Roars crashed down from every direction at once.
"WOOOOOO—!!"
"LET'S GOOOO!!"
The sound wasn't just loud; it was physical. It pressed against Lunar's skin, thrummed through her ribs, rattled somewhere deep in her chest until even her heartbeat struggled to keep its rhythm. Whistles shrieked. Thundersticks clapped in frantic, uneven bursts. Voices overlapped so completely they blurred into one colossal, living presence
Lunar stopped short. Her breath caught as her eyes lifted toward the grandstands.
They rose higher than she'd imagined, tier upon tier packed with people—an endless sea of color and faces. Flags waved. Banners snapped in the wind. Light glinted off cameras and screens, and everywhere she looked there were faces, all turned toward the track with the same burning focus.
So many…
Her fingers curled unconsciously at her side.
This many people… all here… for a race?
The realization settled slowly. This wasn't just noise. Each shout carried longing. Each cheer carried belief. Tens of thousands of hearts beating together, all leaning toward the same stretch of turf, all waiting for something extraordinary to happen.
It made her chest feel tight.
Namawa, on the other hand, was practically vibrating.
"Whoa—!!" she shouted, spinning in a circle as if trying to look at everything at once. "This is HUGE! There's people everywhere!"
Persian's mouth hangs open, eyes scanning the stands with quiet fascination. "It's so…. dense," she said thoughtfully. "I knew it would be crowded, but this exceeds my estimates. How many people are here?"
Written Tycoon answered immediately. "Just under seventy thousand."
"…Seventy thousand?" Saiya echoed weakly.
She tried to picture it—and failed.
"That's—!" She gestured wildly. "That's like… a whole town!!"
Invincible Caviar let out a low whistle. "That's insane." She glanced around again, disbelief clear on her face. "Are Japanese audiences always this passionate?"
Black Caviar smiled faintly, her gaze steady as she looked out over the sea of people, over the banners, the signs, the trembling air itself.
"It's only natural," she said calmly. "Today isn't just any race."
Another surge of noise washed over them—chants breaking out in pockets, clapping syncing and desyncing in chaotic rhythm.
"This is the Kikuka Sho," Black Caviar continued, voice firm beneath the din. "The final leg of the Triple Crown. A race that decides whether a dream carried for generations will finally be fulfilled."
She drew a breath, about to continue—
—and was cut off.
The speakers crackled to life, and the stadium surged even louder.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—!!" The announcer's voice boomed across the stadium, sharp and electrifying.
"WELCOME TO THIS YEAR'S KIKUKA SHO—THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THIS YEAR'S TRIPLE CROWN!"
The crowd erupted.
"WAAAAAA—!!"
"THIS IS IT—!!"
"TRIPLE CROWN—TRIPLE CROWN—!!"
The sound spiked so violently it felt like the ground itself shook beneath Lunar's feet.
"Thank you all for gathering here today," the announcer continued, riding the wave of noise with practiced ease, "to witness a race that will be etched into history!"
Lunar's heart hammered.
"And now—" the announcer's voice rose higher, drawing the moment out, stretching the tension until it was unbearable, "we proudly welcome today's competing Uma Musumes… to the track!"
Black Caviar's voice carried again, calm and unshaken beneath the rolling thunder of the crowd, as the first of the runners began to emerge from the tunnel.
"Every Uma Musume here is a monster in her own right," she said quietly. "You don't step onto this tier of competition by chance. Each of them earned this place—with talent, hard work, and a will strong enough to survive the road that led here."
Lunar's eyes followed the movement below, heart thudding as the tunnel spilled its challengers onto the track.
One by one, they appeared.
Tall figures and compact ones. Long, efficient strides beside coiled, explosive frames. Some walked with relaxed confidence, shoulders loose, tails swaying easily. Others carried their tension like drawn bows—jaws set, ears sharp, eyes locked straight ahead.
Presences brushed against one another, overlapping like invisible currents. Even from this distance, Lunar could feel it.
That one feels… heavy.
A broad-shouldered Uma Musume with short brown hair stepped into the light, every footfall sinking firmly into the turf, posture solid and unyielding.
