Nakayama, 2000 meters—Satsuki Sho, the opening clash of the Classic Triple Crown, a gathering of heroes.
"Fan favorite, No. 6, Mejiro McQueen..."
Just her entrance drew roaring cheers across the venue.
This was the buzz from snagging a GI right after debut.
A GI win on first try? Another legend in the making.
Fans knew, seeing her enter Satsuki Sho, she was gunning for Triple Crown glory.
On the track, Mejiro McQueen sized up her 'fated' rival—Tokai Teio. Fresh off debut, but Mejiro McQueen sensed the girl's physique was no slouch, rivaling her own. True genius.
Mid-warmup dance, Tokai Teio caught the stare and flashed a taunting grin: "I'll win this one."
"..."
Mejiro McQueen turned away. That level of provocation? Beneath notice.
Wanna win? Catch up in the race, then talk.
Tokai Teio, seeing the brush-off, didn't press.
She'd scouted her 'rival' thoroughly—knew exactly how to earn Mejiro McQueen's gaze.
Simple: overtake her fair and square—on the track!
As Tokai Teio burned holes in Mejiro McQueen's back, a few Uma Musume eyed them both from behind.
Impossible to ignore these era's brightest stars.
To them, Mejiro McQueen and Tokai Teio were cut from the same cloth: innate 'foot quality' prodigies.
McQueen's elegant strides, Teio's imperial dance—two sides of the same coin.
Not far off, really.
Just... Mejiro McQueen packed multiple skills.
Tokai Teio? One imperial dance.
Warmups wrapped; gates awaited.
Countdown: three, two, one!
Uma Musume bolted.
Mejiro McQueen, as ever, led the charge.
Her start, skill-boosted, was untouchable—none could halt her escape.
Nebula Sky lagged a beat, face sour.
She'd aimed to snag the lead from McQueen.
From tape of McQueen's prior races, letting her grab front was disastrous: early escape for massive gaps, mid-race stamina recovery, then horrific final kick.
To foil the escape? Disrupt rhythm out the gate.
But Nebula Sky's attempt proved the theory's folly.
'Is this start speed even Uma Musume-grade?'
The pack, seeing Nebula Sky fail, shifted expressions.
Spotting Mejiro McQueen's intent for another huge early lead, all gunned it.
No way they'd let her gap them like before!
Once she escaped unchecked, reeling her in? Nightmare.
Mid-race windows looked open, but 2000 meters? Too short for Mejiro McQueen!
'Everyone's on edge.'
Tokai Teio rode midfield, quietly gauging the field. McQueen's pressure was palpable.
"Now leading: No. 6, Mejiro McQueen. The pack seems swayed by her pace."
"Second: No. 3, Nebula Sky—six lengths off the lead..."
"No. 11, Biwa Hayahide... No. 1, Tokai Teio..."
Through the turn.
Mejiro McQueen frowned.
Early advantage? Not enough—unsatisfying.
But not a 3000-meter slog; no need to conserve mid-race. Past races, she paced easy—weak foes, no pressure; plus, hedging for this.
Mid-phase: all waited for the leader to fade.
But Mejiro McQueen didn't slack like before. Sure, slower than her opener, but still blistering.
'No way?!'
The chasers gawked.
Even prepped Tokai Teio blanked.
Her plan: mid-chase, second-turn pass, final burst to drop McQueen.
But without bursting now? No mid-close.
'Damn it!'
Ahead, Nebula Sky's eyes gleamed blue—skill unleashed, surging.
McQueen exceeded expectations, but gut screamed: this was her last shot!
Mejiro McQueen felt the rear pressure.
Nebula Sky's burst? Off-script, but skill use? Expected.
'Too late.'
Final turn: Mejiro McQueen triggered—speed climbing.
Nebula Sky eyed the shockwave around McQueen, composure cracking.
No!
Had to close here!
Raaaaagh—!!!!
"Aaahhhhh—!" x2
Nebula Sky gaped as two overtook her, shout choking.
Biwa Hayahide and Tokai Teio erupted in waves, blasting past toward Mejiro McQueen's back.
Ten lengths!
Seven!
Three!
They tapped true potential—waves proved it.
Announcer roared: "Tokai Teio! Tokai Teio! Biwa Hayahide! Biwa Hayahide! They're closing! They're on her!"
Mejiro McQueen heard, teeth grinding.
Damn—one skill wasn't enough insurance?
Her kicker worked from anywhere upfront—no need for first to unleash.
But yielding lead? No plans there!
And Tokai Teio, them—raw will matching skill accel? As if she, Mejiro McQueen, couldn't?
Eyes iced colder.
A deep-purple flame flickered in her left eye.
Stands: some Uma Musume sensed... something.
Boom!
Shockwave cracked—Mejiro McQueen surged again.
White form blurred with afterimages, gapping the duo by a length in a blink.
"!"
Tokai Teio blanked, foot nearly slipping—Biwa Hayahide edged past.
But a split-second lapse; she stomped firm, igniting third burst!
Tokai Teio—burning anew!
Her waves now tinged crimson flame.
Under fated rival Mejiro McQueen's spur, Tokai Teio's potential bloomed early—in this race.
Premium seats.
Symboli Rudolf watched Teio, expression darkening.
No ZONE threshold touched.
But this potential burn? ZONE-lite.
Worse: Teio's way was deadlier than true ZONE.
Helpless now, Rudolf pulled her phone—summoned medics.
On track, Biwa Hayahide thought the two ahead were freakier by the minute!
McQueen's burst? Expected—record spoke.
GI dominance? Untouched.
But Tokai Teio's? Bizarre.
She'd felt Teio fading, even slipped—how another burst?
Mejiro McQueen brushed ZONE's edge, unaware.
But door? Miles off—her surge paled to Teio's blaze.
Rear heat warped Mejiro McQueen's face; Teio's show stunned her.
'No chance!'
Turn exit loomed—Mejiro McQueen unleashed deep-purple waves, blasting out.
But trailing Tokai Teio's crimson dwarfed it.
Teio closed to half-length.
Exit: two, three strides away.
Teio pass here? McQueen had zero faith re-overtaking this Teio.
But Teio fell short—a stride or two.
Mejiro McQueen held lead through the turn.
Radiance bloomed underfoot—white light wove her form; bullet-like, she rocketed.
'Victory's mine!'
Blink: one length! Three! Five!
Mejiro McQueen accelerated!
Final 200 meters: mere instant, Teio's hard-won close gapped anew.
And widening with her speed!
To the line.
"Crosses first!"
"Conquering Classic Triple Crown leg one: Mejiro McQueen! What a thriller—congrats!"
"Next across: Tokai Teio!"
"Race over!"
Halted, Mejiro McQueen turned to pale-but-waving Tokai Teio.
"Hmph!"