In the world of Umamusume, there are no undefeated champions—only those who never stop striving.
Even the Emperor, hailed as invincible, had lost the Japan Cup and the Tenno Sho. Even she had shed tears alone.
But right now, Garden Gale didn't understand that.
All she knew was that she had lost. Lost the race. Failed the expectations placed on her. Even if it had only been a dream within the consciousness space, those disappointed gazes had felt real—piercing straight through her, like the Spear of Longinus that struck Christ, leaving a wound that would never truly close.
…Maybe it would've been better not to begin at all.
If she'd never run her debut race. Never gone pro. Never won. Never gained fans.
Then no one would expect anything of her.
To disappoint others was agony.
And because of that, Garden Gale had always lived carefully beneath other people's eyes. She had never truly relaxed. All she ever felt was tension—constant, suffocating pressure. She didn't want to let anyone down.
It was exhausting.
Maybe it would be better to just die.
The thought surfaced quietly.
If she died, she could sleep forever. No more living under scrutiny. Just like the original owner of this body—like a blazing rose that withers and fades. In time, people forget. The scenes blur. The memory dissolves.
She hugged her knees tighter, burying her face.
Her eyes were red.
Completely shut down.
The hell forged from her negative emotions stretched endlessly around her—ruin, desolation, nothing but despair. Garden Gale felt as though she were truly standing in that inferno, burned by regret, denied peace.
She began to understand why the original girl had chosen suicide.
If she had to choose right now...
Maybe she would make the same decision.
She really was that weak.
She had missed so many chances to walk away. To leave Tracen Academy. To end her career as an Umamusume.
Her gaze drifted across the empty training grounds.
It was still deep night—three in the morning. No one else was here. Just Garden Gale, training alone. Growing stronger. Refining her running style.
Was she thinking about quitting?
No.
It was just that all this serious training had yielded no satisfying result.
Eighth place.
That was all.
Her fists clenched tight. Her teeth sank into her lip until the taste of iron filled her mouth.
Blood and bitterness mingled.
Even as pain blossomed, she didn't let herself off the hook. If forgiving herself worked, she would have done it long ago. She had never truly reconciled with herself—only wrestled endlessly within.
Yes.
There was still bitterness.
And slowly, that bitterness began to sprout.
If only I were stronger.
Yes.
If only I had won.
The emotion called unwillingness took root. Having tasted victory before—having felt the rush of flying across the track—Garden Gale's heart had changed.
Only now did she realize how arrogant she had been.
She had looked like she was working hard.
But had she truly given everything?
Did she even know who her opponents would be?
No.
Had she studied them?
No.
How did she plan to win?
She hadn't known that either.
Deep down, she'd believed that as long as she ran, it would be enough.
How arrogant.
Had she thought her opponents were bots? Even when she defeated Admire Vega and Narita Top Road, those victories had been razor-thin.
And yet she had approached the coming Satsuki Sho with a lazy, game-like attitude—flippant, detached. She no longer carried that desperate resolve she once had. That burning need to win had dimmed.
With that version of herself...
How could she possibly face rivals whose desire for victory blazed white-hot?
"..."
What a disappointment.
Nothing but a disappointment.
The storm of negativity brought tears to her eyes again.
She wanted to win. Always win. Now that she had tasted defeat, she finally understood how painful it was to lose—to let others down.
If this were the old her, she would need three days at least to crawl out of this hole. Without someone else's comfort, someone else pulling her toward the light, she would never manage it alone.
But now...
Maybe.
Just maybe.
She was beginning to understand what she truly wanted.
The sorrow inside her was slowly being eaten away by unwillingness.
For someone who had failed too many times in life before, she was, for the first time, beginning to grasp the meaning of being alive.
To run.
To win.
If she still needed someone else to comfort her now, then what kind of growth had she achieved? Might as well go home crying to her mother next time she lost—let her be told she was the best.
Wouldn't that be ridiculous?
Her eyes flickered.
Then hardened.
She finally understood her own purpose.
That was why she had chosen to run in the Satsuki Sho.
Why she had begun to train seriously.
Why the last trace of hesitation in her heart was fading away.
A debut forced upon her.
A race entered half-heartedly.
The Satsuki Sho, chosen entirely of her own will.
If losing meant disappointing others…
Then she would simply keep winning.
Win every race.
Win again and again—
Win them all.
At that very moment, a faint arc of light sparked within her.
Perhaps this failure was necessary.
Perhaps it was the fire required for rebirth—like the phoenix of myth.
In legend, the phoenix is a messenger of happiness. Every five hundred years, it gathers all the sorrow and hatred of the world and casts itself into raging flames, ending its life to restore peace and beauty. Through immense suffering and rebirth, it rises again in a more radiant form.
In Buddhist scripture, that story is called—
Nirvana.
Transcending life and death countless times. Endurance. Renewal.
Garden Gale had not endured bodily torment.
She had felt agony in her heart.
But... there was a strange kind of joy in it.
She lifted her gaze toward the training track.
Wiped away the tears.
Pulled on her spiked shoes.
Then, like a samurai walking unflinchingly toward a fatal battlefield, she stepped forward alone and murmured—
"Soon."
Her heart began to beat again.
Slowly.
Steadily.
Burning back to life.