"Whoa," Namawa breathed, eyes sparkling. "She looks so cool! Like—super strong!"
Written Tycoon glanced down at her tablet. "That would be Frere Jacques," she said. "Branch family of Deep Impact. Known for stamina and sheer physical strength. Her record is quite noteworthy, though this is her first G1."
"Oooh," More Than Ready murmured, interest piqued.
Lunar nodded faintly, gaze lingering as Frere Jacques rolled her shoulders once, specific muscles recoiling at the movement.
Then another Uma Musume emerged—and the feeling shifted.
This one moved lightly, black tail swaying back and forth as though she were strolling through a park rather than stepping into a stadium packed with nearly seventy thousand spectators. Her shoulders were loose, her expression unbothered, eyes half-lidded.
She looks… relaxed.
"Wow," Anonym said softly. "She's really calm."
Autumn Sun tilted her head, studying the girl more carefully. "Calm, yes," she agreed. "But perhaps a little too calm."
Written Tycoon tapped her screen again. "Belshazzar," she read. "Exceptionally talented—but infamous for her laziness. She tends to do only what she feels like in and out of the track."
"…Even in this race?" Persian muttered incredulously.
Belshazzar yawned—actually yawned—then stretched her arms overhead, utterly unfazed by the roar of the crowd.
How can she look so easy going…? Lunar wondered.
And still, more Uma Musumes continued to emerge, each carrying a different weight, a different vibe, a different kind of pressure. But one thing stays the same.
They really are all monsters.
The thought echoed in Lunar's mind as she watched them gather on the track—so many different presences, so many ways of being strong. For a fleeting moment, doubt crept in, quiet but insistent.
…Could I ever stand down there amongst them?
Her fingers curled against the railing. The idea was frightening. And yet… her chest warmed all the same.
"These girls," Black Caviar continued, voice measured, grounded, "represent the very top of their generation. In many other races—G2s, even G1s—any one of them could be the favorite."
She paused.
"But," she went on, tone shifting, weight settling into every word, "reality is rarely that generous." As she did so, the crowd's roar changed—not louder, not softer, but sharper. Focused. Like a chant being spoken over and over again.
The final runner stepped out of the tunnel.
Royalty.
That was Lunar's first thought.
Orfevre walked onto the track with unhurried steps, violet eyes half-lidded, posture relaxed—but not loose. Power clung to her like a mantle, radiant and oppressive all at once. Her orange and white hair glowed in the sunlight, and something in the air seemed to bow around her, as though acknowledging a noble presence.
"…She's different today." Saiya noticed.
Lunar nodded slowly, unable to look away.
Yesterday's Orfevre had too been regal, proud, sharp-edged—but there had been warmth there. Laughter, curiosity, gentleness.
This Orfevre… is something else entirely.
She felt absolute.
It's like she had already crossed the finish line in domineering fashion—and the race was merely a formality yet to occur.
As Orfevre advanced, Lunar noticed it—the way the other girls reacted. Shoulders tightened. Steps faltered. Some avoided her gaze entirely. Others stiffened, instincts screaming even as pride forced them to hold their ground.
They feel it too, Lunar realized. That pressure. That inevitability.
She thought so, until she saw someone.
Red hair, vivid against the green of the turf. Green eyes—clear, sharp, unwavering.
The girl didn't flinch.
As Orfevre passed, this Uma Musume didn't step aside, didn't avert her gaze. She stood tall, spine straight, eyes locked directly onto the golden tyrant.
Orfevre stopped. Just for a moment.
Violet eyes met green ones.
No words passed between them. No gestures. Just a silent clash of wills.
"She's not backing down…"
Orfevre's lips curved, just barely—not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. Then she turned and continued forward, cloak of golden aura trailing behind her.
Around Lunar, the adults reacted at once.
"Oh?" Autumn Sun murmured, dark eyes sharpening with interest. "Now that is something you don't see every day."
"She didn't yield to Orfevre," I Am Invincible added quietly, a note of applaud in her voice.
