The morning mist clung to the edges of the training track, thin veils of silver drifting above the turf as if reluctant to leave the earth. Dew caught the early light, sparkling faintly, and the air was still cool enough that every exhale left a soft ghost in front of one's lips. Most of the girls fidgeted as they stretched and jogged, their chatter filling the otherwise quiet grounds.
One figure, however, moved in silence.
Frost Heart had finished her warm-up long before the others and now stood at the starting line, eyes half-lidded, body poised. Her long silver hair gleamed faintly even in the morning haze, her presence a strange blend of elegance and steel. The coach raised his hand, calling the group to order.
"All right, one lap at pace! Show me your stride!"
The whistle cut the stillness.
Frost Heart sprang forward—not explosively, not with wasted energy, but with fluid inevitability. Her stride opened like a river freed of ice, smooth, unbroken, powerful. The sound of her hooves striking the turf set a rhythm, steady as a drumbeat, and within heartbeats she was ahead. The others pushed to keep up, gasping already, but the gap widened with cruel clarity.
The coach's brows knit. "She doesn't… even look strained."
Classmates whispered between breaths:
"Already so far out front…"
"It's like she was born to lead…"
"Beautiful… but kind of scary, isn't it?"
Frost Heart heard none of it. Her mind was quiet, listening only to the steady rush of wind in her ears, the feel of the ground beneath her, the faint chill that lingered even in spring. For the briefest moment, the turf became snow in her memory, the air sharper, whiter, her father's voice echoing: Run as if the cold is your ally, not your enemy.
She crossed the finish with the same calm stride, slowing gracefully. Her breathing was measured, not a trace of raggedness. The others stumbled in behind her, some collapsing to their knees. Frost Heart simply placed a hand over her chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath.
'Yes… this rhythm will do. It carries me forward.'
---
Her debut race came that weekend. A modest OP event, crowded with nervous new faces. The stadium wasn't grand, but to many of her classmates it was still intimidating. The air buzzed with anticipation, families and trainers cheering from the stands.
Frost Heart waited at the starting line, posture regal, gaze steady. The girl to her left fidgeted, glancing at her, then quickly looking away.
'She's so composed… how?'
The bell rang.
Frost Heart moved instantly, cutting ahead with decisive strides. The pack surged behind, the sound of pounding hooves rolling like thunder. Yet Frost Heart's world narrowed: the track beneath, the wind against her cheeks, the steady rhythm of her lungs.
Halfway, two challengers pressed close. Their breaths were ragged, their eyes straining. Frost Heart did not flinch, did not even glance. She simply deepened her stride, each motion as natural as falling snow. One by one, they faltered.
The finish line rushed forward. Frost Heart crossed it alone.
For a moment, silence—then the crowd erupted.
"She's incredible!"
"From the very start, she just—led!"
Her classmates, watching from the stands, could only gape.
Frost Heart slowed, her expression calm, though a faint smile touched her lips.
'It begins here. Slowly, step by step.'
---
Weeks blurred into one another. Training, classes, then races again. Each time she entered the gate, Frost Heart's poise seemed to silence even the restless energy of other umamusume.
In the following 7 months she participate in multiple OP races
Now Her second test was a G3 event—a larger crowd, stronger competition. The tension in the air was heavier, voices sharper.
At the start, the field was restless, many pushing to take an early lead. But Frost Heart's stride was decisive, carrying her to the front like flowing water. She ran not with reckless speed, but with the serenity of inevitability. Every breath was measured, every step perfectly placed.
At the halfway point, challengers swarmed, attempting to break her rhythm. Frost Heart's eyes narrowed, her heart steady.
'The race belongs to the one who decides it. I will not yield.'
Her stride lengthened again, pulling away. The crowd gasped as the silver-haired girl refused to break, refusing to tire, carrying her pace unshaken until the finish.
Another victory.
---
By now, whispers chased her through the academy halls.
"She hasn't lost yet…"
"Is she really a first-year?"
"She's untouchable."
Still, Frost Heart herself walked the halls with quiet solitude. At dusk, she often lingered by the empty track, silver hair glinting under the setting sun, reflecting silently.
'Every victory pushes me forward. But is forward always meant to be alone? Snow may fall alone… yet it covers all it touches.'
A Week passed by she was leaning against the rail and watch other students running on the racetrack, when someone leaned lazily against the fence nearby.
"Not bad. Not bad at all."
She turned, and there he was a man with messy brown hair tied into a short ponytail, yellow eyes half-lidded, a lollipop stick jutting casually from his mouth. His yellow shirt was untucked beneath a loose black waistcoat, plum shoes planted carelessly in the dirt as though this were the most ordinary place to lounge.
Her eyes narrowed faintly. "…You are?"
He grinned, wagging the lollipop between his teeth. "Name's Okino. Trainer, technically. Though I'm not the stiff, rulebook type. I like to watch how someone runs before deciding anything. And you…" His gaze dropped without shame to her legs. "…yeah, you've got the stride. Balanced, front-heavy, but your endurance is the scary part."
Without warning, he crouched, hand reaching toward her thigh muscle. Frost Heart stiffened, a sharp glare cutting down at him.
"…Excuse me?"
Okino froze, grin still plastered across his face. "Checking form. Purely professional. Promise."
The next instant, his head snapped back as Frost Heart's hoof missed him by inches, the turf shaking with the impact. He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, alright, fair enough. I should ask first. My bad."
Her voice was cool as ice. "Do not try that again."
"Message received." He straightened, eyes narrowing just slightly now, the lazy humor giving way to a glimpse of sincerity. "Still… I meant what I said. You've got something special. You don't panic, you don't falter, and you run like the track already belongs to you."
Frost Heart studied him carefully. He was messy, undisciplined, even irritating. And yet—behind those careless words and the crooked smile, his eyes carried a sharpness that made her pause.
Okino popped the lollipop stick free and pointed it at her. "I'm putting together a team. Spica. A place for talents like you to grow without being chained down by boring lectures. You run how you want, I'll make sure you can keep running. Think about it."
He turned, strolling away without waiting for an answer, whistling off-key. "I'll be around. Don't take too long deciding."
Frost Heart remained by the rail, her pulse steady, though her thoughts lingered on his words.
'Spica… a team built on freedom. His methods are careless, but… perhaps freedom is not so far from solitude.'
She looked back at the track she had just conquered, the cheers fading into memory.
'For now… I will keep running forward.'
---
That night, Frost Heart returned to her dorm. The evening air was crisp, the last of the cherry blossoms scattered across the path like snowflakes. She paused beneath them, silver hair shimmering under the moonlight.
Her thoughts drifted back to the snowfields of home, her father's voice carried on the winter wind: Run forward, no matter the cold. But remember… even snow belongs not only to itself. It becomes a blanket, covering, protecting.
She lifted her gaze to the night sky, a rare softness touching her expression.
'Perhaps… it is time I stop running only for myself.'
The petals swirled, carried by the breeze. And beneath them, the legend of Frost Heart quietly took root.