Stella lay on her mattress with her phone beside her pillow, eyes fixed on the blank screen. The alarm was already queued. Her arm was outstretched, thumb hovering over the screen.
BEE—
She killed it instantly and sat up. Legs crossed. Her palms hit her face—two quick slaps. Her feet thumped the floor as she dashed to the bathroom.
She yanked the toothbrush out of her mug, jammed paste on, and scrubbed hard. Her gums bled a little and she tasted iron, but she didn't slow down. She spit into the sink. Foam and water went down with a brownish tint.
She leaned closer to the mirror, pulled back her lips and bared her teeth.
They were still good. Straight and clean as always. If she had one thing she didn't have to worry about, it was that.
The shower curtain stuck to her fingers when she pulled it aside. She yanked her oversized shirt off and tossed it in the laundry basket. Warm water gushed out.
She stood under it and let it run over her shoulders and down her back. The warmth loosened her shoulders. Even her neck didn't feel locked up for once.
Shampoo next. She squeezed—bubbles spilling between her fingers—then worked it into her scalp, nails scratching, careful not to tangle. Rinse. Conditioner after. She measured it out, spread it through the length, counted in her head to three minutes, then rinsed it all off.
She grabbed the bigger towel first, then the smaller softer one for her face and hair.
Her wet hair hung all the way to her waist. it pulled heavy when she lifted it and draped it over her shoulder. She pressed the small towel into it with careful dabs.
The blow dryer whined. She moved it slowly, inch by inch. Leave-in conditioner after. Buy one, take one.
Once that was done, clothes next.
A school skirt and black tee should be fine. The skirt could pass as casual and the tee was plain enough. Her gym clothes stayed folded on the floor beside the backpack. Yesterday she'd folded them until the edges lined up.
The brown envelope waited beside them, receipts and papers inside.
And the shoe box.
She opened it again even though she opened it a good 4 times already when she got them on the apartment, not counting when she just bought them. They still had that new-shoe smell that hit her nose.
Checklist time.
Water. Extra clothes. Registration papers. Entry ticket. Shoes. Face towel. Wallet. Phone. Tablet.
All of it went in the same order she'd drilled into herself. Box first. Clothes on top. Towel tucked to the side. Papers and tablet flattened in the inner compartment so they wouldn't bend. Phone in the inner pocket for easy reach.
Zip. Unzip. Check again.
Zip again.
Stella stepped out with the backpack. The hallway smelled like old concrete and cigarette smoke. She wrinkled her nose and kept going.
Outside, the morning was bright. Birds were loud. Everything looked fine. The only thing dragging it down was the feeling in her stomach.
She took the stairs two at a time and hit the street at a jog. The bus stop was a few blocks away. Her wallet felt heavy when she checked it—more money than she'd had in it in months.
She glanced at the time.
There was enough for a little detour.
She'd heard there was a café near the venue. She could stop by and get breakfast there.
Today she deserved a treat.
~**~
The registrar's waiting area was off-white. Dark smudges in the corners. The plastic chair squeaked when she sat down on it. A wall fan turned in slow circles above her.
Her knee wouldn't stop bouncing.
She pressed her palm down on it. It stopped, then started again anyway despite her futile attempts.
"Number ten, please come closer."
She wiped her palms on her skirt. They came back damp. She tightened her grip on the envelope.
"Number eleven."
That was her.
She stood and almost stumbled, but caught herself. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. The lady at the counter didn't look up. Clipboard in hand with her pen moving.
"Files."
Stella slid the envelope forward. "Here, ma'am. Everything's there—the medical checks, the reference from my teacher and—"
"Thank you."
Pages flipped. Thumb turning paper.
Then the lady glanced up.
"Where's your trainer?"
Stella froze.
"M-Ma'am, the notice said I didn't need a trainer. Just a reference from my—"
"Forget about it."
The lady went back to the clipboard.
Stella stood there with her throat tight, watching the pen move. Waiting for the drop. Waiting to be sent away.
"Next. Locker room's to the left. Preparation."
Stella blinked. "Ah—thank you, ma'am."
She bowed quickly and turned away before she could show the giddy smile twitching as it formed on her face.
She was in.
She was really in.
The locker room was bright and clean, blue lockers lining the walls and fluorescent lights leaving no dark shadowed spots. Umas moved around, laughing, talking, fixing hair ties, checking uniforms in mirrors.
Stella picked a corner.
She sat and pulled out the tape.
She'd watched the same Weetube tutorial over and over on how to apply them right.
From her bag, she pulled out her shoes. Black with white lining. Raised heel and a decent grip underneath. She'd saved for them for months, and she could finally feel the worth of it.
She felt extra good right now, especially with her earlier breakfast. She could still taste it on her tongue.
It was served in a big porcelain plate. The rice shaped into a neat dome in the center of it. Curry poured over and spilled around it, thick and orange, steam rising to her face as she leaned closer.
Carrots in big cubes. Potatoes in fat chunks. Thin caramelized onion scattered over the surface. Nothing was mushy, nothing was raw-hard.
The first bite burned her tongue and she had to pull the spoon back out to blow on it. The spice caught up to her eyes, made them sting faintly. Once it cooled down to not-scalding, she blinked, breathed through her nose, and kept eating.
Each spoonful felt heavy. She chewed slower than usual, letting the heat spread down her chest.
