Black Caviar stood at the edge of the track, arms loosely folded, eyes never leaving the two figures cutting steady lines through the dirt.
Namawa's stride had changed.
It wasn't dramatic—no sudden burst of speed, no flashy form—but Black Caviar saw it immediately. Her breathing was steadier, less frantic. The reckless surges that used to burn her out halfway through a lap were still there, but they were… placed now.
"So you learned how to run away properly," Black Caviar thought, the corner of her mouth lifting almost imperceptibly. "Good. If you insist on escaping, at least make it sustainable."
Ahead of Namawa ran Invincible Caviar.
Youngest of the Black Caviar's girls who had already maturized, and somehow the most troublesome. Invincible's pace was smooth, controlled, her back straight, her steps light but unyielding. She ran like a leader without ever announcing herself as one—setting the tempo, daring others to keep up rather than ordering them to.
Three wins out of four races. A record that spoke for itself.
Black Caviar's gaze sharpened slightly. And still holding back, she noted. Good. Don't waste it on training.
On the track, Namawa grit her teeth and pushed, closing the gap just a little. "Hey—Big Sis Invi!" she puffed, voice breathless but bright. "You always run like you're not even trying! Are you going easy on me?!"
Invincible glanced back over her shoulder, a small smile flickering across her face without breaking stride. "If I look like I'm trying," she replied evenly, "you'll panic and sprint too early."
"That's not true!" Namawa protested, immediately surging forward anyway.
Invincible chuckled, just once. "You just did."
Namawa groaned. "You're doing that on purpose!"
"Of course," Invincible said. "You're best when you're chasing. I'm just giving you a reason."
Namawa huffed, but there was a grin in her voice now. "One day I'm gonna overtake you and not slow down."
"I hope so," Invincible answered, tone warm. "That means I trained you right."
Black Caviar watched the exchange in silence, satisfaction settling deep in her chest.
Good, she thought. They're learning from each other.
Persian appeared at Black Caviar's side without a word, as she often did, holding out a glass already beaded with condensation. Pale amber iced tea caught the sunlight.
Black Caviar accepted it with a quiet nod. As Persian withdrew her hand, Black Caviar reached out briefly, resting her palm atop Persian's head in a rare, gentle pat. Persian stiffened for half a second—then relaxed, ears flicking once in quiet acceptance.
"Thank you," Black Caviar said, before taking a measured sip. The coolness barely had time to settle before something tugged lightly at her other side.
Black Caviar looked down.
Anonym stood there, half-hidden by her oversized hoodie as usual, fingers pinched delicately into the edge of Black Caviar's sleeve. She didn't look up right away.
"…Where are Lunar and Saiya?" Anonym asked.
Black Caviar paused.
Her gaze lifted instinctively, sweeping the track, the surrounding grounds, the paths that wound back toward the house. She saw Namawa still running, Invincible setting the pace ahead of her. Persian beside her. Anonym at her other side.
But not them.
"I don't know," Black Caviar answered honestly.
Anonym's grip tightened just a fraction.
Black Caviar exhaled through her nose, thoughtful rather than alarmed. Together again, she noted. Of course they are.
The image of the two of them—one quiet and distant, the other small and earnest, somehow always orbiting each other—sparked something old in her chest.
For just a moment, the present slipped.
—
She remembered being young.
Too young to understand why others avoided her, old enough to notice that they did.
She had been taller than the rest, stronger, faster even before she understood what training truly meant. Her stride was heavy with confidence, her presence overwhelming without her meaning it to be. Other foals gave her space. Some out of respect. Most out of fear.
Her face hadn't helped—sharp lines even then, neon blue eyes too intense, expressions too severe for someone her age. She hadn't known how to soften herself, and no one had asked her to try.
So she trained alone.
She remembered that day clearly: the shade of a broad tree at the edge of the grounds, dust still clinging to her legs, her breath steady from laps she'd run without counting. She'd been stretching, focused, content in her solitude.
Then—
"Hey there."
The voice had been light. Gentle. Completely unafraid.
Black Caviar had turned, already frowning, prepared to send whoever it was away with a look alone.
Instead, she'd seen her.
Small—so much smaller than Black Caviar that the top of her head barely reached Black Caviar's shoulder. Soft silver hair cut neatly into a bob that swayed when she moved, catching the light like moonlit water. Her eyes were deep and dark, warm rather than sharp, looking up with open curiosity instead of caution.
And there—tucked against her right ear—was a single ornament: a delicate golden star that glimmered faintly, as if it belonged there naturally.
She had looked almost unreal. Like something gentle wandering into a place it had no reason to fear.
Black Caviar remembered staring, momentarily wrong-footed.
Most foals hesitated before approaching her.
Guiar hadn't.
She had smiled—small, sincere—and taken another step closer, close enough that Black Caviar could hear the quiet rhythm of her breathing.
