Dahlia stood beneath the stark white lights of the dressing room, their glare washing over her bare skin. She wore nothing but her underwear, her arms outstretched while her tail twitched nervously behind her. Heat crawled up her neck, her whole body tense as Gear circled her with a measuring tape in hand. Quick, efficient, muttering numbers under her breath.
The copper-eyed mechanic worked with practiced ease, scribbling notes into a battered notebook. The pencil she used was chewed almost to splinters, the eraser mount bent from teeth.
Even though Gear was another girl, Dahlia couldn't shake the discomfort prickling down her spine. She'd never liked being seen. Never liked being exposed. Even back in her pre-racing days, she'd always waited until the showers were empty before stepping in. Now, standing under the harsh lights, she felt every heartbeat echo through her chest.
"Relax, princess," Gear drawled, tugging gently at the tape around Dahlia's waist. "This ain't a soapland, and nobody's jumping on anybody's gear stick." A teasing smirk tugged at her lips. "We're both girls here. So stop fidgeting. One wrong number, and your silks'll ride wrong enough to cost you a race."
Dahlia's face flushed a deeper shade as she turned her gaze aside. "Sorry, it's just—"
Gear chuckled under her breath, stretching the tape across Dahlia's arm. "I'm just yanking your tail," she said with an easy smirk. "You're not the first uma to go red as a stoplight during a fitting." She jotted down the next set of numbers, the pencil scratching against the battered page before tucking it behind her ear.
"So," Gear continued, stepping back toward her, "how'd a no-name like you end up with him?" Her tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp. "I mean, the Hand of God doesn't just train anyone."
Dahlia blinked, caught off guard. Gear noticed, her copper gaze narrowing in amusement. "I thought I told you. My grandpa and the man go way back. I know who your trainer is." She crouched to measure from Dahlia's waist down to her heel. "Thing is, he swore he was done. Out for good. So now I'm asking myself—" she looked up, the tape slack in her hand. "Who exactly are you, and what's so special about you that made him come back?"
Dahlia's eyes dropped to the floor. "I… I don't know," she murmured, shaking her head. "And honestly, I doubt he does either." Her dark gaze flicked back to Gear. "I mean, you said it yourself. I'm just a no-name from nowhere. One of the thousands who never made it past their debut. Hell, I didn't even make the cut for Tracen."
"Heh, tell me about it." Gear straightened, jotted another note, then crouched again, looping the tape around Dahlia's thigh. Her tail shot rigid, earning a faint smirk from Gear. "I remember my debut like it was yesterday. Wild times."
Dahlia blinked. A bit thrown. "Wait, you flunked your debut too?"
"Nope." Gear stood, cocking a brow. "Aced it. Crushed the next few ungraded races, too. Tracen even offered me a full ride." She gave a small shrug, the corner of her mouth tugging into a sly grin. "So I told 'em to shove it. Even got the Presidente herself trying to talk me into joining." Her grin widened, a flash of mischief in her eyes. "Told her to shove it too."
"Wait—hold on," Dahlia said, trying not to laugh. "You actually told Symboli Rudolf, the Emperor herself, to take a hike?" Her grin widened. "But why? I thought the Twinkle Series was every uma's dream."
Gear snorted as she looped the tape around Dahlia's ankle. "Maybe theirs. Not mine." She straightened, jotted a few more numbers, and rested the pencil behind her ear. "Sure, I've got the blood for it. Every uma does, but spending my life literally running in circles? Nah." Her gaze lifted toward the ceiling. "Feels too small. Too tight. Like living in a gilded cage."
She turned back to Dahlia. Her expression steady but edged with conviction. "You follow their rules, their routines. They tell you where to run, how to run, what to smile for. You win, and suddenly you're paraded around like some pop idol, tail wagging for the cameras." She scoffed, tugging lightly at the measuring tape. "That ain't freedom, that's a clamp, and I wasn't born to wear one."
"And the MRA isn't?" Dahlia asked, her head tilting, one ear twitching in doubt.
"Yes and no," Gear said, leaning back against the table, arms folding loosely. "Yeah, the MRA's got rules. Plenty of 'em and breaking those can land you in a world of hurt." Her eyes gleamed. "But out there, on the streets? It's different. It's just you, the asphalt, and the city lights screaming past."
She smiled faintly. "The cold night air biting your face. The wind tearing through your hair. The smell of burning rubber, sweat, and danger. The way your heart's hammering so hard you can barely hear yourself think." She looked back at Dahlia, smirk tugging at her lips. "Call it reckless. Call it stupid. But there's nothing. Nothing, like cutting through traffic at a hundred clicks with the cops breathing down your neck and your rivals on your tail. That's freedom."
Gear then clapped once, satisfied. "All done. Get dressed."
Dahlia's ears twitched. She nodded, heading over to where her clothes were and pulled on her shirt. Gear turned, thumbed to a fresh page in her notebook, and the pencil began to scratch. Quick, exact strokes. "So," she said without looking up, "you picked a street name yet?"
Dahlia paused with one foot in her jeans, confused. "Street name?"
