"My name is Mary Jane. I was created to be the peak of the Umamusume, or perhaps... compelled to adhere to such a title. Never in my life have I gotten the chance to see the normalcy of life, not after the disappearance of my mother. Not ever since I turned my back toward the door that once spread freedom. Now, I'm a machine solely operated for races, I'm the product of the tracks, and I'm the entity of perfection. I'm the embodiment of PERFECTION. Or… that was what my father told me."
The thought reflected, heavy and hollow, inside her mind just before Mary stirred awake from it.
When her eyes blinked open, she was surrounded by people—not strangers, but people unfamiliar in the sense of what they were doing. Hands grazed the fabrics, adjusting buttons, smoothing out folds. Dressing her.
She froze, her body rigid. What… what is this? Why am I here?
Then, Right. She remembered. She was in Urara's household. They were supposed to get ready for their so-called "hangout." But she never imagined it would mean this.
Her gaze shifted, and the scene was chaos wrapped in warmth. Urara was on the floor, halfway buried in her closet, hurling pieces of clothing behind her like artillery fire, declaring each one a candidate for Mary.
Shirts and skirts landed everywhere. Urara's mother scolded her from across the room, trying to contain her vigorous enthusiasm, but there was no denying it: she was smiling too, faintly, as though simply happy that Mary was there.
Mary stood frozen before the mirror, bewildered.
All her life, she had worn uniforms or tracksuits. No one had ever fussed over how she looked. No one had ever tried to… beautify her. Or ever to make her look more... normal?
...
...
Sometime later...
Mary had chosen an outfit—an old hand-me-down from Urara. A long-sleeve blouse layered under a yellow plaid pinafore dress. Soft. Bright. Alive.
When they pulled the last ribbon into place, Urara's mother stepped back, her eyes twinkling. "Perfect. Now, Mary, why don't you give us a little spin?"
Mary's face burned. She was embarrassed, but she complied, turning stiffly in place. The fabric swayed, brushing against her knees.
It fit. Miraculously, it fit.
Her reflection in the mirror startled her: no longer the rigid athlete in a tracksuit, but… something else. Someone else. A girl who looked completely different from her.
Urara's squeal broke her thoughts. "Mary-chan looks cute!" she shouted, her tail wagging like mad.
Meanwhile, Mary fumbled with her face red, "Tha… thank you…" she mumbled, eyes flickering away, unable to meet theirs.
Suddenly—
Urara latched onto her hand with boundless energy, pulling her toward the door. "Come on, Mary-chan! Let's go, let's go!"
Before she could protest, they were out the door, Urara dragging her down the little walkway by the wrist.
"Remember to come home early!" Urara's mother cupped her hands around her mouth, hollering after them.
"And be safe!" she added.
From the porch, Urara's father stood beside his wife, watching the two small figures skip and dash toward the day's adventure. His smile was wide, proud, and strangely content. "Look at her go…" he murmured, half to himself.
For a moment, the house felt brighter, the street warmer. Two girls—one oblivious and joyful, the other hesitant and conflicted—vanishing into the morning, bound together in a way neither of them yet understood.
But from a distance, a figure watched. Hidden in the shade, unseen, a pair of eyes tracked them silently.
More and more later…
The morning sun had risen high, and the two girls soon found themselves standing at the entrance of Obiyamachi Itchome, the bustling shopping street in Kouchi.
The place was alive with movement: shopkeepers calling out, children darting through the crowds, aromas of roasted chestnuts and freshly baked bread drifting across the air.
Bright banners swayed above, and rhythms of music pounded from one corner to another.
Mary's steps stuttered. Her eyes widened, her lips parted. For the first time in her life, she was truly… mesmerized.
Every corner of the street was alive, every little detail demanded her attention. The soft notes of music spilling from a record store, the sparkling accessories glinting beneath the sunlight, even the sizzling crackle of fried treats from a nearby stall—all of it was new, dazzling, overwhelming.
Her heart skipped. Is this what it feels like… to live outside the track? To see something besides the mud and rocks?