Written Tycoon folded her arms, gaze flicking between the track and the tablet in her hand. Her voice cut cleanly through the rising noise. "That girl," she said, precise as ever, "is Win Variation." She paused, then continued. "She's finished behind Orfevre twice now. The Tokyo Yushun… and the Kobe Shimbun Hai. Second place both times."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Close enough to be called a rival," she finished. "Close enough to be a threat."
More Than Ready let out a low whistle. "Yeah… I can see it," she said, grinning. "She's got the fire in those eyes. Honestly? If anyone's stealing the crown today, it's her."
Saiya's eyes are still fixed on the red-haired Uma Musume below. "She's not afraid of her," she thought. "Not even a little. That colour, It's more like... rage? No that's not it.."
The speakers crackled again, and the announcer's voice surged back into the stadium—rich, resonant, brimming with anticipation.
"Ladies and gentlemen—thank you for your patience!"
The crowd responded with a rolling cheer.
"We now begin the official introductions for today's competitors in the Kikuka Sho—"
A beat.
"—the final jewel of the Triple Crown!"
The stands erupted.
Applause thundered as the runners were called one by one. Names echoed across the stadium, each greeted by its own wave of sound—some polite, some passionate, some roaring with belief. Lunar watched each Uma Musume step forward as her name was announced, feeling the weight each one carried: effort, pride, years of training condensed into this single moment.
Her heart beat faster with every call.
Then the announcer's tone changed.
It lowered. Slowed. Stretched the moment tight.
"And now…" The stadium seemed to hold its breath. "…we come to the favorites."
The crowd leaned in as one.
"In third place among today's contenders—renowned for her relentless stamina and unyielding pursuit—TOSEN RA!"
A surge of cheers greeted the green-haired Uma Musume as she stepped forward, offering a brief, composed nod to the crowd. The applause followed her like a tide.
"And in second place—two-time runner-up to the reigning favorite! The crimson challenger who refuses to bow, refuses to kneel—WIN VARIATION!"
The response was immediate and explosive.
Lunar felt the sound ripple through the stands, a chant beginning to form—raw, desperate, hopeful. Win Variation lifted her head, green eyes blazing. She didn't look toward the crowd.
She looked straight ahead.
Toward Orfevre.
A pause.
A breath.
The announcer smiled—audibly.
"And finally…"
The stadium inhaled as one.
"…the undisputed champion of this generation."
The air trembled.
"CONQUEROR OF THE SATSUKI SHO!"
A roar.
"KING OF THE TOKYO YUSHUN!"
Another, even louder.
"THE TYRANT STANDING ON THE BRING OF HISTORY—"
The crowd was already screaming.
"—ORRRRFEVVREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
The sound was deafening.
Cheers crashed down like a tidal wave, her name torn from tens of thousands of throats as Orfevre stepped fully into the light. She did not bow. She did not wave.
She simply lifted her chin.
Violet eyes burned beneath the sun, golden presence flaring as if to answer the crowd's fervor with her own overwhelming will.
Lunar felt it again—that crushing certainty, that sense of inevitability pressing down on her chest.
This is her stage.
But then her gaze drifted back—just slightly—to Win Variation, still standing tall beneath the storm of sound, unshaken, unbowed.
Lunar's heart tightened, anticipation coiling deep in her chest.
The gates loomed ahead.
The final act of the Triple Crown was about to begin.
The announcer's voice rang out again, steady and ceremonial, carrying easily over the restless roar of the stands.
"Now then—please watch closely as the contenders make their way into the gates."
One by one, the Uma Musume stepped forward.
The atmosphere shifted with each movement, the crowd's noise rising and falling like breath being carefully held. Tosen Ra entered first, composed, eyes forward. Win Variation followed soon after, shoulders loose but gaze sharp, every step deliberate. When Orfevre approached, the air seemed to tighten around her—an unspoken pressure that made even the nearby runners stiffen before quickly looking away.
The gates clanged shut.
A collective hush fell over the stadium.
Black Caviar's voice was soft, but firm, carrying just enough weight to cut through the tension.
"Watch carefully," she told the children. "This is not something you see every day… races like this come once a year, sometimes even longer."
