The morning air was cool as Black Caviar crossed the parking lot toward the hospital entrance.
She was dressed in black—tailored coat, fitted gloves, posture sharp enough to look measured rather than natural. At one hundred seventy-eight centimeters, she easily towered over the figures beside her, long stride instinctively restrained so she wouldn't outpace them.
Her right hand held Namawa's. Namawa, in turn, held Persian's, the two of them forming a neat little chain. Namawa walked with exaggerated seriousness, chin lifted as if this were an important mission. On Black Caviar's left was Lunar, fingers interlaced with Anonym's, the two moving in quiet sync.
Five figures in a line.
Four bodyguards flanked them, alert and imposing, scanning the lot with professional precision—an intimidating escort for what was, at its center, essentially a group of children being walked to seemingly an appointment?
The contrast did not go unnoticed. Heads turned as they crossed the open stretch.
"Is that… Black Caviar?" someone murmured near the curb.
"No way."
"Here?"
"Are those her kids? That's… kind of adorable."
Another voice followed, quieter, admiring. "That's the Wonder From the Down Under…"
From a distance, it was almost surreal. The Uma Musume whose name dominated Australia's history books, whose races were still spoken of with awe and fear, walked across the lot holding small hands, slowing her pace to match shorter strides, adjusting her steps so no one had to hurry. There was something unexpectedly gentle about it—almost cute, in a way no one would dare say too loudly.
Phones stayed lowered. No one approached. The bodyguards maintained distance.
Black Caviar didn't acknowledge the stares. Her attention stayed forward, fixed on the glass doors ahead. When Lunar's grip tightened just slightly, she felt it immediately and squeezed back, reassurance passed without a glance.
Namawa looked up at her and straightened, clearly trying to walk "properly." Persian stayed close, steps careful and deliberate. Anonym moved with her usual stillness, expression unreadable.
Together, they reached the entrance.
The automatic doors slid open, and the group disappeared into the hospital's quiet interior, leaving behind only murmurs.
Inside, the halls were hushed, footsteps softened by polished floors and distant beeps. Lunar followed the others toward the ward, but her attention had already begun slipping inward.
She felt it before she saw anything. A tightness in her chest. A drag on her legs, as if the air itself had grown heavier. By the time they reached the room, Lunar had slowed without realizing it.
The door slid open. Her eyes went straight to the bed.
Saiya lay beneath crisp white sheets, still in a way that made Lunar's breath catch. Her chest rose and fell in a steady, shallow rhythm, a quiet reassurance underscored by the soft hum of monitors at her side. Tubes and wires framed her small form, making her look even smaller than Lunar remembered.
For a moment, Lunar couldn't move.
Then she registered the others in the room.
Invincible Caviar stood beside the bed, posture relaxed but alert, one hand resting lightly on the rail. She was speaking in low tones with an older woman opposite her—tall and composed, with the same deep red hair as Invincible and Namawa, though touched with age. Her eyes were striking, a clear ruby red.
Before Lunar could take another step— "Mommy!" Namawa broke free and dashed into the room.
Both women were startled. The red-haired woman turned just in time to catch Namawa as she barreled forward, arms wrapping around her middle.
"Namawa," she said reflexively, voice firm. "This is a hospital—"
The scolding didn't last. She sighed and bent down, pulling Namawa into a close embrace, one hand smoothing her hair. "You can't shout like that," she added more gently, relief softening her tone despite the words.
Namawa hugged her back without hesitation. "I missed you."
Black Caviar stepped in then, her presence grounding the room. "Vinnie," she greeted calmly. "I didn't know you were here. Didn't you have business in Ireland?"
The older woman looked up, a small smile forming as she released Namawa. "I arrived earlier this morning," she replied. "I wanted to check on my daughters—Saiya included."
Her gaze shifted briefly to the bed, expression thoughtful.
Lunar barely registered the rest of the conversation as her feet carried her forward on their own, slow and careful, as if any sudden movement might disturb the fragile stillness of the room. Each step felt heavier than the last until she reached the side of the bed.
Saiya was right there.
Close enough to touch. Close enough that Lunar could see the faint color in her cheeks, the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her lashes rested unmoving against her skin, expression peaceful in a way that felt unfair after everything that had happened.
Lunar's throat tightened. For a brief, unwelcome moment, a thought slipped into her mind.
…Is this how she saw me?
The image hit her all at once—Saiya standing where she stood now, scared, helpless, waiting and not knowing if she would wake up. Lunar's breath caught. Her hands curled slowly at her sides as she forced herself to inhale, then exhale.
One by one, the others joined her.
Anonym stepped up without a sound, stopping just behind Lunar's shoulder, her usually distant gaze fixed firmly on Saiya. Namawa moved to the other side of the bed, standing on her toes to look at Saiya's face, worry written openly across her expression.
"She's breathing okay," Anonym said softly, more to herself than anyone else.
