"…When I run?"
Saiya's words echoed softly in Lunar's mind, blending with the second chorus of "Legend Changer" still ringing out from the stage. Orfevre's voice soared, confident and absolute—but Lunar barely heard it anymore. She turned to Saiya, confusion flickering plainly across her face.
"When we first met," Saiya said quietly, "you were surrounded by despair."
Lunar's breath hitched. Her thoughts drifted back—back to the days after her mother's passing, when the world had felt hollow and colorless, when simply existing had been exhausting.
"There was so much of it," Saiya continued. "It was… thick. Like fogs that makes you lose your way even if you think you're walking straight." Her fingers tightened slightly against her skirt. "I couldn't see anything else around you back then. Not even a little."
Lunar swallowed.
"So," Saiya went on, her voice soft but earnest, "I thought… maybe if I stayed close to you—if I talked to you, walked with you, became your friend—maybe I could help you feel happier. Even just a little."
She glanced at Lunar then, a shy, almost sheepish smile tugging at her lips. "And it worked. You started smiling more, talking more, laughing, even." Her eyes warmed. "Your happiness looked really nice."
Lunar felt her chest tighten, a quiet ache blooming beneath her ribs.
"But," Saiya said next, carefully—like the word itself might break if she wasn't gentle—"no matter how much happier you became… I still couldn't see it."
Lunar frowned, confusion deepening. "Couldn't… see it?"
"Your joy," Saiya answered simply. "I kept looking for it. Weeks went by. You were brighter, more open, more alive than before—but there was still nothing. Not even a fragment."
Her hands clenched in her lap. "I didn't understand. I started wondering if my eyes were wrong. Or if I was missing something important."
She exhaled slowly. "It upset me," Saiya admitted. "Because I really wanted to see it. I wanted to witness your joy. You're my best friend… so why couldn't I?"
Lunar's voice came out small. "…Then when did you?"
Saiya's gaze lifted, sharpening, a quiet certainty returning to her eyes. "That race we had," she said. "Back home."
Lunar blinked. "The one I won against Invi?"
Saiya nodded, a faint spark lighting her expression. "That was the first time."
"But… what do you mean," Lunar asked carefully, "when you say my joy looked like running itself?"
Saiya turned fully toward her now, silver eyes glowing—not brightly, but steadily, like moonlight on still water.
"Your joy didn't take the shape of an object," she explained. "It didn't become something separate from you." She gestured softly, as if tracing a memory in the air. "It showed itself through your movement. Through your form."
Her lips curved into a gentle smile. "When you ran, there was a silver light around you. And… something else too. A faint red haze mixed in." She tilted her head. "I don't fully understand that part yet. It feels different from the silver. Maybe Mom knows more."
She looked back at Lunar, certainty settling in her gaze. "But the silver light—I'm sure of that. That was your joy."
Saiya's voice softened. "I've only ever seen it twice."
She met Lunar's eyes, unwavering. "And both times… were when you were running. That's why I think your joy is running, Lunar. That's where it comes from. That's where it lives."
Lunar froze as the words didn't just reach her—they sank deep, settling gently but firmly in her brain, pressing against something she hadn't had words for before. For a long moment, she couldn't speak.
Then—
The song ended.
The final note of "Legend Changer" cut cleanly through the air, sharp and triumphant. For a single heartbeat, the stadium fell into stunned silence—
and then it exploded.
Applause thundered from every direction, cheers crashing together in waves as the three performers struck their finishing pose beneath the blazing lights. The appaluse was deafening to the point of being physical.
The spell broke.
Lunar blinked as the world rushed back in all at once. Beside her, Saiya straightened too, both of them instinctively turning their attention toward the stage. Orfevre raised her arm once more, basking in the adoration without even a hint of humility, golden and unshakable. Win Variation stood proudly at her side, chest heaving, eyes burning with fierce satisfaction. Tosen Ra acknowledged the crowd with her usual quiet composure, offering a restrained nod that somehow drew just as much applause.
For a few seconds, no one in their group spoke.
They simply watched.
Then Black Caviar's voice cut in—calm, grounded, practical as ever. "Alright," she said, lowering her lightsticks. "We can move now."
The group stirred, shaking themselves out of the moment. The children were still buzzing with leftover excitement as they gathered close, following the adults toward the exit, their steps light, voices overlapping in excited murmurs.
