The wind roared past Namawa's ears as her feet hammered against the track in rapid, relentless rhythm, each stride driving her faster as a wild grin spread across her face. Her neon-blue hair streamed behind her like a streak of light, untamed and vivid, matching the energy she carried as she surged ahead.
"Too slow, too slow, too slow!" she laughed, her voice bright and breathless with exhilaration as she pushed forward without restraint. "Try harder!"
"To be fair," Persian replied from her left, her tone calm despite the demanding pace, "you did false-start again."
"I did not!" Namawa shot back immediately, her voice rising in protest even as she maintained her speed. "I was just… pre-accelerating!"
"That's called cheating," Anonym added flatly from just behind them, almost detached, as her breathing remained perfectly even and her stride stayed accurate. "Mama said no false-starts.."
Namawa clicked her tongue in irritation, though the edge of a grin still lingered. "You tell Mama everything."
"I don't," Anonym replied without missing a beat. "You're just way too loud about it."
Persian hummed thoughtfully as she adjusted her pace, longer legs eating up the ground with deceptive ease. She was still a head taller than the others, and it showed in the way she ran, relaxed and controlled, like she could keep this speed for hours.
"Namawa," Persian added, "your left stride is getting sloppy."
"It is not!" Namawa snapped back, refusing to concede even an inch.
"You're compensating," Persian continued, unbothered by the denial, "because you started too fast."
Namawa made an indignant sound and immediately tried to accelerate again, digging deeper in an attempt to prove her wrong—only for her balance to falter slightly, her movement wobbling just enough to betray the flaw.
"—See?" Persian said gently.
Anonym took that moment to slip past them both, her black hair streaming behind her like a shadow pulled free from the ground.
Namawa's eyes widened in disbelief. "HEY!" She lunged forward, digging deep, but Anonym didn't look back.
On the sidelines, Black Caviar stood with her arms folded, eyes sharp, voice cutting cleanly through the rush of wind.
"Namawa, control your breathing. You're burning out!"
"Persian, don't coddle her—push your pace!"
"Anonym, good line. Hold it."
Then came three very different responses:
A breathless, stubborn, "I'm fine!"
A calm, "Understood."
And a short, clipped, "Yes."
A little farther back, Lunar stood beside Saiya at the edge of the track.
Saiya leaned forward, hands gripping the fence, eyes shining. "Namawa's gonna trip again," she whispered confidently.Saiya leaned forward against the fence, her hands gripping the metal tightly as her eyes shone with excitement. "Namawa's gonna trip again," she whispered with complete confidence, as if it were already guaranteed.
"She hasn't yet," Lunar replied softly.
"She will," Saiya insisted, nodding to herself with quiet certainty. "She always does it on the third curve."
Lunar kept on watching instead of answering, her attention drawn not just to their speed, but to the smaller details that revealed themselves the longer she looked.
Persian moved with practiced ease, her stride adjusting almost imperceptibly whenever the pace shifted, as though her body had long since learned how to adapt without conscious thought, her calm never once breaking no matter how the race evolved around her. Anonym, by contrast, was something entirely different—there was no excess in her movement, no wasted effort, each step placed with exact precision, her rhythm so clean and efficient that it almost felt unnatural in how natural it appeared. And then there was Namawa…
Namawa ran like she was constantly trying to outrun her own thoughts, her energy spilling forward faster than she could properly contain it, her form messy and unstable at times, yet filled with a kind of raw, undeniable sincerity that made it impossible to look away.
They were all amazing, each in their own way.
Black Caviar glanced back briefly, her sharp gaze softening when it landed on Lunar.
"Do you feel like running?" she asked, voice even, unpressured—an invitation, not a command.
The question caught Lunar off guard.
Her fingers curled lightly against the fence as she searched for an answer. For just a moment, the world tilted, and the solid track beneath her feet seemed to blur into something else entirely—black glass instead of dirt, silence instead of wind. An endless plane of obsidian stretched forward in her mind, empty and unresponsive, offering no rhythm to follow and no echo to answer her steps. And there was no familiar figure ahead of her, no steady presence to chase.
Her chest tightened, not painfully, but enough to make her pause. "…I—" Lunar began, then stopped. The word can't hover just out of reach.
Beside her, Saiya shifted. She looked up at Lunar, silver eyes bright with a careful kind of hope. "Can you run?" she asked softly. Then, after a beat, "Please?"
Lunar turned toward her, surprised.
"I've never seen you run before," Saiya continued, fingers tightening gently around Lunar's sleeve. "Not even once! And you've been here for almost two weeks!"
Black Caviar's gaze flicked briefly toward her youngest, a quiet, protective instinct passing through her expression, though she chose not to interrupt.
Saiya… couldn't run. Not like what you would expect from an uma musume.
The girl's heart had never been strong enough for it. Long distances were out of the question, and even short jogs had to be monitored closely, because too much strain would leave her dizzy for hours, sometimes longer. It was why she spent more of her time watching rather than participating, standing at the edge of the track instead of running across it.
But when it came to running, Saiya came alive in a way that surprised people.
Lunar had learned that quickly.
