Chapter Text
The track lay empty, not a soul in sight. Except for one Umamusume, who did not stop running even after their official training period was over. In fact, she was never there. She thought it left much to be desired. In her own words, describing the tame number of laps and the mild footwork exercises, it was ‘lame’. She would much rather spend her hours by herself, not being told what to do. She would rather spend hours kicking down the turf without restraint, like a motorcycle on a redline. She wanted to become strong by her own will, by her own way, not by listening to whatever a random unenthusiastic trainer wanted her to do. Doing things her own way was cool. Being strong was cool. That was all Vodka ever wanted. To be cool.
‘Cool’ is a subjective matter. What she thought of as cool may be run-of-the-mill for others, perhaps for those racers who have already far surpassed that level of sensation. But there were always a few things that were ‘cool’ no matter who saw them.
There were the hard workers, for they always seem to get a good rep. Sheer determination and grit were on the peak of coolness chart; Vodka would know from the countless action movies she watched and the breath-taking races she witnessed. Those people who never stopped moving forward—they’re the idols of this world.
And then there was victory. For Umamusume, winning meant life or death. Vodka knew what it meant for the racers. She saw how they never let up, how they pushed their bodies and minds to breaking point if it meant they could take the gold for themselves. Vodka saw and heard their cries of victory as they stood with triumph above the rest. And she heard the cheers, the hundreds of thousands of relentless cheers for the victor. How cool those people must have thought that racer was. Vodka sure thought the same. She still remembered the Japanese Derby like it was yesterday.
She imagined the cheers of the crowd as the racers passed into the final corner. How they only got louder as the leader bolted like lightning towards their glory. And when they finally reached the finish line, the crowd erupted from cheers to thunder. How she wished that was her.
But all she was right now was an overconfident loser who talked the talk, never walked the walk. Never managed to win a race as soon as that irritating Daiwa Scarlet lady arrived. Her hard work never noticed. Drowned out in the sea. You can’t be seen as cool, she thought, if no one is watching.
Vodka’s steps, once filled with fervor, quieted down. She cursed under her breath as she took a seat on the cold, hard, concrete steps.
“That’s fucking messed up…” She swore again, louder. Her fist clenched as she felt anger welling up, with what once found their footing in her powerful bursts of speed now found themselves verbal.
“I BET YOU DON’T EVEN TRY! I bet all you do is go, ‘oh, look at me I’m so perfect and talented’, just shut up man.”
She yelled at the air in front of her. She knew who she meant to punch, but that didn’t change anything. She rubbed her legs, feeling her muscles as they slowly faded from soreness.
“No one goddamn notices me. Even though I work so damn hard.
At this point, no one even loves me.”
Her anger now exhausted, sadness began to take over. Her eyes once in a deep furrow squeezed shut, in an attempt to dam the tears now overflowing. Her teeth clenched and grinded against each other as she tried to block her whimpers from escaping.
Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
She quickly wiped the tears from her face and stood up, stretching, contracting her muscles, attempting to salvage the littlest bit of her confidence.
No, no. There’s no way I can sit and cry like this. If someone saw me now, it would be over. There goes my dream of being the coolest.
…Ah, I’m pathetic, man. What am I doing sitting around! I gotta work, dammit!
She stretched her legs once more and took a step towards the turf. She wasted zero time. She needed to get stronger. She needed to work, and work hard. Even if no one saw her. It was more than painful. She wasn’t even sure if she could go on at this point.
To die cool but alone. What was the point? Yet Vodka had nothing better to do, except forget the fact that no one cared. ‘No one cares about you, overconfident jackass’, is what she thought, maybe knew, they would say. All she wanted was to shut them out.
Vodka hadn’t even realized that the sky had turned orange. The sun had begun to go down, and so had she. Her legs were numb and wobbly, her feet feeling crushed under her weight. She felt like she had broken her back. But she did not care. All she did care about was running, and running, and doing anything but remember that she was a weakling, who cranked the handle but never got the engine to start.
Every time a supervisor would check on her, tell her to take a rest, she obeyed. Then she got back up on her feet as soon as they left, as if they never existed. Stupid fucking people, telling me to stop. What do they know?
But time worked on its own, and Vodka’s energy and adrenaline came to a halt. She sat down once again, this time directly on the turf, her hands planting on the grass. The sweat on her face dropped down like water on a stalactite, turning into dew on the green grassy blades. She raised her head to the sky, noting the time in her mind. Nearly time to come back to rest again.
Lame.
She played around with the idea of running just one more lap around the track, like she was an addict on relapse. But she reluctantly decreed against it. Her body would not obey her anymore; she couldn’t even shake her head as she voted No to the proposal in her head.
She staggered to her feet, her fatigue violently shaking her off balance. Eventually, she managed to get herself in some sense of order, and she began to head off. Her steps slow and tired as she walked to her dorm.
“Please- Please wait for a moment…!”
Suddenly, there came a voice that wasn’t her own. Vodka’s ears perked up. The last thing she expected was a person behind her. Her eyes must have evaded them as they only looked forward towards the turf, she thought.
Another supervisor came to tell me off? But that voice didn’t sound like a ‘supervisor’ kinda voice…
Indeed, the stranger’s voice was soft and gentle, perhaps described as elegant. Her speech didn’t waver much, but there was certainly a bashfulness escaping from her. Nothing like a person who barked redundant orders for a living would sound like.
The adrenaline that now pumped into her again gave Vodka the energy to swivel her head on a dime to see the owner of the voice.
There, standing on the turf with her, was a girl. Vodka noticed that she wore the unmistakable blue school uniform of Tracen Academy, and her eyes darted to the rest of the newcomer’s body. A tail, red like that of a ruby. On the top of her rose-colored hair were two large ears. She didn’t sound like a trainer or supervisor, because she wasn’t one. The girl was another Umamusume. But what had she come for?
“Uhm… Can I help you?” Vodka asked with a mix of puzzlement and curiosity.
The girl stood half-timidly, half-excitedly, a meek yet beaming smile on her face. Her hands clasped together as her arms held out straight in a somewhat shy-looking pose. Vodka swore she could see a slight blush on her cheeks, glowing red like her hair as her gold-yellow eyes gazed into Vodka’s, occasionally darting away and back again as she spoke.
“...I simply wanted to tell you…”
Huh? So this is just someone the supervisor probably sent to tell me to go home.
“...That I think you are simply
the coolest person in this world when you are running.”
… Huh…?