Gear rolled her eyes, tapping the pencil against her temple as if the idea were obvious. "Yeah, your handle. Out here nobody runs with their real name. Masks, aliases, the whole nine yards. Keeps the cops and the suits from tracing you back to Grandma's house." She shrugged and sketched a few lines, already thinking in silhouettes.
"Oh." Dahlia tugged her black jeans up, thinking of the sloppy nickname that Hazama guy tossed at her during her first showdown with Lady—Blackie, and shook her head. "Never crossed my mind. Got any ideas?"
Gear grinned, shaking her head. "I make the suits. I don't hand out monikers. Sides, this isn't a toy you toss aside once you wear it out. Your street name sticks to you. You half-ass it and you're stuck with it." She tapped the notebook again. "Start somewhere meaningful. Something that matters to you. A movie, an animal, a word that hits the gut. Think less catchy slogan, more legend you can live with." She held the pencil up like a baton, waiting for Dahlia to find the name she could own.
"Well, I do like to run," Dahlia said, buttoning her jeans and tugging her shirt straight.
"Yeah, and so does every uma from here to Hokkaido," Gear deadpanned, twirling her pencil. "Try again, princess. Dig deeper, what makes you, you? Something you love that ain't running." She arched a brow. "There's gotta be something that gets your heart going."
Dahlia slipped into her leather jacket, the creak of worn hide breaking the silence. "Well, I like to sing," she admitted.
Gear's ears twitched. Interest piqued. "Now we're talking," she murmured, jotting notes without looking up.
"And I play guitar," Dahlia added. "An old Strat. Used to be my mom's. Funny thing, she and my dad actually met at a Battle of the Bands. She was the lead guitarist. He was on drums. They ended up running into each other again at the Academy the next day during a Scout."
A soft chuckle escaped her. "That's how he became her trainer… and, eventually, her husband."
Gear nodded absently, sketching faster. "Keep going."
"Mom used to sing to us all the time. Me and Scarlet. Scarlet used to whine that I got all the musical talent. Hell, she could beat me on the track any time of day, but when it came to music, she couldn't touch me." Dahlia smiled faintly, the memory flickering behind her eyes. "In fact, mom used to call me her little—"
She stopped. The words hit, sudden and clear. Her gaze snapped to Gear, who smirked knowingly.
"I know what my street name is," Dahlia said, stepping forward, a spark flickering behind her dark eyes as if something long-buried had finally surfaced.
She spoke the name, the words rolling off her tongue with certainty. Gear's grin widened, her pencil gliding across the paper in one last confident stroke. "Now that," she said, tapping the page with the end of her pencil, "I can work with."
****
Logan leaned against one of the cars, a glass of whiskey in one hand, cigarette in the other, the faint curl of smoke drifting lazily toward the ceiling. Across from him, Smokey rested against his own car, his cigarette hanging between two fingers, the ember flaring faintly in the dim light. The garage was still except for the distant hum of machinery and the faint creak of cooling metal. Neither had spoken since the run-in with Nishitani and his goons, but Logan could feel it, the old man's curiosity simmering beneath the surface, a battle he was steadily losing.
Finally, Smokey broke the silence. "So," he said, "you wanna walk me through just what the hell happened back there?"
Logan exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "Here we go," he muttered. "Look, there's nothing to explain. Long story short, I went inside. Things happened. Things changed. Ten years is a long time."
"Really?" Smokey gestured with his cigarette, eyes narrowing. "You just sent a goddamn human kaiju running for his life. Damned near pissed himself too. Now, I've lived long enough to see a lot of things, Logan, but I ain't never seen that." His gaze flicked toward Logan's right arm. "And that ink. You're telling me it doesn't mean something? Something dangerous?"
Logan's jaw tightened as he pulled his sleeve down. "I told you, it's not something I like talking about." His eyes hardened, cold and warning. "You're my friend, Smokey, but with all due respect, back the hell off. Right now."
Smokey sighed, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "You're right. I am your friend." His tone softened. "I'm not trying to piss you off, kid. I'm asking because I'm worried. I don't know what went down in there, and maybe I don't want to, but if you're mixed up in something dark—"
"Smokey," Logan cut in, his voice sharp enough to end it. "Enough."
The old man studied him for a long moment before shaking his head. He took a deep drag, exhaled a slow, smoky breath, and nodded. "Alright, fine," he said. "But just know this, if you ever need anything, even someone to just sit and listen, you know where to find me."
"And that's all I ask," Logan said quietly, finishing the last of his whiskey before setting the glass on a nearby toolbox with a dull clink. The faint glow of his cigarette flared as he drew another drag, smoke curling from the corner of his lips. "If it helps any, what happened inside, that's a story I haven't told a soul. Not even Saburo. And trust me, if there's one man who'd understand, it's him."
He paused. Eyes distant. "I did things in there, Smokey. Things I ain't proud of. Not just out of anger, or vengeance, or some need to prove I was still human." His words dropped lower. "I did them to survive. Most of my names, I earned on the track… but there were others. Names I earned in blood."
Logan tilted his head toward the bay doors, eyes narrowing. "What that tub of lard called me out there? That was one of them."
