Packing her things, Garden Gale faced the mirror, rearranging her disheveled clothes. Eyeing her still-messy hair, she couldn't help but grumble, "Just how rough did things get…?"
Her voice dripped with resentment aimed squarely at a certain someone—even though, admittedly, the afternoon hadn't been a total waste.
She had picked up some dance moves.
Tokai Teio had been a decent enough teacher, at least halfway. Thankfully, the anticipated fiasco—such as spectacularly faceplanting—never happened. Her body's flexibility had proven absurdly good, making the dancing a thousand times easier than she'd imagined.
She stepped out of the karaoke room, breathing a sigh of relief. Time to head back to Tracen Academy, take a nice shower, and rekindle her training spirit.
...
Thirty minutes later.
Garden Gale stood at the street corner opposite Tracen Academy's main gate, neon signs shimmering on rain-dampened pavement, bustling crowds weaving through the intersection. The air felt heavy with city noise, the sky stained in shades of muted grey.
"Hoo…" She drew a slow, calming breath and slipped her hands into her pockets. Just as the traffic lights turned green, signaling her to cross—
A voice broke through from beside her:
"…Black Flash?"
Garden Gale chuckled to herself.
Who'd pick such a cringe-worthy nickname nowadays? It was 2023, not some edgy internet era from a decade ago. Maybe she should turn dramatically and quip something equally embarrassing in reply.
But her amusement died instantly.
Her foot froze mid-step, a jolt shooting up her spine as realization dawned—
—Wait, that nickname sounds terrifyingly familiar.
Stiffly, she turned to face the voice's source—a high school girl, unmistakably from her uniform, gazing at Garden Gale with starry eyes, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Black Flash! I'm your biggest fan!"
"…Huh?"
The girl's gaze made it painfully obvious who she meant.
So, she was the cringe-worthy one after all.
Garden Gale mentally retracted every insult she'd just thought, horror swiftly taking their place. Her social anxiety surged. Oh no, that nickname sounded infinitely worse in real life. Who was responsible for this disaster of a name?!
Her scalp prickled sharply as she noticed nearby pedestrians turning to stare, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Whoa, it's really the Black Flash!"
Another shout rose from the crowd, sounding embarrassingly staged—as if she'd paid them fifty yen each to drum up excitement. She briefly considered giving them double to make them vanish.
How did this happen?
Garden Gale hadn't realized her fame had reached such a level—recognizable even on a random street corner. She plastered an awkward yet polite smile on her face, giving a small, hesitant wave to greet them.
"Um… hello, everyone."
She'd definitely improved.
If this had happened to the old Garden Gale, she'd probably have passed out already, and an ambulance would be rushing her away.
"Could you please give me your autograph?!"
The girl dashed over, crowd parting effortlessly for her.
She pointed eagerly at her shirt, then immediately shook her head, crossing her arms frantically. "Oh, wait! I need to wash this later… Could you sign my backpack instead?"
"Uh, sure."
Faced with such genuine enthusiasm, Garden Gale found herself unable to refuse.
Nodding hesitantly, she took the offered pen with trembling fingers and signed her name slowly—neatly and methodically, each character precise as a first-grader carefully doing homework.
Handing the pen back, she immediately prepared to flee. But more and more fans kept gathering.
You know how it is.
When social anxiety kicks in, every second spent in a crowd feels like torture.
And humans naturally loved spectacle. Regardless of nationality, people saw a crowd forming and just had to find out what was happening. Given it was right outside Tracen Academy, most bystanders were naturally Umamusume fans, instantly recognizing the rookie sensation from atop the Satsuki Sho podium—Garden Gale herself.
"Um, I just remembered something urgent."
She clasped her hands apologetically, giving a polite bow, and began weaving hastily through the crowd toward Tracen Academy's reassuring gates.
If I can just… reach those gates—
"Wait, please give me an autograph too! Just one more!"
Another enthusiastic shout from behind.
With no choice, Garden Gale reluctantly returned, scribbling yet another autograph. But this opened the floodgates—more people surged forward, each eager to claim a signature from a G1 champion.
Little did anyone realize that Garden Gale's first-ever autograph would one day command an astronomical price.
Just as none could foresee the legendary heights she would eventually reach.
But enough was enough.
Seeing the swelling crowd and hearing their growing cheers, Garden Gale's instincts screamed danger. She resolved firmly that no matter what else she heard, she had to leave now, or she'd never manage her evening training—let alone anything else.
But life rarely cooperates.
Click.
The elegant sound of ornate heels tapping sharply against pavement reached her ears.
Garden Gale's stomach twisted into knots.
An instinctive dread coiled tightly in her gut.
"Well, well, what's this lively gathering all about? Could it be everyone's come to bask in my radiance?" T.M. Opera O tossed her hair dramatically, lips curved in a smug smile. She struck a practiced pose, eyes glittering arrogantly. "Are you all truly so desperate to behold the Overlord's dazzling presence?"
Who even asked you?!
Garden Gale was struck momentarily speechless.
She chose silence, hoping to slip away unnoticed.
But…
But—
Opera O locked onto Garden Gale's retreating back with radar-like precision, swiftly catching her wrist.
"Oh, my destined rival—why are you in such a hurry to leave?"
"Wow—"
The crowd's explosive cheer was immediate and deafening. Phones were whipped out, cameras flashing, capturing this dramatic encounter.
Garden Gale slowly turned back, her face a mask of absolute despair.
---
T/N: hohohohohohohohoohohohohohoh