If she won, she could eat like that more often.
She laced her shoes tighter.
Today was the first step.
"Racers, please proceed to the track."
Her heart kicked hard.
She stood with the others and followed the flow out.
The starting gate was bigger in person. Heavy metal with numbers above each stall. Turf bright green under the sun. The crowd behind the rail sent up their cheers and shouts.
Stella went to stall eleven. Outer lane.
She tried not to stare at the others. It was hard not to notice.
Bright hair with perfect accessories even with matching sets of clothes.
Stella had plain hair and sports gear.
A lump on her throat formed as she swallowed it down.
The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Today we have a maiden race! Where new racers begin their journey toward greatness!"
The crowd cheered and it filled the stadium.
Something in Stella's chest lifted.
"Starting off with our top pick—Lane four, Kirisame Crown!"
A blonde Uma with curls waved with an easy smile. The applause came back loud and instantly.
"Lane six, Velvet Streak—crowd favorite!"
A short-haired redhead threw up a rock sign. People screamed her name.
"And the rising star in Lane two—Sunlit Rhapsody!"
A gentle wave. A small tilt of the head. The crowd whistled.
"And the rest of the field..."
Stella heard her name in the middle of it.
She shook her head and kept her eyes on the bars.
"On your marks."
Stella crouched. Set her feet. Fingers dug into the turf. She could see movement through the bars—others doing the same
"Set."
Every muscle pulled tight.
"And…"
One second.
"Go!"
The gate snapped open.
Metal clanged as the beeper rang out. Footfalls hit all at once.
Her foot slid on the grass from the force she applied.
Half a second late.
No. No—
She tried to recover, but the space was already gone. Bodies in front and to her sides. A wall of movement. No clean line in sight.
Outer lane was her only path.
She forced herself around the outside, pushing harder to avoid getting boxed in.
Elbows brushed.
Shoulders bumped.
Someone's hair whipped her face.
She kept her eyes forward.
The announcer was already calling names.
"Velvet Streak takes the early lead! Sunlit Rhapsody right there—Kirisame Crown getting squeezed back!"
Stella didn't hear.
Until she heard her own labored breaths.
Fast. It was way too fast.
She needed mid-pack. First save energy and hold position. Then break forward.
But she was already burning and straining.
She tried to angle in before the turn for a pocket to swerve in.
The turn came up.
She went to move in—
And the middle group surged.
The gap closed.
If she forced it, she'd clip someone. If she held, she'd stay wide and lose ground.
She held.
The turn dragged her out.
Every step felt made her feel the strain on her soles, ankles and calves.
By the time she cleared the bend, the mid-pack was ahead by two… three… four lengths.
Even the back runners were moving up now in clean strides and controlled breathing.
Stella's legs felt airy.
No.
She shoved her form back into place. Forced her knees up.
The pack pulled away further.
The leaders hit the final stretch. The crowd rose with them. The roar climbed.
"Kirisame Crown—what a push! Sunlit Rhapsody chasing! Paper Lantern—surging up the inside!"
She looked up.
The big screen was already tracking finishers. Names flashing. The camera locked on the front.
And Stella was still running.
Not even close.
Her lungs burned. Her throat felt like sandpaper. Her legs wobbled under her, stride broken apart.
She just wanted it to end.
The finish line came too late.
Six seconds after the second-to-last.
Ringing filled her ears. Her vision shaky and thin. She slowed down and stumbled a step before catching herself.
The crowd was already dispersing by the time she lifted her head.
The staff rushed past her shoulder and bumped her aside as they ran toward the second finisher—who had a scrape on her leg and a camera pointed at her face.
Stella stood there with her mouth open, breaths loud in her ears.
Then she turned and walked off as fast as she could without falling.
She needed to leave. Now.
The locker rooms weren't full yet. Only a few people were inside, barely looking her way. Most of the others were still outside—laughing with trainers, waving to their friends and families.
Stella went back to the corner she'd picked earlier.
Her locker got stuck.
Her hand strained on the handle. She pulled again. The metal scraped and caught. She put more force into it and it finally gave. The door swung wide and clipped the locker beside it with a loud clang.
Heads turned.
Stella's face went hot. She shoved her bag down. Shoes off. Tape ripped away. Her fingers shook while she changed back into her normal clothes, stuffing things into her backpack.
She walked toward the exit and it turned into a hurry.
She grabbed the handle and yanked it open, then slipped out so fast her shoulder clipped the frame.
Past the gate and posters. Not looking back at the staff and the bright, clean track she'd been staring at for weeks.
The bus was there with its engine humming, the doors still open.
Stella hopped on and dropped into a seat near the back. The seat was cracked and warm from the sun. Her hands were cold anyway. She held them together in her lap until they stopped shaking.
She stared out the window and refused to blink too long.
No. This was fine.
Most umas didn't win their first maiden. That's what the forums said. That's what the comments under every clip said.
She swallowed hard.
People saw her, right? They had to.
So she'd train more. Race again. Place higher. Again. Again. Until someone couldn't ignore her.
This wasn't the end.
It was just a step.
The bus pulled away from the stadium. The crowd noise vanished behind the glass.
Stella kept her eyes forward and told herself the same thing, over and over.
Just keep moving.
She pulled her knees to her chest and stared at the floor until the stadium was gone.