, her eyes catching the screen where a magnificent race was being replayed.
The speed, the energy, the rhythm of galloping Umamusumes—all of it seized her attention instantly.
Her eyes widened, her mouth opened in awe. In mere seconds, her anger melted away.
"Whoa…" she whispered, her tail starting to sway again.
Her mother sighed, half exasperated, half relieved, as she stood up. "You really are something else, Urara…"
Her father chuckled. "See? All it takes is one race to cheer her up again."
As Urara cheered for the replayed race, her mother turned toward the doorway—and there, hanging by the shoe rack, she spotted something odd.
A truffle bag. Worn, small, familiar.
She frowned, lifting it up. "This isn't ours…" she murmured.
Then it clicked—Mary's bag. The one she'd brought with her that morning.
"Looks like she forgot something," her mother whispered to herself.
She watched her daughter, still glued to the screen, her face glowing with innocent joy again. And though her lips curved into a smile.
***
***
Meanwhile…
A heavy thud happened through the quiet house. The sound carried across the walls as it trembled across the picture frames on the wall.
Mary lay on the floor, winded and trembling. Her father stood above her, looming with his dreadful glare and breathing.
"Where do you think you're going?" said her father as he latched out his hand, snatching Mary's hair.
He then pulled her closer to his face, "How many times must I repeat myself, Mary?!" he shouted.
"Have I not made myself clear enough?! You were meant to train. You were meant to be better! Not go out, waste your time away on those trivia-expanding pieces of crap!"
Mary flinched at every word. She tried to pull herself upright, clutching at her sleeve — the same dress Urara's family had kindly given her.
Her father's hand darted out, seizing the fabric before slapping her once more, sending her sprawling back to the cold floor.
Then, he was about to snatch onto her again, but he missed.
Mary dodged out of the way at the last second, causing her father to tear the very dress she wore.
"You lied to me," he hissed, throwing a piece of fabric away that he snatched. "You told me you were training. Instead, you went… there? Having fun?!"
"I'm sorry…" Mary managed to whisper, still backing away.
Her father froze. His voice dropped low... "You're sorry? SORRY?!" he repeated, "What did I tell you about saying that word?"
Mary's eyes brimmed with tears, flinching at his shout.
"Sorries are for the weaklings! And you never apologize, never!"
Her father raised his hand again, wanting to 'lecture' her once more.
Fortunately... he hesitated at her quivering state and lowered.
For a long moment, nothing moved but her father, fidgeting.
"Damn it! Damn it! DAMN IT!" her father shuffled, cursing under his breath.
Then, with a trembling breath, Mary turned and ran — up the stairs, through the hallway — she wanted to run away, she wanted to ESCAPE.
But her execution was apparent; her father called after her, "Where are you going! Come back here!"
After a small dash to her room that felt eternity, Mary reached her hand outward, reaching for the knob, her room, her sanctuary.
She then slammed the door shut and locked it immediately she entered.
Her hands shook as she pressed herself against the door, her breath coming in short, trembling gasps. She could still hear his voice from the other side — muffled by the wood.
"Mary! Open this door right now! I demand you!"
Then came the furious knocks, as if he were about to tear down the doors.
*Bang* *Bang* *Bang*
"MARY!"
She pressed her palms to her ears, shutting her eyes tightly. "Please stop… please stop…" she whispered to herself, curling up in the corner.
The sound of his voice faded little by little, until all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart.
Minutes passed.
Hours, too.
The house finally fell into silence. The shouting, the heavy footsteps — all of it vanished, leaving only the faint hum of the night outside.
Mary's eyes fluttered open. She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep; exhaustion had claimed her after her tears ran dry.
The faint moonlight leaked through the curtains, spilling across her room in a pale glow.
She slowly pushed herself up, her body aching. Her fingers pressed against the shelf for balance as she rose unsteadily to her feet.
As she walked past the mirror, the mirror before her reflected a fragile silhouette — the torn fabric of her dress, the faint lines where her tears had dried.
Then, she stared at herself for a long moment, unable to recognize the girl.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered. "I'm sorry… please… forgive me…"
The words trembled from her lips as she fell to her knees again.
Then, faintly, her thoughts drifted — not to her father, not to her mother — but to someone else. Someone whose laughter still repeated in her mind.
Urara.
The name slipped from her mouth as a plea, barely audible. "Urara… please… save me…"
She pressed her hands to her chest, trembling. The thought of that bright smile, those carefree words — they were the only warmth left in her memory.
"Urara... Take me away... Running..."
Then... after those whispers, she fell asleep again.
***
***
***
After several more minutes, she awoke, and the tears finally ceased. Her breathing returned to normal.
She then glanced toward the door. Hesitating, but pushed herself upward nevertheless.
Her hand hovered over the knob. Thinking, maybe it was time to leave. To run. To find something beyond this damned house.
She twisted the knob and took a step forward — wanting to run away, for once!
Suddenly—
"I made your dinner."
She froze. Her father stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching her.
He was calm, almost gentle. "Come and eat," he added before walking away.
Mary shrank. Every part of her screamed to turn away, run away, hide away — but yet... her body obeyed.
Slowly, mechanically, she descended the stairs, walking past her father, who was once again watching the TV, and turned toward the dining room.
There, the food was prepared, well placed before her under the flickering lights.
She hesitated. Should she take this opportunity to run away? Or should she obey, stay to fulfill her father's wishes?
One for her heart? Or one for the purpose?
In the end...
She
Mary Jane
picked the purpose...
She then took her seat and began to eat quietly.
Across the table, her father arrived. He sat before her and grinned.
"I'm sorry about earlier," he said, "It's just that you broke my heart, Mary."
"You see... I have always wanted the best for you. Yet, you decided to play with my heart, my kindness, and my hard work. It's not easy for me to push you to where you're now, Mary... If it's not for me, you will never amount to anything. You will stay insignificant and inferior."
He then sharply rose from his seat, walked behind her, and gently rested his hand on her head.
His touch was light, almost affectionate, but Mary could feel something otherwise behind it — the warning in every word.
"To become strong and perfect. All you need to do is listen, and that I'll never hurt you," he said softly. "Just promise me that you'll stay obedient. No more of that hanging out or wasting time, alright? You can do all that once you've become successful. Once you've become perfect."
"Then, you can go out as much as you want, make as many friends as you want, spend as much time as you want with anyone, hell, I don't care. And all you gotta do is RACE, WIN, REPEAT! Become the unbeatable, the unfathomable, the perfection, the one and only, Conqueror of the tracks!"
"That's when your father will be proud. That's when he'll love you most. That's what you wanted, right?"
Mary's lips trembled, but she nodded. "...Okay."
"Good."
With a few final pats on her shoulder, the smile vanished as he turned away, returning to his favorite spot, on the couch.
The television continued to flicker with the familiar racing commentary. One she can even repeat without even needing to listen to it.
Meanwhile...
There...
Mary sat in silence, her food barely touched.
Concluding that she shouldn't have had free will in the first place, she should've just followed what her father wanted.
At least like this she should be secured...
She should be safer...