The commentator's excited voice echoed through the empty living room. A few beams of sunlight filtering through the window danced before Saint-King Halo's eyes, as if infected by the passion.
She tightly gripped the crumpled notebook in her hand, letting the sunlight flash before her. In a daze, she couldn't tell if what was shining was the sun or the figure on the screen.
"So fast..."
In front of the TV, Saint-King Halo, who had stayed home due to a "last-minute errand," muttered to herself. She watched as the red figure on the screen once again surpassed everyone with an absolute advantage.
This wasn't a debut race. This was a proper G3 race. Celestial Weave's opponents were no longer rookies like herself. They were either seasoned veterans from local circuits or talented individuals honed at Tracen. Even though it was only a G3 race, the contestants were not necessarily only at a G3 level.
And Celestial Weave, a horse girl who had just passed her debut race, was leaving them all in the dust.
As Saint-King Halo stared blankly at the TV, the figure on the screen had already crossed the finish line.
"Winning this race with a six-horse-length lead is—"
"Contestant number seven, Celestial—"
Before the commentator's excited voice could finish, Saint-King Halo turned off the TV with the remote.
It was only when the sound vanished that she realized what she had done.
She had cut off her sister's name.
The static hissing from the blank screen was grating, like a remnant of her sister's name, questioning her—
Why are you running away?
Staring at the flickering screen, Saint-King Halo suddenly felt her strength leave her. She didn't even have the energy to use the remote to silence the questioning hiss. She collapsed onto the sofa.
She knew that the "last-minute errand" was just an excuse not to go to the race. Getting a notebook from home to lend to a friend could be done anytime, but she had chosen today.
The day her sister participated in an official race.
This should have been a memorable day. She should have brought her friends to the stands and cheered for her sister, just like at the debut race.
But she had run away.
To an empty house.
Saint-King Halo curled up, her eyes vacant, her thoughts drifting back.
For someone with such high self-esteem, as the daughter of the first-class horse girl Isami Mai, carrying the expectation of becoming the next "first-class" was a responsibility she had to fulfill. And the weight of that responsibility had only grown heavier with each training session alongside Celestial Weave.
She had won too many times, so many that she had developed unrealistic expectations for herself.
Before her debut, she had piled burden after burden on herself. She had to become a first-class horse girl, she had to be her sister's guiding light. It was with this expectation that she had stepped onto the stage.
Unfortunately, what reality gave her was not glory, but one painful blow after another.
The past year of races had told her with cold, hard rankings that she simply didn't have what it took to be a first-class horse girl.
Look at the geniuses of her generation.
Silent Suzuka with her six consecutive wins using her extreme Great Escape. Special Week, who won the Japan Derby and was called the pinnacle of her generation. Seiun Sky, who had claimed two of the three Triple Crown titles.
As their contemporary, what had she, the self-proclaimed "first-class" Saint-King Halo, achieved this past year?
The answer was nothing.
She knew that people at Tracen had started calling them the "Golden Generation," and her name was even included. But she truly didn't know what right a horse girl who hadn't even won a G1 race had to be ranked among them.
Perhaps one day she would break through the gloom and claim her own glory. Looking back, all the unexpressed frustration would just be the necessary fuel to ascend the winner's stage.
But then, Celestial Weave debuted.
With an unstoppable aura, under the banner of avenging her sister's shame, she swept across the racetrack like a crimson thunderbolt, her brilliance dimming all the other horse girls.
Perhaps she was the one truly worthy of being called a first-class horse girl.
Perhaps she was the one who could truly succeed their mother.
At that thought, a sense of panic rose in Saint-King Halo's heart.
Why had the dazzling Celestial Weave never once beaten her in training? Wasn't that a deliberate act of pity towards the mediocre her?
Why did their mother often tell her to give up running, bluntly pointing out her lack of talent, yet never say such things to Celestial Weave? Didn't that mean her sister's talent was enough to earn their mother's approval?
Saint-King Halo shivered inexplicably. It was a bright spring day, and the sun was shining on her face, yet she couldn't feel a trace of warmth.
This was just a debut race, just a G3 race. What if Celestial Weave won a G2 race? What if she won a G1?
What if she achieved the legendary Triple Crown, went out into the world like their mother, and truly became a world-class horse girl?
At that time, what would she, who had never even won a single G1 race, be?
Would she still have the right to call herself "first-class"? When she couldn't even touch the hem of her mother's glory.
Could she still call herself an older sister? Even after her younger sister had crushed her into the dust with her brilliant achievements.
Without all of that, what would be left to prove that she was herself?
When all the meaning that had been given to the name "Saint-King Halo" over the past dozen years was stripped away, what would the person who looked just like her, left in this world, be?
Perhaps just an empty shell.
In the empty room, Saint-King Halo buried her head in her knees. This fragile, suspicious, pitiful, and ridiculous Saint-King Halo would only exist in this room, in this one moment.
When she returned to the public eye, she would once again be that confident, strangely laughing, first-class horse girl, Saint-King Halo.
Until the day the dream of being a first-class horse girl was shattered, until she completely became an empty shell, no one would notice. No one could notice.
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