Chapter 3

Winter break had barely started, and for today, the sacred kotatsu had been shoved carefully against the wall. 

In its place, two teenage boys were sprawled across the living room carpet, leaning forward so far their foreheads were almost touching the television screen.

"Pass the ball forward, you bald fraud!" Yuuki screamed at the glass. "Don't pass the ball around in the back!"

"Stop screaming in my ear," Shizuo grunted, his thumbs clicking violently against the plastic. "And stop pausing to fix your tactics every time I cross the halfway line, you cheater."

The match on screen was stuck in a dead-even 5–5 deadlock. 

Yuuki was running Barcelona, his bleached blond hair practically standing on end as he blamed every missed pass on input delay and stick drift. Shizuo had taken Manchester City, sitting completely stone-faced in his gray hoodie, silently trying to prevent his defensive line from collapsing under another chaotic wave of pressure.

The digital clock in the upper corner of the game ticked into the eighty-eighth minute.

"Here it comes," Yuuki breathed, his voice dropping into a mocking hiss. "Raphinha running down the wing!"

On screen, the winger picked up a long ball on the counter-attack, sprinting down the right flank with daylight ahead of him. Shizuo’s defensive line scrambled in desperation, dragging their shape to cover the fast break.

I sat cross-legged behind them on the sofa, propping my chin lazily on my palm. 

Then I tapped the screen of my phone resting beside my knee. 

The digital numbers lit up: 15:35. 

Post time.

My thumb, which had been resting quietly over the TV remote in my lap, slid over to the input button.

Down on the virtual pitch, Yuuki pulled off a sharp cutback right at the edge of the penalty box. Shizuo’s fullback lunged into empty grass, completely beaten. 

"Yamaaal!" Yuuki roared, thumb pressing down hard to wind up a curling finesse shot. "Eat dirt, Shizuo!"

Click.

The television screen cut straight to black.

A second later, the neon green grass of the digital pitch was replaced by the pale, frost-bitten turf of a real racetrack under a pale winter sky. The blaring stadium audio vanished, replaced by the metallic echo of a track announcer echoing through a real grandstand.

For two full seconds, the room fell dead silent.

Yuuki was still holding the shoot button down with both thumbs, staring at the screen with the blank, hollow eyes of someone whose soul had just been evicted from his body.

Beside him, Shizuo blinked once, dropped his controller onto his thighs, and let out a long shuddering breath. "Damn. That almost got me."

"Aaaah!" Yuuki let out a high-pitched shriek of pure anguish, tossing the plastic controller onto the carpet. 

He spun around on his knees, teeth bared, lunging directly across the carpet to grab the collar of my tracksuit. 

"My goal! That was going straight into the top corner, you monster! Switch it back right now or I'm telling your mom you ruined my life!"

"Calm down," I said, catching his wrists and peeling his fingers off my collar with minimal effort. "You would have hit the crossbar anyway. Your angle was terrible."

"It was perfect! Puskas worthy!"

"Hanshin Racecourse, Twelfth Race," the television speakers announced, cutting cleanly through Yuuki's theatrical grief. "Maiden Race, two thousand meters on turf."

The broadcast camera cut to the starting gate set up on the far backstretch. 

Umamusume were stepping into their assigned stalls one by one, their bibs and training shorts bright against the pale green grass. The camera panned down the line, catching the tension in their faces, before zooming in on the runner entering stall number twelve.

Shoulder length golden-blonde hair, parted down the center with two lighter strands framing her forehead. 

Violet eyes that burned with a quiet, stubborn flame, fading to gold at the edges. 

Her ears were pinned flat and straight, blocking out the noise of the crowd, locked entirely on the empty turf ahead.

Yuuki froze in place, his hands hovering mid-grab. 

His jaw slowly unhinged, his eyes widening until they looked ready to pop out of his skull. He slowly lowered his arms and pointed a shaking, accusing finger at the screen.

"Wait," he stammered, his voice cracking on the syllable. "Wait, wait, wait. That's the girl from the shrine steps!"

"Good eye," I said smoothly, leaning back against the couch cushions.

Yuuki spun back toward me, looking completely horrified. "You knew her race was today? How did you know that? Don't tell me... are you stalking her? Yama, you're a closet stalker! You found her profile and memorized her schedule like a creep!"

"Stop yelling creep inside my own house," I said, batting his pointing finger away. "My sister happens to be her roommate. She brought her over to pick up school paperwork last week."

I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees, looking between the two of them. 

"Besides, aren't you guys a little bit curious? We watched her training on those shrine stairs. Don't you want to see what she looks like on an actual track?"

Yuuki opened his mouth to fire back another complaint, but the words died in his throat.

Beside him, Shizuo was already leaning forward again, his dark eyes locked onto the screen. The video game loss was completely forgotten, replaced by the quiet focus he always got whenever someone mentioned serious.

"He's right," Shizuo said gruffly, swatting Yuuki’s shoulder. "Shut up, Yuuki. Sit down and watch."

Yuuki slumped back onto his cushion with an exaggerated scowl, crossing his arms like a pouting toddler. 

"Fine! But that last play was a goal, okay? Put it on the record! That's my win!"

Shizuo just snorted, shaking his head without taking his eyes off the gate.

At the same time the room went quiet, the camera panned at her along with words from the commentator.