Persian hovered nearby, hands clasped together, eyes darting between the monitors and Saiya's face as if trying to understand the numbers, memorizing them just in case.
The children formed a small, quiet circle around the bed.
Behind them, Black Caviar, Invincible Caviar, and Vinnie watched in silence. None of them spoke. There was nothing to add.
After a moment, Vinnie shifted her weight and looked back toward Black Caviar.
"Nelly," she said casually, the nickname cutting through the quiet. "I heard Oscietra was at the mansion yesterday, helping with the kids. Where is she now?"
Black Caviar's expression tightened, just slightly.
"She left in the middle of the night," she replied. No elaboration. Just that.
Vinnie watched her for a second, ruby-red eyes sharp but restrained. Whatever she saw there, she chose not to press. She nodded once and let the question rest—for now.
Then she turned and made a small, familiar motion with two fingers, curling them inward. "Sweetie," she called softly.
Invincible Caviar looked over and gave a brief nod. She pushed herself off the wall and moved toward the bed, slipping easily into the space beside the children. Namawa shifted without thinking, making room for her, and Invi placed a hand on the rail. Her gaze passed over Saiya, then lingered on the small cluster of figures gathered there.
With that settled, Vinnie turned back to Black Caviar and gestured toward the corner of the room.
They stepped to the corner of the room. Not far—just enough to speak without interrupting.
Vinnie folded her arms, her gaze drifting back to Lunar. "That one," she said casually. "She looks exactly like her mother."
Black Caviar followed her eyes. Lunar stood stiffly at the bedside, hands held close, attention fixed entirely on Saiya.
"She does," Black Caviar replied. "I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing."
Vinnie gave a quiet hum. "Same features. Same look when she's thinking too much." She glanced back at Black Caviar. "And from what Invi told me… that little body's carrying more weight than it should."
Black Caviar breathed out slowly. "I know."
At Vinnie's look, she continued, keeping her voice low. She gave a brief, measured account of what Oscietra had told her—Saiya calling Lunar out on how she ran, pushing herself too far to make a point. Lunar chasing after her without thinking, running on instinct alone. The pressure that followed. Lunar not knowing what it was, only that something overwhelming had surfaced.
"And you can guess the rest," Black Caviar finished.
Vinnie's expression tightened, just enough to show concern. "A [Zone]," she said quietly.
"Yes," Black Caviar replied. "An unstable one. She didn't know what it was. She still barely does." A pause. "I need to find time to teach her properly."
Vinnie's gaze lingered on Lunar a moment longer, her expression softening.
"Guiar would've loved to see her grow," she said quietly. "She was a kind senior… always patient. She would've trained Lunar herself if she could, her [Zone] was nothing short of perfection. " A faint sadness crept into her voice. "She would've been the best person to teach Lunar how to live with it."
She paused, then added, quieter still, "It's a shame she never got the chance."
Black Caviar didn't look away from the bed when she answered. "Then I'll do it in her stead," she said. Simple. Certain. "I'll make sure Lunar grows properly. And happily. No matter what."
Vinnie turned back toward her, studying her profile instead of her words. For a moment, she said nothing. Then a small smile curved her lips, warm and knowing.
"So," she said lightly, "your love for her still lives on. Even after all these years."
For once, Black Caviar faltered.
A faint flush rose to her cheeks, subtle but unmistakable against her composed exterior. She opened her mouth as if to respond, then stopped, words failing her. Her gaze shifted away, fingers curling slightly at her side—a rare sign of disarray.
Vinnie noticed immediately.
She waved a hand, dismissive but kind. "It's fine," she said. "I know you care for every single one of us." Her smile softened, turning reflective."But matters of the heart are matters of the heart. They can't be forced." Her smile tilted.
She glanced toward the children at the bed—Namawa leaning in close, Invi steady at her side. "Why do you think I still chose to have two adorable children with you," Vinnie continued, tone gentle, almost amused, "even knowing you didn't love me the way I loved you?"
There was no bitterness in it. No accusation. Just truth, stated plainly.
Black Caviar remained quiet, eyes lowered. After a moment, she spoke—so softly it was nearly blended into the background noise "…Thank you," she said. "For always understanding. Even when I didn't deserve it."
Vinnie didn't answer right away. She didn't need to. Her expression said enough as she turned her attention back toward the bed, the unspoken understanding between them settling comfortably—like something long accepted, if never entirely resolved.
Black Caviar's thoughts drifted.
Exceed And Excel.
Sebring.
The first two names carried weight—sharp, uncomfortable. Marriages built on obligation and expectation, eroded by her distance. She had been present in title, absent in truth. Whatever fractures remained between them were of her own making, and she had long since stopped pretending otherwise.
Then she realized the error of her ways.
More Than Ready—Morton whose easy humor had turned formality into friendship.
I Am Invincible—Vinnie—steady, patient, warm in a way that never demanded more than Black Caviar could give.
