A pair of pure Golden eyes stared straight into her deep blue ones.
"…Auntie?"
Black Caviar jolted, breath catching sharply as the memory shattered like glass. For a fleeting instant, the eyes before her weren't Lunar's at all—those golden irises had been colder, radiant and distant, sharp enough to pin her in place without a word.
These, however, were warm.
Still the same gold, still unmistakably familiar—but softened by concern, by gentleness.
Not the same.
Black Caviar blinked hard as the present rushed back in all at once. "I—" She exhaled shakily and lifted a hand to her face, rubbing at her eyes as if the motion might steady her. "Sorry, Lunar. I drifted."
Lunar shifted closer on the bed, movements hesitant, as though unsure how far she was allowed to go. Her fingers twisted lightly in the blanket. "You looked like you were… somewhere else." She hesitated, then took a breath. "What… what happened after Momma was taken to the hospital?"
Black Caviar didn't answer right away. Her gaze dropped to her lap.
"…Things happened," she said at last.
Her voice was quieter now. Thinner.
"Too many things. Too fast." A pause. "She survived. Physically, at least. The doctors did everything they could."
Another pause—longer this time. "But whatever broke that day," she continued softly, "it didn't heal the way bones do."
She shook her head faintly, as if pushing back memories she wasn't ready to face. "Some wounds don't close just because you regret causing them."
Silence stretched out again.
Lunar watched her carefully. The way Black Caviar's shoulders stayed tense. The way her gaze slid past details instead of settling on them. She could tell—there were things being skipped over, not out of avoidance, but because they were too heavy to carry aloud.
And she could see how fragile Black Caviar looked in that moment.
So Lunar didn't press.
"After she was discharged," Black Caviar said quietly, "Your mother left Australia."
"She went to Japan," she continued, voice steady but thin. "She didn't tell me where. No address. No goodbye. She cut off contact completely."
For the first time, her composure wavered.
"I looked for her," she admitted. "For years." Her jaw tightened as if around something bitter. "Every connection I had, every favor I could call in—I used them all."
Her gaze drifted toward the darkened window.
"But she chose a place that didn't want to be found," Black Caviar went on. "A remote village. Rural. Barely any modern infrastructure. No real internet. No records that led anywhere."
A quiet, broken laugh slipped out of her. "It was almost poetic. Like she stepped out of the world on purpose."
Lunar's fingers clenched in the blanket.
"Time passed," Black Caviar said. "Things changed. Numbers changed. Of course they did." She swallowed. "I understood that. I really did."
Her hand moved to the bedside table, lifting a small, worn phone—old, scuffed, carefully kept. "But I couldn't bring myself to let go of the old one."
She turned it over in her palm. "I kept it active." Her throat tightened. "Just in case."
In case she reached out.
In case she changed her mind.
In case she still remembered.
"Every day," Black Caviar whispered, "I checked it. Morning. Night." A tear slipped free, tracing down her cheek. "And every day, there was nothing."
Lunar's breath caught, but she stayed silent.
"Days turned into months. Months into years," Black Caviar said, voice beginning to shake. "And I kept telling myself—tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow."
Her fingers curled around the phone until her knuckles went pale.
"…Almost nine years," she murmured. "Nine years of waiting." She closed her eyes. Another tear fell.
"Then I was in England," she went on after a moment. "Doing visiting work for the RA. Meetings. Ceremonies." A weak, hollow laugh escaped her. "Pretending."
Her eyes opened again, distant.
"And then that phone vibrated."
"One message," Black Caviar said softly. "No name. No explanation." Her grip tightened. "Just a location."
Her breath shuddered.
"I didn't think," she admitted. "I didn't tell anyone. I dropped everything—meetings, flights, obligations." She finally looked at Lunar, eyes raw and honest. "I flew to Japan that same day."
Alone.
"…Is that when—" Lunar's voice wavered. She swallowed hard. "…Is that when Momma passed away?"
Black Caviar's breath caught.
For a moment, it seemed like she might try to refuse the question, like saying it aloud would make it too real. Then her shoulders sank, and she nodded once.
"…Yes."
The room felt smaller.
"When I got there," she said after a moment, "it was really early. Barely morning." Her eyes drifted, not lost—just remembering. "It was really cold, really quiet."
She closed her eyes. "And there… sitting on the porch, waiting—was her."
A lone silver figure.
"She looked different," Black Caviar said softly. "But… not in a way that shocked me." A breath of quiet laughter slipped out. "It felt more like she'd finally grown into herself."
Her voice warmed despite the ache in it.