Lunar could feel her heartbeat with every passing second. She had never felt this… restless before.
"Stand by—"
The bell rang.
"And they're off!"
The gates burst open, and the field surged forward as one, steps thundering against turf as the roar of the crowd swelled to meet them. It was chaos—colors blurring, bodies pressing close—before instinct and discipline took over.
The announcer slipped seamlessly into rapid commentary as the pack sorted itself out.
"And we have a clean start! All runners break well! They move smoothly into the opening stretch—early pace looks measured, very controlled!"
The runners settled quickly, jostling lightly for position before easing into a long, deliberate rhythm. The pace was slow—almost deceptively so. No one wanted to burn themselves out over three thousand meters.
Namawa frowned, leaning forward. "Huh… isn't this kinda slow?"
Invincible Caviar answered immediately, tone firm. "Of course it is. This is a long-distance race." She shot Namawa a sideways look. "Anyone who tries to make a big escape without enough stamina or burn themselves out this early will lose."
She paused, eyes narrowing just slightly. "Only an idiot would try something like that."
Namawa shrank back with a small squeak. "…H-haha yeah.. totally..."
The announcer continued smoothly, voice calm but precise.
"Out in front, Susan Great sets the tempo—nothing reckless, just a clean, steady lead. Harbor Commando keeps pace on her outside, while Danon McQueen hugs the rail, conserving ground beautifully."
Lunar could only imagine it.
The air rushing past their ears—cool, sharp, slicing with every stride. Each breath controlled, measured. The turf beneath their feet responding differently to every step—springy here, firm there—feeding sensation straight back into muscle and bone. So many rhythms layered together. So many tempos brushing past one another, clashing, aligning for a heartbeat before drifting apart again.
How must that feel…?
"And right about the middle of the pack," the announcer went on, voice lowering with interest, "we see Orfevre—settled in comfortably, no rush, no wasted movement."
Lunar found her instantly.
Even surrounded, Orfevre stood apart. Her golden presence was unmistakable, her stride smooth, almost relaxed. She wasn't fighting for position. She wasn't reacting to anyone around her.
Beside Lunar, Saiya murmured under her breath, "She's just… observing."
Lunar glanced at her—then back to the track.
She looks like she's not even racing yet, Lunar thought, heart thudding.
"And bringing up the rear for now—Win Variation," the announcer added, his tone lifting just a notch. "Content to sit at the back, biding her time, showing no signs of panic."
Lunar looks towards the red figure at the back, a few lengths away from the the pack where Orfevre were tucked into.
The pack swept down the first straight and into the corner, the tempo unchanged—but alive with tension beneath the surface. The crowd buzzed restlessly, cheers rising and falling in waves, as if the stands themselves were urging the runners to move, to break, to reveal their cards—
—but no one did.
Not yet.
Lunar's eyes tracked the golden figure at the middle of the pack. Orfevre didn't look anxious. If anything, she looked relaxed—almost bored—as she ran surrounded by others, her stride unhurried, as if certain nothing could stand in her wake.
The race continue to unfold at a glacial pace.
Through the first half, the order barely changed at all. The leaders controlled the tempo, slow and deceiving, daring someone—anyone—to be the first to move. Midfield runners stayed tucked in close, conserving energy, feet striking in discipline.
At the back, Win Variation began to move.
She edged forward a little at a time, slipping past one runner, then another, until she was no longer dead last—settling instead among the rear group, close enough to feel the pack, close enough to watch Orfevre without ever losing sight of her.
Black Caviar spoke quietly, eyes fixed on the track. "I could never run like this."
Lunar blinked and looked up at her. "Huh?"
"This kind of race," Black Caviar continued, a faint wry smile touching her lips, "it's hell for me. Physically and mentally. Every instinct would scream for me to go—to break free, to explode forward." She shook her head slightly. "I'm a sprinter. I like chaos. Going all out from the start is my style."
Namawa seems to agree with her. "Yeah! Me too mom! I'd go nuts!"
Behind them, I Am Invincible let out a short sigh. "…I really don't have to wonder where she gets that from, do I?"