Written Tycoon, always practical and reassuring, ever so helpful no matter what.
Autumn Sun, whose companionship felt like standing beside someone who understood silence as well as speech.
With them, there had been affectionate nicknames and a sense of familiarity. A quiet ease that never asked for promises she couldn't keep.
And then—
Snitzel.
The name surfaced last, as it always did.
Pink-haired. Bright. Fearless in a way that had nearly—nearly—reached her. Saiya's mother. The one who had come closest to melting the glacier she called a heart after Guiar's absence. Snitzel's laughter had always been unguarded, her warmth unafraid, as if she believed—truly believed—that love could be offered freely, without fear of rejection.
You don't have to return it, she had once said, smiling at her across a quiet room. Just don't turn away.
Black Caviar had remembered that more often than she wished.
Saiya carried her so clearly it hurt sometimes—the same hair, the same stubborn brightness behind big doe eyes. Looking at her was like seeing a life that continued where another had been cut short.
Yes. Snitzel had died giving birth to her.
The thought settled heavily in Black Caviar's chest. Not the sharp ache of fresh grief, but something deeper. Regret. Loss. The hollow echo of something she had never learned how to hold before it was gone.
Some things she had learned did not fade with time.
Yet her thoughts broke apart at the sound of Lunar's voice.
"Saichan—?" It wasn't loud. Barely more than a breath. But it cut through the room all the same.
Black Caviar looked up just in time to see Saiya's fingers twitch—then curl, weak but deliberate, tightening around Lunar's hand.
For a split second, no one moved.
Then Lunar leaned forward instinctively, eyes wide. "She— she moved."
Saiya's lashes fluttered. Her brow drew together, expression unfocused, as if the world hadn't quite settled back into place yet.
The quiet broke.
Namawa sucked in a sharp breath. Persian stepped closer without realizing it. Anonym's gaze sharpened, fully alert now. Even Invincible straightened, attention snapping back to the bed.
Black Caviar didn't hesitate. "Invi," she said calmly but firmly, already moving, "get the doctor."
Invincible Caviar nodded once and turned, heading for the door at a quick, controlled pace.
Black Caviar and Vinnie approached the bed together.
Up close, Saiya looked impossibly fragile—hazy-eyed, breath uneven, fingers clenched tight as though letting go might send her drifting again. Her shoulders were drawn up, jaw set, body braced against something only she could feel.
Black Caviar felt her chest tighten.
Without a word, she reached out and rested her hand against Saiya's forehead. "It's alright," she said quietly. "You're safe."
Saiya's eyes shifted, unfocused at first, then slowly settling. Her grip loosened by the sense of safety from the two hands protecting her. The tension in her shoulders eased, breath evening out as if her body finally recognized where it was.
Lunar didn't move. She stayed right there, fingers interlaced with Saiya's, eyes burning but unblinking, as if looking away might undo everything.
She leaned in slightly, voice barely above a whisper, repeating the words as if anchoring them both, "It's okay," Her voice soft and steady despite the way her hands trembled. "You're here. I'm right here..."
Saiya didn't answer—not with words. But her breathing stayed even, and her grip never loosened, holding on to Lunar.
The door opened with a swift force.
Dr. Allen strode in, tablet tucked under one arm, eyes already scanning the room and the monitors beside the bed. "Alright," he said, Let's give her a bit of space. I need to run a few checks."
The others stepped back without hesitation. Namawa and Persian retreated toward the foot of the bed. Anonym shifted aside in silence. Vinnie moved back as well, arms folding loosely as she observed.
Lunar hesitated.
Black Caviar rested a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. "Lunar," she said quietly.
Reluctantly, Lunar loosened her grip. Her fingers slid free—
—and Saiya's tightened.
Weak, but insistent.
"…Please… stay," Saiya murmured, her voice rough and barely audible.
Dr. Allen paused, glancing from Saiya to Lunar, then to Black Caviar. Black Caviar met his gaze for a brief second, then gave a small nod.
"She can stay," Dr. Allen said, adjusting his stance. "Just don't move her."
Lunar swallowed hard and nodded, settling carefully back into place, holding Saiya's hand again—this time as gently as she could, like it might break if she held it too tight.
The doctor went to work.
He checked Saiya's pupils, asking her softly to follow the light. Adjusted the leads on her chest, monitoring the rhythm on the screen. He asked a few simple questions—her name, if she could hear him, if anything hurt. Saiya answered when she could, slow and faint, and when words failed, she squeezed Lunar's hand once in response.
Blood pressure. Oxygen levels. Heart rate—still fragile, but no longer alarming.
After several long minutes, Dr. Allen straightened and stepped back, reviewing the readings one last time.
Then he looked to Black Caviar and nodded.
"She's stable," he said. "The worst has passed. She'll need rest and medication, and we'll keep her overnight for observation. If everything holds, she can be discharged as early as next week."