Chapter 8

A pale sliver of winter sunlight slipped between the blinds, cutting across the wooden floorboards of my bedroom.

I blinked into the ceiling, listening to the silence of the house. 

Down the hallway, the refrigerator hummed faintly, but the rest of the rooms were still asleep. It was seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. 

Normally, I would turn over, pull the blanket over my ears, and stay under the covers until noon.

Instead, I reached out from beneath the duvet, patting the surface of the nightstand until my fingers brushed against my phone.

I pressed the power button, half-expecting to see an empty lock screen.

My thumb stopped in mid-air.

Stacked across the display was a green column of unread notifications from LINE. 

All of them were from the same sender, sent in rapid bursts between one-fifteen and one-forty in the morning.

I pushed myself up against the headboard, the cold air of the room instantly biting at my shoulders. 

I had been entirely convinced that she had crashed from exhaustion twenty minutes into the first half. 

Yet, looking at the timestamps on the screen, she had stayed awake past one in the morning, sitting through nearly three hours of amateur soccer footage.

I tapped the first notification to open the chat.

*Top Road: I finished the match against Nerima Third!*

*Top Road: Shimazu-kun, I have a few questions about your positioning.*

*Top Road: Why are you walking so much? In the twenty-fifth minute, your left back was pressed, but you didn't offer help even though you could open passing lane from your position. You were messing around with Nerima's right back instead.*

I scrolled down to the next message. 

*Top Road: And in the second half, you touched the ball only four times in fifteen minutes. My trainer always says that an athlete must show presence on the field, but you looked like you didn't want to play!*

A soft chuckle escaped my throat as I read the lines. 

I scrolled further down, reaching the texts she had sent around one-thirty. 

*Top Road: I just finished the playoff match against Setagaya.*

*Top Road: Ah! You did that again! You walked into that channel on the half space, waited until their center back turned his head, and played a single one-touch pass for the assist to your blonde friend.*

Then came her final observation, sent at one-forty.

*Top Road: And why were you subbed off at the sixty-minute mark in both matches, Shimazu-kun?! You looked perfectly fine when you walked off!*

I stared at the screen for a long moment, rubbing the back of my neck. 

Her analysis was painfully blunt, but it was the truth. 

To an Umamusume like her, someone whose entire life was built on relentless effort, my habits must have looked like pure heresy.

I didn't feel like typing out a defensive essay explaining the tactical concept of space manipulation. 

Instead, I opened my sticker tab, selected an irritated anime cat pouting with crossed arms, and hit send.

I expected to wait hours for a reply. It was early on a Sunday, and even Tracen trainees were entitled to rest on weekends.

Two seconds later, the status switched to Read.

The three dots of her typing indicator appeared immediately.

I sat upright in bed, genuinely startled by the speed of her response. 

*Yama: Why are you awake right now?*

Her reply came through in a flash.

*Top Road: Good morning, Shimazu-kun! I always wake up early for morning stretches! Did my messages wake you up?*

*Yama: No, I was already waking up. But you stayed up until nearly two in the morning.*

*Top Road: It's interesting! Once I started the second match, I couldn't stop watching!*

A sticker appeared beneath her message: a small bear bowing deeply in apology.

*Top Road: I'm sorry if my comments sounded rude. I was just very surprised by your play style.*

I rested my elbows on my knees, typing back with a calm smile.

*Yama: You weren't rude. You just pointed out what everyone on my team has been saying for three years.*

The typing bubble flickered for a few seconds before a longer text arrived.

*Top Road: But I noticed something else too.*

I paused, looking closely at the screen.

*Top Road: In both games, as soon as you went to the bench, your team stopped attacking completely. The forwards stopped making runs, and the midfield dropped back into their own box.*

*Top Road: When you were on the pitch, you didn't run fast, but your teammates always had an easy pass because you were standing in the right spot. Am I right?*

I stared at the words, feeling a quiet shock ripple through my chest.

Most casual spectators who watched our middle school games thought the exact opposite. They assumed our coach simply parked the bus in the final thirty minutes to protect a narrow lead. 

I let out a slow breath, shaking my head in quiet admiration.