The announcer's voice rang out. "…The pace remains slow as they head down the backstretch—this is turning into a battle of patience!"
Lunar noticed something.
Something about this… It's quiet, she thought. Unnervingly so.
Her fingers curled unconsciously against her chest. The crowd was loud, the commentary constant—but the race itself felt sealed off, like a cloth wrapped around the runners. Just restraint layered upon restraint.
Her heartbeat began to pick up, thudding louder in her ears.
Is this what they are feeling…?
"I see," Written Tycoon murmured, almost to herself.
Autumn Sun gave a silent nod beside her, eyes narrowed in focus.
Persian glanced between them, confused. "…See what?"
Anonym leaned over to whisper back, equally lost. "No clue."
Beside Lunar, Saiya had gone very still, so still it was as if the roar of the stadium had finally failed to reach her at all. Her silver eyes remained fixed on Orfevre, unblinking, and within them something strange—something heavy—flickered into being, not excitement, not awe, but a sudden, chilling clarity.
Everyone's trapped, Saiya realized.
In her vision, the golden radiance surrounding Orfevre no longer resembled light. It spread outward, not bright but oppressive. pressing down on the track like gravity itself.
From the tyrant's stride, from the very rhythm of her running, chains of gold unfurled in every direction—endless, seamless, inevitable—threading through the air and latching onto the field/
Those chains wrapped around the legs of every other Uma Musume.
Some were pulled tight, stealing inches from their strides, dragging just enough to dull acceleration at the worst possible moment. Others hung looser, granting movement but only within a narrow allowance, a cruel illusion of freedom that vanished the instant someone dared to push too far. Every surge was answered. Every challenge was weighed. Every act of defiance was permitted—or denied—by the presence at the front.
They were still running. Still fighting. Still believing they were choosing their own pace.
But none of it was truly theirs.
They're all running, Saiya thought. but only on Orfevre's terms.
As they swept toward the final turn, the announcer's voice sharpened, excitement cutting cleanly through the roar.
"They're entering the last corner now—Danon McQueen hugs the inside and takes command! A clever line on the rail!"
Namawa gasped. "She snuck through!"
"And here comes movement from behind!" the announcer continued. "Sadamu Patek charging up from fifth—she's challenging Fateful War on the outside!"
Invincible Caviar's eyes widened. "They're all going at once…!"
The pack compressed. Steps thundered. The calm restraint of earlier shattered as everything finally broke free.
"Belshazzar is dropping back—she's falling to the rear!"
The turn tightened. Bodies leaned. The sound of the crowd swelled into something feral.
Then—
"She's moving!"
From the heart of the pack, Orfevre surged.
The space around her seemed to open, as if the track itself bent away in submission. Her stride lengthened—not hurried, not strained—simply greater, each step devouring more ground than should have been possible. Gold flared around her, not like fire, but like authority made manifest into solid form.
This wasn't just speed. It was pure dominance.
Her [Zone] unfurled fully—an radiant crown slamming down upon the field. The pressure was suffocating. Runners she passed didn't just fall behind; they broke, their rhythms collapsing as if robbed of meaning the moment she drew alongside them.
"She's sweeping wide—passing them like they're standing still!" the announcer shouted, disbelief bleeding into his voice. "This is monstrous—absolutely monstrous!"
The stadium exploded.
Namawa was screaming now. "GOOOO!!! BIG SISTER OFERVEE!!!"
Persian stared, mouth slightly open while Anonym's eyes shone with quiet reverence.
Lunar's heart slammed against her ribs.
There. There it is.
The race cracked wide open.
Orfevre tore through the field, erasing the gap in mere seconds. The crowd surged to its feet, a wall of sound crashing down as golden light dominated the turn.
"Orfevre has taken the lead—no, she's breaking away!"
Lunar couldn't breathe.
Her heartbeat went wild, hammering so violently it drowned out the noise, the commentary, even her own thoughts. It felt like her chest was burning from the inside out—like something ancient and sleeping had been struck awake.
So restless. So loud.
