Author's Note: I am not an editor or a professional writer. I will write this and edit it the best I can. I also do not own Uma Musume, which is owned by Cygames. Watch the animes and read the mangas, for they are pretty good. Finally, please enjoy.
Black Diamond POV
Rock and roll is one of my two passions now — the other is sprinting. There's nothing like the adrenaline of tearing down a track at full speed… except maybe shredding an electric guitar so loud it rattles your bones.
I grew up in an athletics family. Mom ran marathons, Dad competed in track and field, and my siblings were scattered across every sport imaginable. Following their path felt natural. I inherited my pop's speed and my mom's stamina, and with parents who believed nothing was worse than wasting talent through stupidity, my academics were kept just as sharp as my training.
Because of that strict upbringing, I learned far more than just track. I trained in martial arts, ball sports, swimming, winter sports, even gymnastics. I dabbled in freerunning and extreme sports too. But sprinting was always my main event.
During one gym session, I met a guy who stood out immediately — long hair, tattoos, piercings, always dressed like he walked out of a music video. He trained with music blasting, completely in his own world. I was drawn to him instantly, and that's when I realized I was bisexual.
We started talking, then dating. He was two years older, openly gay, and he pulled me into the music scene. That world hit me like a lightning bolt. I fell in love with rock, with performing, with the raw energy of it all. I learned instruments, production, songwriting — everything I could.
My parents didn't care that I was bi. What they cared about was sports. To them, music was a distraction, a waste of time pulling me away from running. That tension never really went away.
After two years, we broke up — his band took off, I went deeper into college and competition. But he left me with something permanent: my love for rock and the skills to create it.
As my track career grew, music faded into the background. Championships, medals, recognition — I had success, but something always felt missing.
Then, in my final year of college, I met her — a dance major with a deep love for music. We clicked fast. I started learning dance just to spend time with her, but being around her reignited the spark I'd buried.
Eventually we argued — mostly because I couldn't stand the endless loop of generic pop she played. During one fight she snapped,
"If you think you can do better than the top artists, then prove it."
So I did.
Out of pure spite, I picked up my old guitar and wrote a song. I released it online with zero expectations.
It exploded.
Millions of views. Money pouring in. My phone wouldn't stop ringing. Overnight, I had a second career.
And just as quickly, everything else collapsed.
My parents cut me off.
My girlfriend left.
The media questioned my dedication to running.
I spiraled hard.
Then my roommate stepped in — the voice of reason when I needed it most. He told me to control what I could, to use the opportunity instead of drowning in it. Soon my friends dragged me out of the dorm — literally — and took me hiking.
I hated every second of that stupid mountain trip… and it worked.
I processed everything. Found my footing again.
With their help, I built a schedule balancing training, racing, production, school, and releases. I even paid them for helping keep me on track — best investment I ever made.
I went on to win championships while building a music career that crossed audiences and industries. Eventually I retired from sprinting as a hall-of-fame athlete and focused fully on production. I made music across languages and genres, topping charts around the world.
My life was full. Successful. Complete.
Then I woke up in the world of Uma Musume.
⸻
Music here felt… stagnant. Outside of idol culture, it hadn't evolved the way it could have. Key figures never existed, or they'd been absorbed into idol production pipelines. It drove me crazy.
When I told the team, they didn't hesitate — they wanted us to be performers as well as athletes. That support lit a fire in me. I decided I'd turn Mirror Team into superstars, writing and producing songs tailored to each of them.
Their tastes were all over the map:
• ImP — Punk rock
• Spice — Hip hop
• Norn — R&B
• Lily — Alternative rock
• GW — Eastern classical
• Steel — Heavy metal
• Jo — Electronic
• Gray — K-pop
• Mama — Blues
• KiWi — Dubstep
• Rain — Funk
• Rose — Jazz
• Sweets — Country
• Vic — Western classical
And me? Rock, obviously.
I tested everyone — vocals, dance, instruments, rap.
Some surprises:
Most former guys could still hit deep notes.
GW, Rose, Steel, Rain, Norn, Sweets, Gray, and Jo were incredible dancers.
KiWi, ImP, Jo, Rose, Steel, Mama, Spice, and I played instruments.
Spice, Jo, and Gray could rap.
Vic and Lily? Incredible athletes… terrible performers at first. But their pride pushed them to improve fast with lessons and relentless practice.
Then we discovered something wild — our phones still held music from our past lives, but only we could hear it. So I started transcribing everything note by note while writing originals.
I compose most tracks, with Gray helping write.
GW and Norn handle choreography.
Norn designs.
Mama does cinematography.
KiWi animates.
Sweets directs.
Lily hosts.
Vic manages operations, and Rain oversees nutrition.
We're not just a team — we're a full creative studio disguised as athletes.
And with the freedom written into our contracts, we're about to blow the roof off this world.