They didn't get far.
"…Wait."
The voice came from behind them.
"Is that—?"
Another followed, louder this time. "Hey, isn't that—Black Caviar?!"
Heads turned. Murmurs spread, quick and electric, like sparks catching dry grass. Phones were raised. Someone gasped. Someone else shouted a name. The attention swelled, rolling toward them in a way that felt dangerously close to chaos.
Black Caviar winced. Just slightly.
Before it could spiral, bodyguards moved in with swift, practiced precision, stepping seamlessly into place as if they had always been there. In moments, a clean perimeter formed around the group. Polite but firm voices cut through the rising noise, calm and authoritative.
"Please make way."
"Thank you for your cooperation."
The crowd hesitated, then parted.
The world narrowed into motion and sound—footsteps, murmurs, the rustle of clothes, the distant echo of cheers still lingering behind them. Guided forward, shielded on all sides, they moved through the mass of people like a current slipping through stone.
As they walked, Lunar turned her head once, instinctively scanning the unfamiliar faces blurring past—
And for the briefest instant, her eyes met another pair.
One blue.
One red.
They were striking. And then they were gone, swallowed by the crowd as the group was ushered onward.
Lunar blinked, her heart giving a small, unexpected skip.
…Those were really pretty eyes, she thought absently.
-
The next day arrived as the bullet train hummed smoothly around them, a quiet, powerful glide that felt almost unreal. The scenery outside the windows blurred into streaks of green and gray, mountains and towns flashing past in moments.
The reaction inside the vehicle was anything but calm.
"IT'S SO FAST—!"
"How is it this smooth?!"
Even the adults were openly captivated. More Than Ready pressed her face far too close to the glass, eyes sparkling like a child's. I Am Invincible leaned forward in her seat, timing the acceleration with amused disbelief, laughing every time the train surged without a single jolt. Written Tycoon sat upright, gaze sharp and focused, already dissecting the engineering in her head—maglev principles, balance, efficiency—while Autumn Sun watched quietly, hands folded, expression warm with simple appreciation. Black Caviar, for once, allowed herself a rare moment of stillness, eyes half-lidded as she took it all in.
Lunar sat by the window.
She watched the world rush by, her reflection faintly superimposed over the passing landscape—her ears, her eyes, her expression drifting somewhere far away. The speed outside only made her thoughts slow down.
She thought of her village.
The old dirt paths. The familiar bend in the road where the wind always smelled faintly of salt. The small grave on the hill where the grass was probably swaying gently right now, just like it always did. She wondered what it looked like today. Whether the flowers had wilted. Whether the soil had settled more.
She hadn't gone back since the first day.
The thought tightened quietly in her chest.
I wonder how Momma feels about that, she thought. If she's lonely. If she's waiting.
Her thoughts unfurled slowly, drifting up until a warm weight settled gently on top of her head.
Lunar startled, her focus snapping back as a hand softly patted her hair, careful not to startle her further. She looked up.
Miss Tazuna smiled down at her, kind and gentle as always, her eyes carrying that familiar warmth that never felt forced.
"Are you okay, Lunar?" she asked softly.
The train sped onward, carrying them forward—toward whatever awaited next.
Lunar blinked up at her, then shook her head lightly. "It's nothing," she said. "I was just… thinking."
Tazuna's smile softened—not the kind that pressed or pried, but one that simply acknowledged the answer and let it be. She withdrew her hand but stayed close, allowing the moment to breathe. The gentle rhythm of the train filled the silence between them, steady and reassuring, as the countryside continued to blur past outside.
After a while, Tazuna spoke again—quietly, carefully, as if testing the water.
"Lunar," she said, "may I ask you something?"
Lunar nodded without hesitation. "Yes, Miss Tazuna."
Tazuna glanced out the window first, as though choosing her words from the passing scenery, then turned back to Lunar.
"What was your home like?" she asked gently. "The place you lived with your mother."
Lunar's fingers curled lightly against her lap.
For a moment, she didn't answer. Then, slowly, the words began to come.
"It was… an old cottage," she said. "Right at the edge of the village. People don't really notice it unless they're looking for it."
Her gaze drifted outward, past the glass.