"Her hair was longer. She'd stopped tying it up so tightly. And she had these little lines around her eyes—like she'd been smiling a lot, even when no one was looking." She shook her head, almost fond. "She looked tired. Too thin. But when she saw me…"
Her throat tightened.
"She smiled," Black Caviar said. "Like she'd been waiting all along and I was just… right on time."
She looked down, hands still.
"I remember thinking," she said quietly, "'…Of course.'"
A pause.
"Of course she's beautiful."
-
Guiar looked up at the sound of footsteps.
Morning light spilled across the porch, pale gold catching in her silver hair as her eyes lifted—calm, steady—and met Black Caviar's, already blurred with tears.
"…It's been a long time, Nel."
Black Caviar stopped.
The world tilted.
For a heartbeat, her mind betrayed her—dragging her back to their first meeting, to a racetrack years ago.
A smaller figure standing beside her, not awed, not afraid. Just curious. Asking, simply, if she could stay. If they could run together.
The memory snapped apart as Guiar drew breath, clearly about to say something else.
Black Caviar didn't let her.
She crossed the space between them in two uneven steps and pulled Guiar into her arms, fingers clutching fabric and warmth and proof she was real. Her knees buckled, and she barely caught herself before the sobs tore loose—rough, broken, impossible to stop.
"I'm sorry," she choked into silver hair. "I shouldn't have— I didn't— I tried, I swear I tried—" Her voice cracked completely. "Please… I'm sorry. Don't—don't leave again."
Guiar froze for half a heartbeat.
Then her arms came up, slow but sure, folding around Black Caviar's back. She held her with a quiet steadiness, like she'd known this moment would come and had been ready to catch her when it did.
And for the first time in such long, hellish years, Black Caviar let herself fall.
Black Caviar's breath hitched as the present rushed back in.
-
Tears spilled freely now, no longer held back, dampening the mattress beneath her face. Lunar hadn't even noticed herself moving until her arms were around her neck, holding her close.
"I didn't have much time," Black Caviar whispered. "Not nearly enough." Her voice trembled. "We couldn't talk about everything. About the years we lost. The things we couldn't say. The millions of apologies I still owed her."
Her fingers tightened in Lunar's sleeve, clinging.
"I couldn't keep her," she went on, the words scraping out of her. "Something else came and took her away again."
Black Caviar leaned forward, resting her forehead against Lunar's hair, the last of her composure finally giving way.
"This time," she said quietly, the sound breaking apart in her throat, "…there was nothing I could do."
She shut her eyes. "Death is cruel."
The room fell silent, with only the sound of quiet sobbing remained—one carrying years of grief long held back, and the other not nearly as long, but the despair shared all the same.
—
They talked for almost two hours by that point.
Not for the past they'd avoided for years, not about apologies or blame. Just… life. Simple things. Mundane things. The kind of conversation people have when they don't realize they're borrowing time…
They sat on the porch at first, then moved inside when the cold crept in. Guiar listened as Black Caviar spoke about her years abroad—about work, about people she'd met, about the life she'd built piece by piece.
At some point, awkwardly, she mentioned her wives. Then her children. She stumbled over it, words tangling in her mouth.
Guiar only smiled. A soft, genuine smile.
"I'm glad," she said. "That you're not alone."
The words hit harder than any accusation ever could have.
Black Caviar smiled back, because she had to. Because saying I wouldn't have been, if you had stayed would have broken them both.
The conversation drifted again.
Guiar spoke about the village. About her life. About living without crowds, Then, almost casually, she said—
"I have a child."
Black Caviar blinked. "You—?"
Guiar nodded. "Just one, she's sleeping right now."
Surprise flared first. Then something sharp and unwelcome beneath it—quickly swallowed down, buried under relief, under gratitude. Guiar was here. Guiar was smiling. That was enough.
"She doesn't have the slightest idea how lucky she is," Black Caviar said, and meant it.
There was a pause.
"I know it's her but, where is she?" Black Caviar asked carefully.
Guiar opened her mouth.
"She's— COUGH!"
The word never finished.
At first, it was just a cough. Dry. Restrained. The kind Guiar brushed off with a small wave of her hand. But then her breath caught hard, shoulders jerking as she folded forward—
Red struck the floor.
"Guiar—!"
Black Caviar was at her side instantly, hands shaking as she caught her, easing her down onto the couch. Blood smeared Guiar's lips, her chin, soaking into the sleeve of the simple robe she wore. It was too bright. Too much. It didn't make sense.
"No—no, no, no—" Black Caviar pressed her hand clumsily against Guiar's mouth, panic crashing through her all at once. "Hey—hey, it's okay. We're going to a hospital. Right now. I'll carry you if I have to, just—just stay with me, okay? Don't close your eyes—"
Guiar's fingers closed weakly around her wrist.
