Orange evening clouds drifted across the sky; the summer breeze carried away the day's lingering heat. The campus gardener had worked hard, and beneath the neatly trimmed Japanese cedars, a petite white-haired Horse Girl sat on the scooter Takeda Makoto had splurged on, pouting and kicking her feet in boredom.
Takeda Makoto stepped out of the library and saw the scene—so tranquil it could have been a painting. For a moment he couldn't bring himself to break the silence.
Tamamo Cross looked up and spotted him, rising from the scooter.
Trainer-san…
Tama, have you been waiting long?
No…
She sounded down. Takeda unlocked the scooter, but instead of running home as usual, Tamamo settled behind him.
As the scooter hummed to life, he felt small hands grip his shirt.
They rolled slowly out of the campus. The silence was unbearable, so he hunted for something to say.
Where did you go to clear your head this afternoon?
The… children's park.
An unexpected choice, yet somehow perfect for Tama.
Did you… have fun?
The moment the words left his mouth something punched him in the back.
I wasn't playing! I ran into some kids and… it reminded me of my little brothers and sisters.
Tamamo had left home more than half a month ago.
Homesick?
Mm… I wonder if the little ones are doing all right. And Mom and Dad… I hope they're happy.
City streets bustled with the evening rush—office workers in suits, students with backpacks—everyone eager to reach home.
You really love your family, Tama.
…Because they matter. More than anything—
Dusk, balanced between day and night, is a strange hour that strips away every defense. Memories surface and you can't help but speak. Tamamo Cross opened the floodgates.
My family… to be blunt, we're dirt-poor. Yet every day we laughed and smiled.
But Mom and Dad sweat blood just so we could eat well. We wanted to help.
The little ones were so good. They eyed the candy other kids had, yet never pestered Mom and Dad. A hamburg steak made of soy left them beaming.
(A hamburg steak isn't steak… it's plant-based. What am I saying?)
As the eldest, I swore: one day—candy, real steak—I'd give it all to them!
I asked myself what I could do to make them happy. The answer—become a pro Uma Musume!
Win races, become the best in Japan, make my family proud!
For them, who sent me to Tracen Academy, I can't lose! I have to win! And yet—
Here I am, losing again and again. Even I… get discouraged.
Takeda felt Tamamo rest her head against his back.
She had mustered the courage to bare her weakness; she trusted him.
She carried too heavy a burden, and he, her Trainer, had noticed nothing—utter failure.
The grip on his shirt tightened; something warm and wet trickled down his back.
Tama?
Why… why? Torare-na-san stayed up all night crafting a perfect plan. I trained so hard… so why can't I win?!
Her voice cracked between sobs and sniffles.
Trainer-san said to save energy for the final sprint, yet I chased someone like an idiot.
Beep—
A nearby car blared its horn; passers-by grumbled, but only Takeda heard her cry.
Night fell; neon signs flared to life. In the noisy, glittering street he heard only the girl's quiet weeping behind him.
Listen, Tama. This is my last piece of advice.
L-last? What? Why would you say that?
Tamamo's sobs stopped; her eyes widened. Was he giving up on her?
Nothing. Just thought it sounded cool.
A light punch landed on his back.
Geez!… So what's the advice?
Stop overthinking. Just enjoy the race.
His shirt was yanked again.
What kind of defeatist talk is that?! A race is serious—how can I just enjoy running?!
You can, Tama.
Huh—
He had written the next words line by line in a notebook in the library, planning to show her later, but now he spoke them aloud.
You're not running at full power. Your desire to win drives you, yet the pressure tightens you up. Right now, that desire steers you; when you see rivals ahead, you bolt and break your rhythm.
You have many reasons to win, but they mustn't override your own will. Run for yourself. Control your hunger for victory and love the running itself, not the rewards it brings.
Tamamo's right hand clutched her chest. A memory flashed: little her dashing across the fields of Hokkaido.
Her father asked, Do you like running?
Little Tamamo beamed, Yes! I'll be an Uma Musume when I grow up.
Good, little Cross… then run faster and happier than anyone.
That's what Dad had said; she whispered the words now.
He really had.
But… can running happy really make me win?
Takeda laughed brightly.
No one says it can't—so it can!
Tamamo stopped crying, wiped her cheeks, and in broad Kansai dialect shouted,
…Haha, I'm such a dunce. Now that you've said it, I finally get it.
There she was—his familiar Tamamo Cross again.
From the pillion seat she studied herself and murmured,
Where my limits are—that's for me to decide. I thought I had to run solely for victory…
But that isn't the real me. The real me runs for myself alone!
Shop-fronts streaked past. With her heart mended, Takeda twisted the throttle. Tamamo felt as if she'd entered a tunnel back through time.
That year in Hokkaido, when she left home for Kansai, she had galloped joyfully around the Ritto track. Her father said,
As long as I can see Cross running with a smile, anything I do is worth it.