Urara was struggling, but she was digging in, slowly finding her speed. But as she accelerated, the pack moved with her. The announcer's voice rose to a fever pitch.
"They're coming off the bend! Shabalanke and Heart Caesar are still tied! But here comes Mini Daisy! Can she seize the lead?! What about the chasers?!"
Fukushima's final straight is less than 300 meters—a flat, desperate dash to the finish. The "spiral curve" of the track is designed so the turn tightens at the exit, naturally flinging the runners outward. For a marked closer like Urara, this was her only opening. The pack would scatter, giving her a lane.
My only fear was how much the mental toll of being marked had drained her. Urara is tough, but fighting for every inch of air is exhausting.
"The chasers are surging! Here comes Haru Urara! Waku Waku Ribbon and Compromise are finding their gears! The gap to the front is four lengths—no, three!"
As they hit the final straight, Urara swung wide. She hadn't slowed down for the turn, and the momentum carried her toward the outer rail. She had the stamina to finish, but the extra distance she had to cover was a gamble.
I squeezed my fists so hard my knuckles turned white, my eyes locked on the pink blur of her hair.
"Shabalanke is still in front! Heart Caesar is fading! Mini Daisy takes second and hunts for the lead! Haru Urara is coming from the back! She's gaining—Wait! Waku Waku Ribbon! Waku Waku Ribbon explodes forward! Compromise follows, both of them passing Urara!"
In the blink of an eye, the girls were trading places in a chaotic blur. But as the finish line loomed, my heart sank. I could see the geometry of the race shifting.
Urara was hitting her limit. The unfamiliar pressure of the scuffle had sapped her. She was giving it everything, but her usual bright, cheerful expression was gone, replaced by a mask of pained exertion.
"Push through, Urara! Just a little more! GO, URARA! GOOOO!"
I forgot about being "professional." I forgot about not distracting her. I just screamed, hoping my voice could give her even an ounce of the strength she was losing.
"—!"
Her feet, which had begun to falter, slammed into the dirt with renewed violence. She lunged forward, desperately trying to reclaim her momentum.
"Haru Urara finds a second wind! But there's less than a hundred meters to go! Mini Daisy is in the lead! Shabalanke tries to fight back, but she's spent! Waku Waku Ribbon and Compromise are charging!"
Running wide meant no one was in her way, but it also meant she had more ground to cover.
"GO! URARA, GO!!"
"Can Mini Daisy hold on?! They're level for second place! Can they catch her?! Mini Daisy at the wire—GOAL! It's a photo finish for third between Shabalanke, Compromise, and Haru Urara!"
The announcer's shout died away as the race ended. I reflexively looked at the scoreboard. It stayed dark for an agonizing moment as the remaining girls crossed the line. Then, the numbers flickered to life.
1st: No. 4, Mini Daisy
2nd: No. 3, Waku Waku Ribbon
3rd: No. 8, Compromise
4th: No. 5, Shabalanke
And 5th… No. 6, Haru Urara.
I slammed my fist into the metal railing of the stands. A dull thud echoed, and the sting of scraped skin radiated up my arm, but the pain was nothing compared to the white-hot anger I felt toward myself.
Just like her debut, she could have won. If I had prepared her for the marking, that final burst of speed would have carried her to the front.
Her debut was bad luck. Today was my fault. Urara gave 100% of herself; I failed to give her 100% of the support she needed. That was why we lost.