"Nel."
Her voice was thin. Fragile. Nothing like the woman Black Caviar had known.
"Don't talk," Black Caviar pleaded. "Please. Just—let me help you. I can fix this. I'll call someone—anyone—"
Guiar coughed again, crimson blooming between her fingers. When it passed, she looked at Black Caviar with eyes that were unbearably calm.
"I don't have much time," Guiar said quietly. "I've known for a while."
The words cut straight through her.
Black Caviar laughed—a broken, desperate sound. "No. No, you don't get to say that. Not after everything. You don't get to leave again."
She started to lift her, arms sliding under her shoulders. "We're going. Now. I don't care how—"
Guiar lifted her hand.
Not to stop her.
Just to touch her face.
Black Caviar froze.
The warmth of Guiar's palm against her cheek—so familiar, so real—undid her completely. Her breath hitched, words dying in her throat.
Guiar leaned forward, only a little. It clearly cost her; her breathing stuttered, her body trembling with the effort. Still, she didn't stop until their foreheads touched, until—
Their lips met.
It wasn't desperate.
It wasn't searching.
It was gentle. Brief.
Like a goodbye.
Black Caviar went completely still.
For a moment, the world shrank down to that single point—the warmth, the faint taste of iron she couldn't quite ignore, the unbearable sweetness of Guiar's lips. Her mind emptied, like everything else had been pushed out.
Her thoughts scattered into nothing. When Guiar finally pulled back, it felt as though the air rushed violently back into the room, leaving her breathless and unsteady.
Guiar's chest rose unevenly now. Each breath was thinner than the last.
"Listen to me," she said, her voice fraying, barely holding together. "Please."
Black Caviar shook her head, tears spilling freely now. "No. I'm listening—but I don't accept this. I just found you again. I'm here. I'm not leaving. We still have time, we—"
She choked, pressing her forehead to Guiar's. "Please don't make me do this again. I can't—"
Guiar's hand stayed against her cheek. "Please," she whispered.
Black Caviar finally relented, tears blurring her vision. Her hands clutched at Guiar's clothes, as if letting go might mean losing her entirely.
"My daughter.." Guiar whispered.
Black Caviar's breath hitched.
"Her name is Lunar Light."
Lunar.
Something in Black Caviar's chest cracked open. The name settled slowly, painfully, like it had always been waiting for her to hear it.
Tears spilled freely down Guiar's pale face now, carving clean paths through the last warmth left in her skin. She swallowed, gathering what little strength remained, eyes never leaving Black Caviar's.
"There's no one else," she said quietly. "No one left who can keep her safe." Her breath trembled. "No one who understands what she is… what she'll grow into."
Her fingers tightened weakly in Black Caviar's sleeve, desperate despite their fading strength.
"Please," Guiar begged, the word breaking apart in her throat. "Take care of her. Love her. Let her run the way she wants to run." A fragile breath escaped her. "Don't abandon her, please…"
Black Caviar folded forward, pressing her forehead against Guiar's shoulder as sobs tore free, raw and unrestrained.
"I will," she cried. "I swear it. On everything I am—I'll protect her. I'll raise her. I'll never let her be alone. I promise you—Guiar, I promise."
Guiar's breathing slowed, each rise and fall quieter than the last.
She smiled.
It was small. Almost shy. The kind of smile she wore only when she was genuinely at ease.
Black Caviar shook her head hard, tears spilling faster. "Don't—don't apologize. Please—please don't—"
"I've always been selfish, haven't I?" Guiar continued, her words uneven now, coming slower, like she had to search for each one. "Even now." A faint, breathless laugh slipped out. "I ran the way I wanted. I lived the way I wanted."
Her fingers twitched, barely holding on.
"And now," she murmured, almost amused, "I even die the way I wanted."
"No," Black Caviar sobbed, clutching her tighter, like she could will her to stay. "You weren't selfish. You were enough. You were always enough. You hear me? Always."
Guiar's eyes softened, the focus in them starting to drift. Her lashes fluttered as exhaustion finally took its hold.
"You deserved better than me," she whispered. "That's why I left."
Black Caviar's voice broke completely. "I never wanted better. I wanted you."
For a moment, Guiar looked like she might respond. Then her lips curved again, faint and peaceful.
"…Is that so," she breathed, the words barely sound at all. "…Then I'm glad…"
Her breath caught once.
Then eased.
And slowly—like a candle reaching the end of its wick, flame trembling before finally surrendering—
Guiar Light slipped away.