"The roof creaked whenever the wind got strong," she continued. "And in winter, the cold always found its way inside—no matter how many times Momma tried to patch the walls. The paint on the front door had peeled so badly you could see the wood underneath, and the steps out front were uneven."
A small smile tugged at her lips. "One of them always dipped when you stepped on it. Momma used to joke that it was bowing to us."
She paused, then went on, her voice growing a little steadier.
"There was a small garden out back. Nothing fancy. Just a few flowers Momma liked and some herbs she insisted on growing, even though they never really turned out well." Lunar let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "The fence leaned to the left, and every spring we'd say we'd fix it… but we never did."
The train sped onward, but Lunar seemed rooted in that place.
"The neighbors were kind," she said. "They'd wave when they passed, sometimes leave bread or fruit by the door. I think they worried about us." Her ears drooped slightly. "The cottage looked… tired after all. Like it had lived through too many seasons and never quite recovered."
She swallowed.
"But inside," Lunar said softly, "it was warm. Momma always made it warm." Her voice gentled, rounding around the memory. "She'd hum while cooking, even when we didn't have much. She laughed loudly—like she wasn't afraid of the walls hearing her. At night, we'd sit by the window and listen to the wind, and she'd tell me stories. About uma musumes she liked, about races she'd watched, even about places she wanted me to see someday."
Tazuna didn't interrupt. She didn't nod or murmur encouragement. She simply listened, hands folded, eyes attentive, as if every word mattered.
After a moment, she asked quietly, "Do you miss it?"
Lunar considered the question carefully.
"Yes," she said at last. Then she shook her head, slow and thoughtful. "But… no."
She looked down at her hands.
"I don't think I miss the cottage itself," she admitted. "It was just a place. And not even a good one." Her voice wavered, just a little. "What I miss is Momma. She's the one who made it home. Without her… it would've just been an old house."
Her gaze lifted then, drifting around the train car—to Namawa and Saiya pressed close to the window, pointing excitedly at something outside, to the others chatting, laughing, existing together in easy closeness.
"I have a new home now," Lunar said quietly. "With everyone here."
"The only thing I wish," she continued, voice trembling just a little, "is that I could share this home with Momma too. I want her to see that I'm okay. That I'm not alone anymore."
Miss Tazuna's chest tightened.
She leaned down and wrapped Lunar in a gentle, steady hug, one hand resting warmly against the back of her head.
"It's okay," she said softly. "We're going to see her now aren't we?."
Lunar felt the warmth of the hug and let herself be engulfed by it.
"We'll visit," Tazuna continued, her voice full of quiet certainty. "And we'll show her that her baby is in good hands. That she's surrounded by people who care about her."
Lunar nodded against her shoulder, gripping Tazuna's sleeve just a little.
The train carried them onward, as Lunar held onto the warmth of the embrace—letting it stay, just a little longer.
The moment didn't last.
A familiar presence settled beside Lunar, the seat dipping slightly with the added weight. Lunar looked up to find Black Caviar watching her with quiet attentiveness, eyes flicking briefly to Tazuna's arms still loosely around her.
"…Everything alright?" Black Caviar asked gently.
Lunar flushed immediately.
"I—y-yeah!" She slipped out of the hug in a small hurry, hands fidgeting. "It's fine. Really."
Tazuna laughed softly, smoothing Lunar's hair once before withdrawing. Black Caviar gave her a brief, knowing smile in return.
Then Black Caviar leaned back into her seat, gaze drifting toward the window where the scenery continued to blur past at impossible speed.
"So, Tazuna," she said after a beat, voice thoughtful, "it occurs to me that we all knew Guair… but in very different ways."
Tazuna turned slightly, attentive.
"I knew her from childhood," Black Caviar continued. "All the way through the end of her racing days." She glanced at Lunar. "You knew her most recently. Right up until the very end." Then back to Tazuna. "And you… you met her only briefly. In Hokkaido, wasn't it?"
Tazuna nodded. "Only a few months. But… they left an impression."
Black Caviar smiled faintly. "Then between the three of us, we're holding different fragments of the same life. Stories the others don't have."
She looked between them. "The journey's still long. How about we trade them?"
Lunar straightened without realizing it, eyes bright.
"I'd like that," Tazuna replied..
Black Caviar chuckled softly. "Then I'll start."
She leaned back, eyes half-lidding as memory took hold.
