Gotham Song had discovered something troubling:
Ever since reincarnating, her bed seemed to magically spawn various girls.
For instance, when she finally awoke from deep sleep the next morning, Neo Universe was inexplicably curled up in her arms. Thankfully, both were still wearing pajamas, so at least nothing scandalous had happened.
And then, hovering directly above her head, locking eyes with her, was Manhattan Cafe.
Common sense dictated that the Uma Musume world was materialistic and rational, so a floating ghost wasn't exactly normal, was it?
Objection!
Normal physics wouldn't allow a flesh-and-blood body to float. Clearly, this wasn't Manhattan Cafe at all—but the ghostly Sunday Silence.
Ah yes, ghosts. So terrifying.
Still sleepy-eyed, Gotham Song considered just rolling over and going back to sleep.
What else could she do? Sing "Louder" at the top of her lungs to scare away a ghost?
"Hey now, little girl—your reaction's pretty boring."
"My reaction's boring? Doesn't that make you the clown?"
But being the clown was rather amusing, wasn't it?
Imagine going to scare someone only to end up as part of their comedic routine instead.
Sunday Silence clicked her tongue irritably and reached out as if to tug Gotham Song's ear. Unfortunately for her, even ghosts had to follow certain physical laws. Her intangible fingers passed right through Song's ear, completely unnoticed by the sleepy Uma Musume.
Ugh, you brat.
Gotham Song intended to keep pretending to sleep, but sensing Neo Universe tightening her grip in apparent distress from a nightmare, she finally opened her eyes and gently stroked the blonde Uma Musume's hair to calm her.
"Won't Cafe-nee-san find it weird if you're gone?"
"Oh, Cafe? She doesn't care. It's not like I stay with her constantly."
Besides, right now Cafe was locked in a heated debate with some fun-to-tease horse girl about trivial nonsense like tea versus coffee. It was far more amusing to imagine shoving gunpowder into both their cups, forcing them to drink while holding their noses.
"So, when do you plan to tell Cafe-nee-san that I can actually see you?"
Gotham Song didn't particularly care about hiding it—she herself was genuinely curious why she could even see Sunday Silence.
The only logical explanation she'd come up with was having died twice already.
Yes, twice. Once falling eighteen floors by pure luck, and once at the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe.
Since she'd technically been a ghost herself before, seeing Sunday Silence felt completely reasonable.
"No need to rush. She'll realize it on her own eventually. I'm just here to keep an eye on you—you're pretty interesting, kid."
There it was—"Interesting woman!" But what exactly did Sunday Silence mean?
"Though what intrigues me more is how someone with as much potential as you feels so... off, somehow."
Sunday Silence crossed her arms thoughtfully, stroking her chin. She studied Gotham Song, still curled around Neo Universe under the covers, sensing something oddly unsettling.
"It feels like you're about to face some great ordeal. How strange—I haven't felt something like this since my own experience."
Sunday Silence's own experience...?
Ah, right—Song remembered now.
Thanks to her habit of reading odd fanfictions and alternate histories, Gotham Song actually knew what Sunday Silence's "experience" referred to—at least, the real horse's incident.
The real-world Sunday Silence, the legendary American horse, had once nearly died—not during a race, but en route to one. When his driver died unexpectedly, Sunday Silence had nearly perished alone in the wilderness before being rescued by a passerby, setting the stage for future legendary performances.
Even though that was the real horse's history, surely the Uma Musume Sunday Silence had undergone something similar...
Come to think of it, there was an odd consequence from that incident:
Sunday Silence reportedly developed an unusual fondness for people wearing white clothing, supposedly due to the vet who'd rescued him wearing a white lab coat...
Wait, why was Sunday Silence suddenly leaning so close now?
"You—lift your bangs for me."
Lift my bangs? What's this sudden request about?
Bewildered, Gotham Song took a strand of black hair near her cheek, hesitated, and finally pushed her bangs aside, revealing her forehead and scattered strands beneath.
Why the sudden request...?
Gotham Song watched cautiously, noticing Sunday Silence's strange smile.
"You really are getting more fascinating by the minute, kid. Looks like you haven't fully matured yet?"
Gotham Song nodded cautiously, then finally voiced her curiosity.
"How can you tell?"
"It's obvious. Now get up. Crawl out of that cozy bed and take a proper look at yourself in the mirror."
Sunday Silence wore a mischievous grin. She didn't quite know what was going on herself, but she had a strong feeling Gotham Song was about to reject something already underway—something inevitable.
With slight hesitation, Gotham Song released Neo Universe and, reluctantly stepping away from the peacefully sleeping filly, tiptoed quietly to the bathroom.
At first glance in the mirror, Gotham Song had no idea what Sunday Silence meant. But recalling the bangs, she lifted them again—and felt her world suddenly shatter.
"Maturation" was the term for when an Uma Musume reached adulthood. Usually, it resulted in dramatic physical changes—height, physique, hair color—all of these could shift drastically.
And what change had begun with Gotham Song?
Underneath the deep black hair in the mirror, a bright patch of pure white now peeked out.
She imagined her entire head of hair turning pure white and felt a chill run down her spine.
Good news: once fully matured, she'd have no trouble marching straight to Mejiro Manor and declaring her identity.
Bad news: wouldn't it be far more likely for her to get kidnapped right off the street first?
Song's face resembled Twilight Song's closely enough; the only major difference had been their hair color. It had been her best disguise—until maturation began turning her hair exactly the same pure white as her previous life?
If this were a novel, it would be the lowest-tier plot development ever conceived, Gotham Song thought bitterly, gripping the sink tightly as she pondered how to handle this inevitable disaster.
Sunday Silence drifted closer, wrapping her ghostly, older-sister-like form around Gotham Song's body. She pressed close to the young horse girl's cheek, fingertips trailing teasingly across intangible skin.
"Feeling scared? No need. I can help you, you know."
"So—"
"How about making a deal with a devil like me?"