The virtual dive system, once taken over by the system, felt like a literal alternate reality.
Every breath drawn, every thrum of her heart—it all vibrated through Dream Weaver's body with absolute tangible presence.
Or, perhaps, was this actually a real world?
Much like her simulated debut race, it felt like a fragment of time snipped from reality, a loop where she could exist over and over again.
It was a strange twist of fate, wasn't it? Here she was, back at Tokyo Racecourse under a veil of rain, looking exactly as she had the very first time she stepped onto the turf.
But was this opportunity truly infinite like that simulation? The description for this special hidden mission didn't mention anything of the sort.
If this was a one-shot deal—if that projection calling herself "Dream Weaver" was telling the truth—then only the winner would be walking out of that virtual dive pod alive.
So… in the end, this wasn't that same rainy Tokyo Racecourse from her memories.
Time wouldn't simply rewind. Dream Weaver couldn't go back to the past.
Yet, not a shred of unease flickered in her heart.
Perhaps the Dream Weaver who first stood here would have been terrified, paralyzed by the weight of a single chance and her own perceived inadequacies. But that version of her was gone.
She had survived every grueling road placed before her, marching forward while carrying the hopes and prayers of everyone else.
Now, finally, it was her turn to do something for herself.
How could Dream Weaver ever allow this so-called "projection" to snap the path she had chosen for herself?
She would win this race, just as she had done on that day at Tokyo.
Anyone standing in her way of the top spot was destined to be left in her wake.
Boom!
The instant the gates flew open, two streaks of red light tore onto the track. The sheer power of their start shredded the turf, which had been turned into a muddy slush by the downpour.
If you had to categorize their tactics by typical Uma Musume standards, this reckless, full-throttle sprint from the very first second was, without question, a "Great Escape."
But a Great Escape is usually defined by the distance put between oneself and the pack behind.
When there are no other runners—when the only opponent is each other, and both are redlining from the jump—the term "Great Escape" feels inadequate.
Slaughter.
That was the only word to describe what was unfolding on the track.
In this world, stripped of the power to move mountains or turn flesh into steel, a fight to the death had to be decided in a heartbeat.
The two Uma Musume, gripping identical blades, were like wandering ronin of old—two strangers whose eyes met on a path, drawing the steel at their hips to let fate decide who lived and who died.
In a struggle like this, holding anything back was nothing short of suicide.
Dream Weaver was no stranger to the kill. Even though a race usually featured nearly twenty Uma Musume, the battle for the crown usually boiled down to a duel with a single rival.
She was intimately familiar with one-on-one combat.
But the venue this time was different.
Usually, a racetrack is a battlefield thick with the frustration and fighting spirit of dozens, where every breath feels scorched by the heat of the crowd.
But this place, with only the two of them and not a single third party in sight, was a colosseum.
The cheers from beyond the rails were nothing but background noise. Dream Weaver knew the truth: this world contained only her and her projection.
The entire universe was just a stage built by the system.
Beyond the kill, this world had no meaning.
Therefore, every thought that didn't involve cutting down her opponent had to be purged.
The Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe, the path she had chosen for herself—none of it mattered in a world that existed solely for the sake of the slaughter.
She stood here, on this turf, for one reason and one reason only.
Victory.
Pure, unadulterated victory.
The Divine Blade in her hand carved a soul-piercing arc of gold-and-red light through the air. Grass, rain, even the world itself seemed to warp under the sharpness of that strike.
Once she understood the purpose of this realm and how to seize her win, Dream Weaver poured her entire being into the fight, and the power of the Divine Blade surged violently.
Clang!
The phantom sparks of the sword meeting blade illuminated Dream Weaver's pitch-black eyes.
The shockwaves from their colliding "Zones" were almost physical, rewriting the very fabric of the world.
The turf was vaporized by the sword-light; in an instant, the earth beneath Dream Weaver's feet cracked and splintered, unable to withstand the pressure.
A Zone is a miracle forged from will, and here, in a virtual world where only consciousness resides, the power of the Zone became absolute reality.
But as Dream Weaver's power spiked, the projection's Divine Blade whipped up a tidal wave of its own amidst the rain.
Zing!
"Did I say your strength had faded?"
The Divine Blade in the projection's hand became more real than ever, as if a physical, gold-red edge truly existed in her grasp.
The moment she spoke, the power of her Zone transformed into a streak of light that slashed straight at Dream Weaver.
Even having figured out the trick, Dream Weaver felt the strain; a sharp, heavy pain shot through her arms as if she'd been struck by a sledgehammer.
"The power of will can indeed make a Zone stronger."
The opponent didn't give Dream Weaver a chance to recover. One sentence followed another; one strike was followed by a faster, more ferocious one.
"But a difference in physical stats means you can't fully unleash that power!"
That terrifyingly real Divine Blade pressed down against Dream Weaver, an unrivaled force grinding through her Zone and slamming into her shoulder.
"Do you remember what the Divine Blade was at the very beginning? Back then, she was known as a Cursed Blade. Even at that level, she would leave her wielder drenched in blood!"
"You know the reason better than anyone, don't you?"
"It's because the body cannot support the power of the Zone!"
The projection roared as she brought the blade down with a savage hack. The sudden burst of power forced Dream Weaver backward, her speed dropping as she buckled under the weight.
Having suppressed Dream Weaver, the projection's voice suddenly turned eerie and calm.
"In the eyes of the public, Dream Weaver is a nearly perfect Uma Musume, save for a slight lack of explosive power. Therefore, I—born from that image—have SSS-rank stats in everything except Power."
"What about you? How long has it been since you looked at your own status screen?"
"Since you became a Trainer and left the track, do you have any idea how much you've actually regressed?"
"Shut up."
Dream Weaver lifted her gaze. An aggressively violent, frenzied power began to churn within her.
Those eyes, black as the void, suddenly bled into a deep, predatory crimson—a color that made the skin crawl just by looking at it.
"Is the 'Dream Weaver' in their heads really an Uma Musume who wastes time talking during a fight?"
--+--
T/N: I have a Patreon! Webnovel will get 2 Chapters Every Day, and advanced chapters will be uploaded on Patreon.
It may not seem worth it now, but maybe in the future. Who knows!
[email protected]/AspenTL
If you guys wanna check it out.