*Yama: I officially apologize to your ball knowledge.*

She sent a sticker of a girl proudly dusting off her hands with a bright grin.

*Top Road: Apology accepted! Never underestimate my Wit!*

I laughed quietly into the empty room, feeling the morning chill fade into the background.

*Yama: My play style aside, what is your prediction for the Senshuken Final tomorrow?*

The championship match was scheduled for Monday afternoon at the National Stadium. Kokugakuin Kugayama, having survived our future seniors, was facing Maebashi Ikuei from Gunma Prefecture for the national crown.

*Top Road: Kugayama will take it! Their midfield control is too consistent. If number twenty-two finds space on the wing like he did yesterday, they will break through in the second half.*

*Top Road: Though unfortunately, I won't be able to watch it live.*

I tilted my head, curious.

*Yama: Training schedule?*

*Top Road: No. I am boarding the Shinkansen to Kyoto tomorrow afternoon.*

My fingers hovered over the glass. 

*Yama: Kyoto? Are you visiting home?*

*Top Road: My next race is on Tuesday. I am running in Kyoto!*

I blinked at the text. 

I slid out from under the duvet, stepped onto the cold floor, and sat down at my study desk. 

I opened the browser on my phone, navigating directly to the official URA database portal. 

I selected the upcoming entries for Kyoto Racecourse, scrolling down to the card for Tuesday, January tenth.

There it was.

Race Nine: The Fukujuso Tokubetsu. 

Two thousand meters on turf. 

I tapped the race card to expand the field. In the eighth stall, listed as the third favorite, sat her name: Narita Top Road.

I looked at the dates again, working through the calendar in my head.

She had won her maiden race at Hanshin on December twenty-seventh. 

Today was January eighth. 

That gave her barely two weeks between starts. While most Umamusume were still relaxing over the new year holidays, she was jumping straight into an open-class race at a different track, chasing every point of prize money she could gather.

I returned to LINE, where the chat was still open.

*Top Road: It is an important step for my spring campaign. My trainer says that if we want to qualify for the big races in April, we need a strong result here.*

I stared at the blinking cursor, thinking carefully about what to say.

An Umamusume who ran on everything she had didn't need hollow words about doing her best; I was sure she already gave her best to every single stride she took.

I remembered the tactical layout of Kyoto Racecourse from the races my mother had often recounted over dinner. 

I rested my thumbs over the keyboard, typing out a steady, measured response.

*Yama: I'm not an Umamusume myself, but I know Kyoto has a long homestretch and that steep climb over the Yodo hill on the third corner. I remember my Mom once said about Kyoto racecourse and Yodo hill, it's better to not let the overall field pace rush your stride on the descent.*

I paused, adding one more line from the heart.

*Yama: I wish you the best of luck without any injuries. Run your race.*

The message marked as read almost instantly.

A few seconds passed in complete stillness. 

Then, her response lit up the screen.

*Top Road: Thank you, Shimazu-kun!*

*Top Road: That means so much to me, truly! I will remember your advice when I reach the hill! I promise to give it everything I have!*

*Yama: I heard it from my Mom, though..*

She followed it with a sticker of an athlete running toward the horizon with a thumbs-up, surrounded by little yellow sparkles.

I smiled down at the screen, setting the phone flat on the wooden desk.

If someone had told me a month ago that there would be a girl I looked forward to texting, someone I genuinely wanted to cheer for and share my favorite sport with, I never would have believed them.  

Yet, sitting in the quiet morning light, talking with her felt fulfilling. 

"Life is weird sometimes," I murmured aloud, running a hand through my messy hair.

My gaze drifted toward the corner of my bedroom.

Sitting beside the closet door was a pair of black running shoes, their laces tied neatly, waiting on the floorboards.

A quiet flutter stirred behind my ribs, warm and steady.

Watching her push through that tight schedule had cleared away the lingering laziness from my mind. 

If a girl was traveling across the country on two weeks of rest, I had no business lounging in bed all morning complaining about the cold.

I stood up from the desk.

I pulled on a thermal undershirt, slipped into my windbreaker, and laced up my running shoes by the front door.

The morning air outside was sharp and freezing, but as I started down the quiet street at an easy jog, my legs felt remarkably light.