She remembered evenings curled on the couch, the television glowing softly as races played. Saiya would sit forward, eyes locked to the screen, following details Lunar didn't even think to notice— quietly calling out shifts in pace before they happened.
"She's saving it," Saiya had said once, pointing lightly at the screen. A moment later, "Now. Now she'll move." Then, with a small nod, "Outside lane. That's smarter."
And every single time, Lunar would blink in surprise when Saiya turned out to be right.
Saiya noticed things. She felt them, as if running existed somewhere deep within her, even if her body couldn't carry her across the track the way others could. As if her fragile heart still beat in perfect rhythm with the pounding of cleats and the rush of wind.
"I just want to see," Saiya said now, visibly shy. "Just once."
Lunar swallowed.
The image of that endless obsidian plane still lingered faintly at the edges of her thoughts, cold and silent—but so did the track beneath her feet, the dirt, the wind, the sound of life continuing all around her, and the presence of people who were here, real, and not fading away.
She lifted her gaze and looked at Black Caviar again.
The mare didn't push, didn't pressure her for an answer. She simply gave a slow, understanding nod. "If not today, that's fine," she said evenly. "But if you try… I'll be right here."
Lunar drew in a careful breath, holding it for just a moment before letting it out again. "…Just a little," she said quietly.
Saiya's face lit up instantly, her eyes brightening with unfiltered joy. "Really?"
Lunar nodded, and Saiya didn't wait.
She stepped in and wrapped her arms around Lunar's middle, careful but wholehearted, her cheek pressing lightly against Lunar's own. The hug wasn't tight enough to hurt, but it was firm with feelings—pure relief and gratitude bundled into one warm gesture.
"Thank you," Saiya murmured, voice small but bright. "Really."
Lunar stiffened for half a second out of instinct—then slowly relaxed, one hand lifting to rest awkwardly against Saiya's back. She didn't quite know how to return the embrace, but she is willing to learn if it makes the girl happier.
Behind them, Black Caviar watched the exchange with a softened expression. She said nothing, only gave a small nod of approval, as if committing the moment to memory before turning her attention back to the track. "Eyes forward," she called calmly.
The race was reaching its final stretch.
Persian and Anonym were neck and neck now, strides striking the ground in explosive and final rhythms. Persian's stride was still long and wide, her breathing calm, expression unreadable even under pressure.
"You're overextending," Persian said coolly between breaths, her eyes never leaving the track ahead.
"I know," Anonym replied just as evenly. "That's why I'm ending it."
Anonym's' form changed—only slightly, barely noticeable to anyone not watching closely. Her stride shortened, her weight adjusted towards the front, and then she surged forward with sudden precision.
Persian reacted at once, pushing to match the change, but it was a fraction too late. Anonym slipped ahead along the inside line as she drove through the final stretch with a clean, decisive burst.
Black Caviar's voice flew through the air. "Finish!"
Anonym crossed the finish line first.
Persian followed a step later, easing out of her stride as she exhaled and straightened, her posture returning to its usual composed state before she cast a brief sideways glance toward the winner, a faint, resigned huff escaping her. "Figures."
Anonym came to a controlled stop, turning back with the smallest lift of her chin—not a smile, but unmistakable satisfaction.
Anonym came to a controlled stop a few meters ahead, turning back with the smallest lift of her chin, her expression as restrained as ever, yet carrying a quiet, unmistakable note of satisfaction.
From the sidelines, Saiya had been watching everything with rapt attention, her fingers still lightly hooked into Lunar's sleeve as if anchoring herself to the moment.
"…Did you see that?" she whispered, her eyes shining with excitement. "The timing… she tricked big sis Persian and committed fully when she wasn't expecting it."
Lunar nodded again, gaze still on the track. Namawa was still running—but only just.
Her earlier burst of energy had burned through her reserves far too quickly, and now it showed. Her neon-blue hair clung messily to her face, breaths coming in big, uneven pants as her stride shortened and lost its earlier explosiveness, yet she kept going anyway, teeth clenched in stubborn refusal to give in.
"Wait—wait for me—!" Namawa protested between gasps, her voice breaking as she wobbled slightly before slowing into a shaky jog. "You two are—are so unfair…!"
Persian glanced back at her, already easing herself as she shook her head with a tired, knowing smirk. "You went out too fast again."
"Worth it," Namawa wheezed, bracing her hands against her knees as she finally came to a stop, still trying to catch her breath. "I was winning for, like… five seconds."
Anonym, already back to her natural state and recovered, turned fully toward her. "Three," she corrected flatly.
Namawa looked at her as if personally betrayed. "Why are you like this?"
Black Caviar let the moment breathe, then stepped forward, her presence drawing them in without her needing to raise her voice.
"That was a good run," she said, pride clear in her voice. Her gaze settled first on Anonym. "Excellent finish. You read the race well and trusted your timing."
Anonym stood slightly upwards at the praise. "Thank you, Mama."
Her eyes shifted next to Persian. "Your control is improving. You didn't panic when you were challenged. A little too calm, but still noteworthy."
Persian inclined her head. "I'll take that."