"I met Guair at the academy," she began. "We were still young fillies back then. Barely knew how the world worked." A faint, self-aware smile tugged at her lips. "I wasn't… easy to approach. I was cold, unapologetically sharp, distant. I didn't have a single friend."
She let out a quiet laugh at herself.
"And then one day," she continued, "this cute silver-haired girl just… walked up to me. She smiled like we'd already known each other for years and started talking as if it was the most natural thing in the world."
Black Caviar shook her head slightly. "I remember thinking—who does that?"
Her voice softened.
She let out a soft huff. "She asked me if I was training alone, I told her it was none of her business."
"She didn't get offended. She just smiled. Then she invited me to race her."
Lunar's ears twitched slightly.
"She said that if she won," Black Caviar continued, "I'd have to be her friend."
A dry huff escaped her. "I told her it wasn't worth my time."
Black Caviar's gaze tilted downward, as if she could still see her younger self turning away, heading back toward the training track, convinced the conversation was already over.
"And then," she added, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, "she said—'Is the prodigious Black Caviar really running away from a race?'"
Black Caviar's lips curved faintly. "That was enough to make me stop."
Lunar tilted her head, picturing her mother saying something like that.
Miss Tazuna chuckled softly. "Even as a child," she said, warmth in her voice, "she really did know how to push the right buttons."
She looked back at Black Caviar. "So… what happened next?"
Black Caviar's smirk returned, sharper now. "I accepted."
She didn't embellish it. Didn't soften it.
"Then I lost."
Lunar leaned forward without realizing it, eyes wide.
"That whole story about me being undefeated?" Black Caviar went on. "It was wrong from the start. I lost that title before I ever debuted."
Her voice grew firmer. "But that loss shaped everything. Without Guair—without racing her, without seeing her Zone, without standing beside her—I wouldn't have become the uma musume I was."
A breath.
"There is no 'Wonder From Down Under' without her."
"She was my first friend," Black Caviar said quietly. "And my dearest. Even now."
Miss Tazuna's expression softened, sympathy and understanding flickering across her face. She said nothing, but the look alone carried weight.
Black Caviar continued, her tone warming as memory eased its grip.
"Guair was gentle, soft-spoken. easy to approach. Others gravitated toward her without realizing why." A small smile returned. "If someone was struggling, she noticed. If someone was alone, she sat beside them. She had a way of making people feel… seen. Like they mattered, even when they didn't believe it themselves."
Her gaze dipped briefly. "I would know."
Lunar's heart tightened as emotions pressed close to the surface.
"Even when she retired," Black Caviar said, voice lowering, "even when life carried her somewhere else entirely… that part of her never disappeared."
She looked at Lunar then, eyes gentle and certain. "I see it in you all the time."
Miss Tazuna nodded slowly, her gaze drifting as the image took shape in her mind.
"…That cheerfulness suited her," she murmured. "When I met Guair, she was already so tired. She tried her best to hide it—always smiling, always brushing it off—but it was painfully obvious." Her voice softened. "Working long hours while pregnant… anyone would have crumbled under that kind of strain."
At that, Black Caviar's jaw tightened. She bit her lip, a flash of something sharp crossing her expression at the thought of Guair carrying all of that weight alone.
"But," Tazuna continued, her lips curving sadly, "whenever we talked about running, or about uma musume races… her eyes lit up like nothing else mattered. Like the years hadn't touched that part of her at all."
Lunar swallowed, hugging her knees a little closer.
Momma… like that…
Miss Tazuna took a small breath, folding her hands in her lap as she went on.
"When I knew Guair, most of our time together was spent at the restaurant where she worked," she said gently. "A small seafood place near the coast. Nothing fancy—just honest food, the kind of place locals return to again and again."
A fond smile surfaced.
"She complained constantly," Tazuna added with a quiet laugh. "About the smell, the noise, the long working hours." Her smile deepened. "And especially the food."
Lunar blinked, surprised.
"She disliked most of what was on the menu," Tazuna went on. "Refused to touch half of it. She only really liked a few things—crab, certain fish like cod or mackerel. Things that were simple." She shook her head lightly. "For someone working in a seafood restaurant, she was incredibly picky."
Black Caviar let out a low snort. "That doesn't surprise me at all. She was always like that."