At the shrine, she had looked like a fragile glass cup, wound so tight that a stiff breeze might have shattered her. Even in Yuri's bedroom, under that polite and pretty smile, there had been that dark shadow of exhaustion clinging to the corners of her eyes.

On the screen right now, that fragile look was gone.

In red bib and red shorts, her shoulders were relaxed, settled low and square over her hips. Her hands were loose, fingers resting lightly against her thighs, and when she took a slow breath, her chest rose and fell in a steady, unhurried rhythm. 

Her conditioning had peaked at the exact right moment. You didn't need to read racing forms or hear commentator's predictions to see it; you could feel it in the way she stood, occupying her space with complete, calm confidence.

Shortly after, every runners were ready to start.

Clack.

The front gates burst open in a single, synchronized snap.

"They're off!" the play-by-play commentator roared into the microphone. "A clean break across the entire field!"

A wave of speed surged down the backstretch. 

Top Road didn't scramble for the lead. She glided into the forward pack, slotting neatly into fourth position along the inner lane, letting the front-runners absorb the brunt of the wind. Her stride was long, deceptively smooth, eating up ground with an efficiency that made everyone around her look like they were working twice as hard.

"She's moving fast," Yuuki muttered, leaning in until his nose was an inch from the glass again. "Look at her stride. That's way wider than the girl in third."

"Even so, it looks like she's saving it," Shizuo corrected him, his voice low.

The pack swept through the third corner, the rhythm tightening as the field bunched together. 

Coming into the final bend, the front-runners began drifting outward to protect their lines, forming a wall of bodies that boxed Top Road in against the rail. 

For a second, my chest tightened. The space was gone. The gap in front of her slammed shut, three runners shoulder-to-shoulder, cutting off her lane completely.

"Ah! She's blocked!" Yuuki yelled, grabbing his hair with both hands. "She's totally stuck!"

"Watch," I murmured.

Down the long Hanshin homestretch, the leader drifted half a step to the right, into greener ground. 

That small space was all it took. 

Top Road saw the seam before anyone else on the track did. She lowered her head, drove her spikes into the turf, and exploded into the pocket with relentless acceleration. 

She burst through the gap like water through a broken dam, her golden hair whipping wildly in the wind, her stride opening up until she was practically flying above the frost-covered grass. 

The roar of the crowd came through the television speakers, loud and distorted, but my eyes were locked completely on her form. 

She ran with a beautiful ferocity, every ounce of stamina she had poured directly into the ground beneath her feet. In that gray winter broadcast, surrounded by cold dirt and freezing air, she looked like the sun itself, burning straight through the overcast sky.

The commentator's voice reached a fever pitch. "Here comes Narita Top Road through the center! She's pulling away! One length, two lengths! She's clear!"

She hit the wire with daylight behind her. 

First place.

"Narita Top Road takes her Maiden win!" the speakers blasted. "A commanding victory of three lengths!"

Yuuki leaped to his feet, knocking a bag of potato chips clean off the coffee table, pumping both fists into the air as if he had personally trained her. "Yes! Did you see that burst?! She destroyed them! That was insane!"

Shizuo sat back, letting out a sharp grunt of approval, a broad grin splitting his usually stoic face. "She has that guts. She never hesitated when that gap opened."

Meanwhile, I just leaned my back against the sofa cushions, staring at the screen where she was slowing to a trot, catching her breath while waving politely to the cheering grandstands. 

Her ears were standing high and proud again. 

A long, quiet breath slipped out of my chest, carrying away a tension I hadn't realized I was holding. A faint, satisfied smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth.

"Hey," Shizuo said suddenly.

He was already on his feet, stretching his arms over his head until his joints popped like firecrackers. His eyes were wide, practically glowing with restless energy. 

"We're going to the park," Shizuo declared, pointing a thumb toward the front door.

Yuuki stopped mid-celebration, looking at him like he had lost his mind. "Are you insane? Look outside! It's literally starting to snow!"

Sure enough, tiny white flakes were drifting past the living room window, melting against the cold glass.

"I don't care," Shizuo said, grabbing his sneakers from the genkan and tossing Yuuki's shoes onto the carpet. "My legs are itching. If I don't touch a ball in the next five minutes, I'm going to kick a hole through your wall, Yama."

"Please don't," I said. "My mom would make you replaster it."

"Then get your cleats," Shizuo ordered. "Let's do some passing drills. Let's go."

Normally, this was the exact moment I would deploy every excuse in my arsenal. 

I would claim a sudden hamstring cramp, pretend to have urgent homework, or simply burrow beneath a blanket and refuse to move until they dragged me out by my ankles.

Yet, as I pushed myself up off the carpet, I could feel an unfamiliar, restless pulse thumping quietly behind my ribs. 

Watching her tear through that gap on the screen had left something behind in the room. A spark. A lingering heat that made the cold outside seem just a little less miserable than it usually was.

"Fine," I grunted, stretching my stiff shoulders. "Only thirty minutes. And if my toes freeze off, Shizuo is paying for the hot chocolate."

"Deal," Shizuo barked.

"You two are psychopaths!" Yuuki groaned, but he was already pulling on his windbreaker anyway.

I grabbed my cleats from the hallway closet, pulled my scarf tight around my neck, and followed them out into the winter air.