Finally, Black Caviar looked to Namawa, who was still catching her breath. "And you," she added gently, "everyone appreciates enthusiasm… but next time, pace it properly."
Namawa grinned weakly. "Next time I'll win."
Lunar and Saiya watched from the side as Black Caviar's attention briefly flicked back toward them again—inviting, silently saying you're part of this too.
"Come," she said. Saiya didn't need to be told twice. Her fingers tightened gently around Lunar's sleeve as she gave a small, eager tug, and together they stepped forward, crossing the short stretch of track while the warmth of the sun-soaked ground still lingered beneath their feet, rising faintly with each step they took.
When they reached her, Black Caviar placed a hand lightly on Lunar's shoulder, the gesture brief but meaningful, before turning her attention back to the others. "We'll take a short break," she said, her tone calm yet carrying quiet authority, and then, after a slight pause, she added, "For now, Lunar will run."
The words were soft, but they landed.
Namawa's head snapped up instantly, all traces of exhaustion vanishing as if they had never been there to begin with, her neon-blue hair bouncing as her eyes lit up with excitement. "She will?!" she burst out, practically vibrating where she stood. "Then I'll run with her! Come on, it'll be fun—"
"This isn't a race," Black Caviar cut in, her voice still even, but firm enough to halt Namawa mid-step. "And it isn't about who's faster. Lunar will run alone, and you'll watch in support of her.."
Namawa opened her mouth, ready to protest, but the words died before they could fully form when she caught the look in Black Caviar's eyes—not harsh, not scolding, but something far more difficult to push against. After a brief pause, she hummed in disappointment and folded her arms with a huff. "Fine," she muttered, though the faint grin tugging at her lips betrayed her excitement. "But I'm cheering really loudly."
Persian let out a soft hum, her gaze drifting toward Lunar with a quiet understanding that needed no explanation. "That makes sense," she said calmly. "Lunar shouldn't be pressured, it's her first time after all.."
Anonym, as usual, said nothing, but her sharp blue eyes remained fixed on Lunar, studying her with a focus that felt almost piercing. For just a brief moment, something slipped through that otherwise controlled exterior—her long black tail flicked once behind her, quick and subtle, as if betraying a flicker of anticipation she hadn't meant to reveal.
Beside Lunar, Saiya's small hand found hers again, fingers warm and steady as they curled around her gently. "I'll watch really closely," she said, her voice soft but filled with genuine excitement. "Show me how you really run!."
Lunar nodded, though there was a slight stiffness to the movement now, her heartbeat growing louder in her ears as the idea fully settled into reality. She's gonna run now. It wasn't just a thought, not just a memory—but something she was about to do again.
The last time she had run… her mother had been there.
The thought surfaced quietly, but it carried a weight that pressed gently against her chest. Every memory Lunar held of running was tied to her mother in some way—the way silver hair would mesh with the sunlight just ahead of her, the pleasing rhythm of footsteps that never felt too far to reach, the soft voice that guided her without ever needing to be raised. Running had never been about winning to her, It had always been about staying together.
Even when they raced, her mother had always looked back, always slowed just enough for her, always waiting.
Lunar's fingers curled slowly at her side as she stared ahead, the track stretching out before her in a way that felt scary and unfamiliar despite how many times she had stood on one before. This time, there would be no one ahead of her to follow, no figures setting the rhythm just within reach, no gentle presence guiding her pace without words. For the first time, she was meant to cross it on her own.
The realization settled into her chest, stirring something quiet and difficult to name. It wasn't fear, not quite, and it wasn't grief either, but something in between—a soft uncertainty, like stepping forward without knowing whether the ground would still answer her steps the way it once had.
Her thoughts drifted, to distant mornings in open fields, where the air had been warmer and laughter came easily. She could almost hear it again—her mother's soft voice, light and reassuring, even when Lunar stumbled and fell. She had never scolded, never rushed her. Instead, she would smile and say it was fine, that the ground would come to know her just as she would come to know it.
You don't have to rush… the earth will wait for you.
Lunar swallowed, her gaze never leaving the track. Then, gently, another voice reached her—not from memory this time, but from just behind her.
"There's no rush," Black Caviar said, her tone calm and unintrusive, as though she understood more than she let on. "Start when you're ready."
Lunar nodded once, the motion small but certain, and stepped forward. Then another step followed, and another, each one measured as the grass shifted softly beneath her shoes, grounding her with every touch. The feeling of the track seeped upward, steady and real, reminding her that this moment existed here and now—not in the past.
She drew in a slow breath, then let it out.
Her mother wasn't here—but the lessons were. The sounds of them, the quiet beliefs that had been woven into her over time, still remained.
Easy now, don't force your strides.
Feel the ground before you ask it to carry you.
And then, softer still, the words that had always stayed with her the longest—
You don't run to chase anything, little moon… you run for yourself.
Lunar came to a stop at the mark, her feet settling firmly beneath her as she stood there in stillness, the unease in her chest slowly giving way to something lighter, something she could hold without it weighing her down. The emptiness ahead no longer felt quite as daunting, not when it was met with the quiet warmth that now filled her instead.
This time, when she ran… she would do it alone.