"I was watching you run," Guiar had said then, voice soft but certain. "You look lonely doing it all by yourself."
—-
Black Caviar blinked, the present returning to her in layers: the track, the sun, the weight of the glass in her hand.
Anonym was still there, still holding her sleeve.
"…They'll come back soon," Black Caviar said at last, her tone calm and assured. "Why don't you go run with Invi and Namawa first?"
Anonym's shoulders slumped almost immediately.
She turned her face away with a faint huff, lips pressing into a small pout that looked oddly out of place on her usually cool, distant expression. The gesture was subtle—easy to miss—but unmistakably childish once seen.
"…Saiya's always with her," Anonym muttered. "Everywhere. All the time."
Black Caviar glanced down, surprised enough to pause.
"And the only time I get to be with Lunar alone," Anonym continued, voice low and flat, "is when I sneak into her room at night." She hesitated, then added, as if daring Black Caviar to comment, "…That's why I do it. Every day."
For a brief moment, Black Caviar only looked at her. Then a quiet laugh slipped out—soft, unguarded, more breath than sound.
Anonym stiffened at once, fluffy black ears flicking back in mild offense. "That's not funny."
"I know," Black Caviar said, still smiling as she set her drink aside. She crouched just enough to rest a broad hand atop Anonym's head, rubbing gently, unhurriedly, the way she used to when her daughters were small enough to fit against her knee.
"You're allowed to want someone," Black Caviar said. "Even if you don't like saying it."
Anonym froze under the touch, clearly unsure whether to pull away or lean into it. After a moment, she did neither—just stood there, pout fading into something quieter.
Black Caviar straightened again, her gaze drifting instinctively toward the grounds beyond the track.
Lunar, she thought.
There was something about that girl—nothing loud, nothing deliberate. She didn't push herself into the center of things, didn't demand attention. And yet people gravitated toward her all the same, drawn by a pull that felt natural rather than forceful..
To melt the ice queen that was her daughter—Black Caviar found that quietly impressive.
"…Saiya too," she thought, her expression softening just a little more.
It made sense. More sense than she liked to admit.
Lunar carried her mother's likeness so clearly it sometimes caught Black Caviar off guard—the pale grey hair, the gentler lines of her face, the quiet beauty that didn't need to announce itself. At times, it felt like looking at a smaller version of Guiar, brought forward in time.
The thought tugged at something warm in her chest. Then her jaw tightened, just slightly.
The eyes, she thought. Lunar hadn't inherited those from Guiar. They belonged to someone else.
The bitterness surfaced briefly—sharp, unwelcome—before Black Caviar pushed it down, smoothing her expression as she turned her attention back to the present.
"Go on," she said to Anonym, nudging her gently toward the track. "I'm sure they'll come around by the time you're done."
Anonym hesitated… then nodded once and turned away, long strands of dark hair fluttering softly as she headed toward Invincible and Namawa—leaving Black Caviar standing beneath the open sky, thoughts lingering where they did not belong.
Black Caviar's thoughts drifted again, unbidden, further back.
Guiar had always drawn attention.
Not the loud, demanding kind—never that—but the sort that gently stilled a space. Conversations softened or trailed off when she passed. Eyes followed her without quite realizing why. Beauty was part of it, undeniably so— soft silver hair that caught the light, features shaped with quiet grace, dark eyes that held a calm, steady warmth. But it went beyond appearance.
There was an ease to her presence. A way of looking at someone that made them feel noticed, as if she had time for them and always would.
Then stallions.
Then mares, too.
…Black Caviar included.
She remembered how she had naturally taken position at Guiar's side wherever they went—half a step ahead, half a step closer. A wall without being asked. A presence that said she's not alone before anyone could even think otherwise.
People had assumed things.
Whispers followed them. Glances, knowing smiles. The kind that suggested closeness deeper than partnership. More than once, someone had congratulated them with a tone that implied understanding.
Black Caviar had never corrected them.
Worse—she had let herself believe it, just a little. Let herself stand there, broad-shouldered and certain, pretending the role fit because she wanted it to.
Her grip tightened faintly around the iced tea glass as another memory surfaced.
The Diamond Jubilee Stakes.
The air had been electric that day. The kind of tension that sharpened every breath. She remembered how she and Guiar had warmed up together as they always did—side by side, strides matching without effort, no words needed. Guiar's presence had been grounding. A quiet promise that whatever happened on that track, they would meet again at the end of it.
And then there was Moonlight Cloud.
That arrogant, self-centered, foolish French bastard.
Black Caviar's jaw tightened at the thought.
Moonlight Cloud had been powerful—undeniably so. Fast, sharp, brilliant in her own infuriating way. But she had also been loud about it. About everything. Including Guiar.
Love at first sight, she had declared, bold as brass, as if such a thing could be claimed just by saying it aloud. As if Guiar were something to be conquered by charm and confidence alone.
Black Caviar had been furious.