"But the worst of it," Tazuna said, amusement laced with exasperation, "was salmon roe. The restaurant's specialty." She sighed. "She absolutely despised it. Said it was too gooey, too strange, too… fishy."
Tazuna chuckled, eyes crinkling. "I used to make her eat it anyway. Just a bite. I told her it was good for the baby." She lifted a hand, mimicking an exaggerated grimace. "She'd do it, but the faces she made were unforgettable."
Lunar suddenly cut in. "…That's weird," she said, blinking.
Tazuna looked at her. "Is it?"
"Momma loved salmon roe," Lunar said simply. "She really enjoyed it."
"…She did?" Tazuna asked, genuinely stunned.
Lunar nodded. "Every time Kazuko obaa-san went out to sea and brought back fresh fish to sell, Momma would always ask for salmon roe. Every single time."
Tazuna stared at her, disbelief written plainly across her face. "She… never once told me that."
Her brows knit together. "She was never shy about saying how much she hated it. She always said it tasted weird..."
"I asked her about it once," Lunar said, voice growing softer as the memory surfaced. "I didn't understand why she liked it so much. I thought it tasted… okay. But kind of too fishy. Not sweet at all."
She glanced down at her hands.
"And Momma just smiled and said… maybe the sweetness doesn't come from the taste."
"She said," Lunar continued, "'Sometimes food tastes sweet because of the memories attached to it. Not because it actually is.'"
Miss Tazuna's smile trembled—pained, wistful, and full of understanding. "That sounds… exactly like something she'd say."
Black Caviar let out a quiet breath, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah," she murmured. "That's Guair alright."
And just like that, the stories didn't stop.
They came in waves—some clear and vivid, others fragmented and half-remembered—but each one added another thread, stitching Guair together between them in a way none of them could have managed alone.
"She used to disappear for hours," Black Caviar said at one point, leaning back in her seat. "No warning, no note. Just—gone. Then she'd come back with scraped knees, leaves in her hair, and some ridiculous excuse about 'following the wind.'"
"That explains it," Miss Tazuna replied softly. "She once left mid-shift because she said the tide 'felt wrong.' " She shook her head fondly. "Came back soaked to the bone, smelling like salt, smiling like nothing had happened."
Lunar's ears perked up. "Momma did that at home too," she said quietly. "Sometimes she'd leave before sunrise somewhere. Lunar continued, voice gentle, almost conspiratorial. "She didn't realize I knew. But I noticed. I'd hear the front door creak open." Her fingers curled together. "I never asked her about it. I just… pretended to stay asleep. And when she came back later, I pretended I hadn't noticed at all."
Black Caviar laughed under her breath, low and affectionate. "She never changed."
At some point, Autumn Sun drifted over, drawn in by the calm gravity of the conversation. She listened for a while before speaking.
"She was a kind senior," Autumn Sun said, arms folding loosely. "When I had just debuted, I was… rough around the edges." A faint, wry smile crossed her lips. "Guair was one of the first to guide me properly. She didn't lecture or correct me outright—she simply showed me how things were done and let me figure out the rest."
She paused, then added, almost amused, "Though I do recall competing with Black Caviar for her attention more than once."
"…You did?" Lunar asked, surprised.
Across the aisle, Anonym and Saiya exchanged a look in perfect sync.
I Am Invincible leaned back over her seat, grinning as she added, "She was indeed really kind, but when she got angry…."
That earned a glance.
"She didn't yell," I Am Invincible continued. "Didn't even raise her voice. She just looked at me." She shuddered theatrically. "I apologized immediately…"
Namawa, who had wandered over after noticing the small gathering, blinked. "That's way scarier than yelling!"
A faint smile tugged at Lunar's lips, the image coming to her effortlessly.
The conversation drifted on—small things, ordinary things. Guair's singing. Guair falling asleep in strange places. Guair forgetting appointments but remembering weird promises. Stories overlapped, corrected one another, filled in gaps none of them had even known were there.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
Outside the window, the scenery slowly changed. Dense clusters of buildings thinned into quiet towns, then into wide fields dusted with the first hints of frost. Trees blazed in muted autumn colors beneath a pale, stretching sky.
Then, softly, the train's chime rang through the cabin.
"Next stop—Shin-Hakodate-Hokuto Station."