—
For a moment, she didn't speak. She pressed her face into Black Caviar's chest, breath hitching as if she were trying to hold herself together by force alone. Then her shoulders began to shake. Quiet at first. Then harder, as tears finally broke free. She clung to her, fingers twisting into her clothes, small body trembling as the truth settled in.
"…So Momma knew all along, huh…" Lunar murmured. Her voice was muffled, thin. Not angry. Just sad. Just trying to understand.
Black Caviar's chest tightened painfully. She wrapped her arms around Lunar properly this time, pulling her close until there was no space left between them. She lowered her chin, resting it gently against Lunar's hair.
"…Yes," she said. "She knew."
Lunar let out a small, broken sound and buried herself closer, as if being held was the only thing keeping her upright. Her grip was stronger than Black Caviar expected, desperate in the way only a child afraid of losing more could be.
They stayed like that.
No talking.
No rushing.
Just holding on.
At first, Black Caviar's breathing was uneven—sharp, shaky inhales she couldn't quite control. Lunar's wasn't much better. But slowly, without either of them meaning to, their breaths began to line up. In… out. In… out.
Black Caviar's hand moved in slow, careful circles along Lunar's back. Nothing fancy. Just steady. Just there. Lunar's forehead pressed against her chest, as if she were listening to her heartbeat, making sure it stayed..
After a long while—long enough for the crying to fade into quiet sniffles—Black Caviar shifted slightly, just enough to look down at her.
Lunar's face was blotchy, eyes red and swollen. She looked exhausted. Small. But she wasn't shaking anymore.
Black Caviar brushed her thumb gently through Lunar's hair, careful not to startle her. Her voice was low, steady—meant to soothe, not press.
"Lunar… can I ask you something?"
Lunar nodded, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. "Mm."
Black Caviar asked, "What do you run for?"
Lunar blinked. "Huh?"
Lunar blinked and looked up at her. "Run…?"
"What's your goal?" Black Caviar clarified, her tone gentle. There was no expectation in it. Just quiet curiosity.
Lunar's gaze drifted down to the blanket pooled around their legs. Her fingers twisted slowly in the fabric as she thought, shoulders rising and falling with a careful breath. The silence that followed wasn't awkward—just honest.
"I…" She paused, frowning slightly. Then she shook her head. "I don't know yet."
Black Caviar didn't react. She simply waited.
After a moment, Lunar spoke again, a little softer this time. "I always liked really strong Uma Musumes," she said. "The kind everyone remembers. The ones people still talk about even after they stop running."
Her fingers tightened. "When they run, it feels like… like the whole world is watching them. Like everything else disappears in their wake."
She glanced up briefly, then looked away again. "I want my running to be remembered too. I don't know how. Or what kind of Uma Musume I'll be." A small, unsure smile appeared. "I just… want it to mean something."
She swallowed, then added more quietly, "But Momma always said I shouldn't run for crowds. Or expectations." Her voice wavered, but she held it together. "She said I should run as myself."
Lunar took a breath. "So even if I don't know my goal yet… I think I'll start there."
Something in Black Caviar's chest eased, just a little.
She smiled faintly and reached up, brushing her thumb under Lunar's eye, wiping away the last of the tears that hadn't quite fallen.
"That's more than enough," she said. "You don't need all the answers right now."
Her hand lingered there, warm and reassuring. "Whatever you decide—whatever kind of Uma Musume you become—I'll support you. Always. No conditions."
Lunar looked up at her then, eyes still damp but shining brighter now. "…Really?"
"Really," Black Caviar said without hesitation.
Lunar nodded once, then leaned back into her embrace, the tension finally leaving her shoulders. A small, relieved smile appeared.
"…Thank you, Auntie."
Black Caviar's breath caught.
She swallowed, then corrected gently, almost shyly, "Auntie Nel."
Lunar blinked and pulled back just enough to look at her. "Huh?"
"That's what your mom used to call me," Black Caviar said. Her voice was gentle, threaded with something tender and old. "Nel. It was… her nickname for me." A small smile touched her lips, bittersweet. "No one else ever used it."
She hesitated, eyes lowering. "And now… there's no one left who does."
Lunar's thoughts drifted, just for a moment—to Saiya, to the way she alone called her Saichan, how special that felt.
She looked at Black Caviar again.
"…Auntie Nel," she tried, softly.
Black Caviar froze—then her expression shifted.
It wasn't the proud smile she often saw recently.
It wasn't the composed one either.
It was small and warm.
"…Thank you," she whispered.
She drew Lunar back into her arms, holding her close, gently so.
And for the first time since the past had come crashing down around them both, Black Caviar smiled.
This time, it stayed.