Her pale golden eyes began to glow, unfocused, transfixed by the sight of Orfevre running so unchained and absolute that none else could even approach her tail.
My heart—
It won't stop—
Suddenly, a hand gripped hers.
Lunar snapped sideways.
Saiya.
Silver eyes blazing just as brightly, trembling with the same overwhelming force. They stared at each other for a heartbeat—no words, no confusion, no need to ask.
You feel it too.
They turned back together.
The final straight unfurled like judgment as Orfevre ruled it.
Her stride was immense and merciless, devouring the track, every step stamping inevitability into the turf. Hope shattered beneath her feet—not stolen, not denied, but crushed outright.
But then the air shifted. Something was changing. No, something was fighting. Behind Orfevre, Win Variation refused to yield.
From Saiya's sight, the golden chains tightened everywhere at once—except around one figure. The red-haired Uma Musume tore forward through the pack, her stride sharpening, her presence flaring hot and jagged, like a blade being forced into shape mid-swing. The chains around her legs strained, vibrated, then—one by one—snapped.
Saiya's eyes widened at the sight. She broke free.
Not cleanly, not gracefully, but through sheer defiance. The chains recoiled as if burned, and for the first time since the final corner, something other than gold pushed back against the field.
Lunar felt it.
Her heart lurched violently as Win Variation surged past runner after runner, her steps no longer bound, no longer disrupted. The rhythm of the race twisted sharply, and Lunar's body reacted as if she herself had been yanked forward—pulse racing, legs twitching, breath stuttering as though the momentum on the track had reached into her chest and seized her heart.
Win Variation stormed into second place, red hair whipping behind her, green eyes blazing with reckless resolve. Her presence wasn't complete, wasn't refined, but it was alive—raw will clawing its way into form.
The crowd screamed.
"She's answering!" the announcer shouted, barely containing the shock in their voice. "Win Variation is digging deep—she's found another gear!"
From the stands, Black Caviar's eyes narrowed sharply.
She's awakening—now.
A pressure surged outward from Win Variation, uneven but ferocious, an incomplete [Zone] forcing itself into existence through nothing but the refusal to lose. For a heartbeat—one fragile, impossible heartbeat—the distance shrank. The gap between the crimson challenger and golden tyrant closed just enough for hope to flare across the stadium like wildfire.
For that instant, the race felt unbound, uncontrollable, as if the outcome itself had cracked open.
But then Win Variation drew too close.
Too close to the crown.
Orfevre did not turn her head.
Her [Zone] did not lash outward, did not explode or roar. Instead, it descended. like a throne being lowered into place. Golden pressure poured down upon the track, vast and merciless, crushing the space around her with sovereign certainty.
From Saiya's vision, the chains did not return.
They were no longer needed. The weight alone was enough.
Win Variation's incomplete aura struck the golden dominion head-on—and shattered. Not torn apart violently, but erased, as if it had never been permitted to exist in the first place. Her rhythm collapsed mid-stride, power bleeding away in an instant, legs faltering as the crown asserted its absolute right.
The surge died.
The challenge ended.
Black Caviar exhaled softly, the sound nearly lost beneath the roar.
"…It's over."
Behind them, the announcer barely had time to breathe.
"Tosen Ra holding firm for third—what a battle behind—but up front—!"
The announcer's voice rose, shaking with awe.
"ORFEVRE—UNSTOPPABLE! UNTOUCHABLE! SHE CROSSES THE LINE—!"
The roar became deafening.
"ORFEVRE WINS THE KIKUKA SHO! THE GOLDEN TYRANT CLAIMS THE TRIPLE CROWN!"
Gold flooded the track.
Lunar's vision blurred—not with tears, but with sheer sensation. Her heart pounded so hard it almost hurt, every nerve alight, her body humming as if something inside her had been struck and left ringing endlessly.
She looked down at the track.
Orfevre stood triumphant.
She raised her arm and pointed toward the sky, violet eyes blazing as the crowd screamed her name—tens of thousands of voices roaring in worship, in relief, in ecstasy.
At that moment, something settled deep within Lunar's chest.
Her golden eyes burned brighter.
"I want this."