All her life, her trips to the city were only with her father, and only to purchase supplements, gear, or training schedules. Nothing beyond the race preparation. Never once had she been allowed to simply wander and watch.
Then, before she could absorb the density of the place.
"Let's go, Mary-chan!" Urara's voice shattered her daze.
There she was, a whirlwind of pink chaos, tail spinning like a fan and hands darting in every direction—pointing at the shops, waving at strangers, fumbling with trinkets. Her energy radiated in waves, impossible to contain.
Mary thought she was the one who would be excited today, but standing beside Urara, she realized there was no competing with that kind of boundless energy.
Still, she followed.
Urara brought her from stall to stall—pointing out quirky toys shaped like animals, thrusting odd little souvenirs into Mary's hands before tossing them back into baskets, and dragging her into a bakery where they sampled pastries so sweet that Mary's cheeks tingled.
When Urara's wallet turned out to be empty (because she had spent her allowance on carrot bread the day before), Mary quietly paid. She didn't mind. For once, she didn't feel like she was wasting money.
Later, Urara shoved her into a small clothing store, insisting she try on outfits. Mary protested, cheeks burning, but before she knew it, she stood in front of a mirror in a bright cardigan that Urara declared "perfect." Mary's face heated, but a tiny, unbidden smile tugged at her lips.
For the first time, she wasn't Mary Jane, the perfect Umamusume. She wasn't her father's project or her teacher's "star pupil." She was just… Mary.
A girl walking through a street, laughing—quietly—with someone she once misjudged and even mistreated.
And for once… she liked it.
As they both continued walking down the bustling street, Mary's gaze drifted sideways. Urara was beside her, bouncing with that odd, overextended walk of hers—arms swinging, tail swaying wildly.
The pink-haired girl hummed without care, her every step exuding a strange charm that Mary couldn't look away from.
Her chest shrank.
Now… maybe now is the time.
Mary lowered her eyes to her hands, fidgeting with her sleeve. Words itched at the tip of her tongue. She wanted to say it—she wanted to apologize. Something she had never done in her life. Not once.
Her father's doctrine pulsed in her mind: Never apologize. The weak apologize to the strong. You are perfection—others must yield to you.
But… standing here, walking with Urara, she wanted to break that rule. She wanted to tell her she was sorry. Sorry for the fight. Sorry for the cold words. Sorry for treating her like nothing more than an obstacle. Yet, her father's words weighed more heavily than her wish.
But today... Today was different.
"Urara…" she muttered.
"Yes, Mary-chan?" Urara answered instantly, her bright eyes wide.
Mary inhaled deeply, straightened her posture, and forced herself to meet Urara's gaze. "You see…" She hesitated, her lips trembling.
Just say it. Just this once.
"Urara…!" she called, again. Still hesitating. She never knew the sheer difficulty of just stating something as simple as 'sorry'.
But she wanted to... she must to!
But before more words could escape—
"Whoa! It's a crêpe!!" Urara squealed, her eyes lighting up as she bolted toward a colorful store down the street, her arms flailing as if she'd spotted treasure.
Mary gawked... stood frozen for a second, watching Urara's pink blur vanish into the crowd.
With the chance skipped before her eyes, she sighed, a small exhale slipping through her nose.
Yet… she smiled.
Because somehow, Urara's unrelenting cheerfulness washed away the suffocating weight on Mary's chest. Even if she hadn't spoken, Urara's presence was enough.
Mary took a step forward, then another, ready to follow—
Suddenly—
"Mary..."
A voice clashed in before her world. Her entire body froze.
The voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. It sank straight into her veins, spreading dread through her limbs. A voice she knew too well. A presence she had felt her whole life, suffocating and unyielding.
Her blood ran cold.
She turned, slowly, hesitantly. And there he was.
Her father.
Standing tall in the middle of the crowd as if the entire street bent around him. His gaze fixed on her like a spotlight, piercing, inescapable.
"Mary," he repeated, his expression unreadable. "Why are you here?"
The noise of the street dulled. The aroma of pastries faded. Even Urara's laughter, somewhere in the distance, felt a world away.
All that remained was her father's voice. And the dread was choking her.