Not because Moonlight Cloud was wrong about Guiar's brilliance—but because she had said it like it belonged to her.
At least Black Caviar had won.
Barely.
A neck. That was all that separated victory from loss that day. She remembered the burn in her legs, the scream of effort, the way Moonlight Cloud had pushed her to the absolute edge. As much as she despised the girl, she had never underestimated her again after that.
And she hadn't forgotten something else, either.
Moonlight Cloud hadn't been the only one.
There had been others. Powerful umas from her era—rivals, champions, legends in their own right—who had seen Guiar run and been caught all the same. Not just by her beauty, but by what she carried when she moved.
That something.
The thing that sharpened the air when she ran. The way the world seemed to align around her stride, not bending, not yielding—responding.
[Zone].
Black Caviar exhaled slowly, eyes lifting toward the track again.
She had recognized it back then, even if she hadn't had the words yet. Had seen it awaken in others, flare briefly, dangerously. But in Guiar, it had been calm. Whole. As if it had always belonged to her.
She had recognized it back then, even if she hadn't had the words yet.
[Zone] wasn't something the average uma musume simply can find. It wasn't a technique, or a trick of training. It was something that answered only when an uma musume became certain—when she understood her path, accepted her goal, and chose it without hesitation. Not just wanting to win, but knowing why she ran, and what she was willing to give for it.
Even then, it could not be called forth at will.
[Zone] emerged only in moments of emotional explosion or absolute resolve—high-stakes races where there was no holding back left, where an uma musume poured her entire being into a single stretch of track. Body, mind, instinct, desire—everything burned at once to manifest it.
And it always came with a price.
The toll on the body was severe. Muscles torn down to their limit. Breath scorched raw. Hearts pushed dangerously close to failure. That was why so few ever touched it, and fewer still learned how to survive it.
Most couldn't awaken it until well after maturization—if they ever did at all.
Even Black Caviar herself had only unlocked her [Zone] during her third race. A full year after maturization. Early enough that it had drawn attention. Early enough to be called extraordinary.
But Guiar—
Guiar had always had it.
____
"I was watching you run," Guiar had said then, voice soft but certain, as if stating something obvious. "You look lonely doing it all by yourself."
Black Caviar hadn't known how to respond to that. She remembered turning away, scoffing, telling herself it was nonsense. She didn't need anyone. She didn't want anyone.
And yet, when the informal race was suggested not long after—half a dare, half an excuse—she found herself agreeing before she'd fully thought it through.
They lined up side by side.
Black Caviar remembered noticing how small Guiar looked next to her. Slighter. Lighter. Silver hair tied back neatly, golden star ornaments at her ear catching the sun. She didn't look intimidating. She didn't look like someone meant to dominate a track.
Then the signal came. And Guiar ran.
Not with an explosive start. Not with brute force or aggression. She simply moved—and the world seemed to respond as if it had been waiting for her to do so.
Her [Zone] bloomed the instant her first step struck the ground.
It wasn't something that flared outward or demanded attention. It unfolded, smooth and seamless, like a veil of silver light drawn gently into motion. The air around her shimmered, not distorted, but clarified, as though everything unnecessary had been stripped away. Her path became unmistakable—clean, undeniable—each step leaving behind faint, luminous traces that lingered just long enough to be seen before dissolving.
It was beautiful. Eye-catching in a way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.
The light didn't roar or blaze. It flowed. A steady, radiant presence that wrapped around Guiar's form from the moment she began to run, following her stride perfectly, never lagging behind, never surging ahead. It didn't feel like power being forced outward—it felt like harmony made visible.
As if running itself had chosen her.
Black Caviar remembered the way the surrounding crowd fell silent, caught between awe and disbelief. She remembered her own breath hitching as she chased that silver figure, heart pounding harder than it ever had before.
As she ran, Guiar didn't look strained. She didn't grimace. Didn't grit her teeth or push through pain.
She smiled. Not arrogantly. Not triumphantly. Just… peacefully. As though this—this pure, effortless motion—was where she belonged most.
When Guiar finally slowed, the silver light faded naturally, dissolving into the air as she came to a stop. No backlash. No stagger. No sign of exhaustion. She turned back toward them, hair catching the light, eyes calm and bright, as if she'd done nothing more taxing than take a walk.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Black Caviar remembered standing there, chest heaving, staring at her with something dangerously close to reverence.
That had been the moment.
The moment fascination became something deeper. The moment Black Caviar understood that Guiar's [Zone] was different. Not sharpened by conflict. Not born of desperation or defiance.
It was the pure, untainted definition of running itself. And Black Caviar had been chasing that light ever since.
Black Caviar let the memory fade, the weight of it easing as the present came back into focus.
Her thoughts returned, inevitably, to Lunar. Too soon, she thought. Not ready yet. Still… the potential was there.
"I wonder," she mused quietly, watching the track, "what that girl's [Zone] would look like."