Smokey's cigarette slipped a little between his fingers. "By God…"
The creak of the door broke the silence, and both men turned. Dahlia stepped through, hands buried in her jacket pockets, her tail flicking lazily behind her. "Glad that's over and done with," she said, laughing under her breath, though the sound faltered when she caught their faces. The color drained slightly from her own. "What's with you two? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Logan quickly stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, the ember dying with a hiss. "Nothing," he said, straightening. "Just wrapping up some talk, that's all." He nodded toward the exit. "Come on, it's getting late. We've got things to do, places to be."
Dahlia hesitated for a heartbeat, sensing the weight that still hung in the air, then nodded and started toward the bay doors. Before leaving, she turned and bowed slightly. "Thanks for everything, Mister Nagata."
Smokey's stern expression eased into a smile. "Don't mention it, kid. She'll have your gear ready in a day or two, plenty of time before the race. Don't sweat it."
"Right," she said softly before heading out.
Logan lingered a moment, meeting Smokey's gaze. "Be seeing you, old man."
Smokey gave a small nod. "Take care of yourself, you hear?"
Logan followed after Dahlia, their footsteps fading into the open air. Smokey stayed where he was, the glow of the fluorescent lights flickering over the garage as he watched them step into the bright wash of the midday sun.
But just as Logan stepped past the threshold of the bay doors, another figure entered. Young, early to mid-twenties, by the look of him. Tall, lean, dressed sharp in layered blacks: a fitted sweater beneath a long overcoat, slacks pressed, loafers polished to a mirror shine. His hair was a deep midnight black lined with gray, save for a single white streak that cut cleanly through his bangs. Greenish-gold eyes flicked across the room with quiet precision, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat.
Logan slowed mid-stride, glancing over his shoulder. Their eyes met briefly. His dark gaze narrowing, the air shifting for just a heartbeat, before he turned away and kept walking.
Inside, Smokey's expression eased into a knowing grin. He folded his arms. "Heya, Rufus. About damn time you showed." He jerked his chin toward the gleaming black GT-R in the corner. "Got her tuned and cleaned. Gotta hand it to you, you've put in some serious work on that beauty. She's a beast."
Rufus's eyes flicked to the car, then back to Smokey. He drew a slow breath and let it out with a single word.
"Yeah."
****
The warmth of the office wrapped around Lightning with an almost nostalgic familiarity. The walls were painted a soft cream, complemented by the deep, earthy tones of dark oak trim and the lighter shades of polished wood beneath her boots. Cabinets and drawers lined the walls, their brass handles glinting under the amber light. A tall window stood behind a broad oaken desk, its heavy crimson drapes trimmed in gold, swaying faintly with the draft of the air conditioner.
Lightning sat back on the leather couch. One leg crossed neatly over the other. Her outfit, white jeans, a red blouse, and a checkered green jacket, blended the casual with the sharp professionalism that always seemed to cling to her. She brushed a lock of straight blonde hair over her shoulder and brought the teacup to her lips, the cool porcelain kissing her fingers. The scent of mint lingered in her nose, clean and refreshing, followed by the faint sweetness of honey on her tongue.
Setting the cup back into its saucer, she leaned back and let her gaze wander. Across the room, a glass cabinet stood proudly in the corner, filled to the brim with trophies and plaques, their polished surfaces catching the light. The walls around it were lined with framed certificates and black-and-white photographs of umas long past. Faces frozen in triumph, moments captured through decades of legacy. Between them hung banners of old champions, their colors slightly faded but their names still commanding reverence.
It was a room that breathed history, discipline, and pride. Everything Lightning had once chased and everything she had sworn to protect.
"You know," Lightning began, setting her teacup back into its saucer, "when Chairwoman Akikawa invited me to Tracen, I was genuinely honored." Her gaze settled on the uma seated across from her. The young lady's light brown hair flowed down to her waist, a single white streak cutting cleanly through her bangs. "But truth be told, I was far more interested in meeting you. The legendary Emperor of Tracen, Symboli Rudolf."
Rudolf smiled modestly, her posture poised, the crisp lines of her Tracen uniform immaculate as ever. Her magenta eyes softened. Her ears twitched as she dipped her head. "You honor me, senpai," she said. "But my achievements pale compared to yours. You were one of the most decorated umas of your era… a member of the Godly Fifteen, no less."
Lightning gave a small laugh and shook her head. "Don't sell yourself short. Japan's full of remarkable talent, but you. You stand at the top of it all." Her smile deepened. "And from what I've heard, talent alone doesn't make a champion of your caliber. You must've had one hell of a trainer."
Rudolf's expression softened, her eyes lowering to the teacup in her hands. "I did," she said quietly. "I was fortunate in that regard. Not unlike you." She took a measured sip, then set the cup down and folded her hands neatly on her lap. When she looked up again, there was a flicker of melancholy in her eyes. "But if I may speak frankly, senpai. Your visit brings me both joy… and sorrow."
Lightning tilted her head slightly, curiosity and understanding blending behind her calm gaze.
"Your record in the Twinkle Series is immaculate," Rudolf continued. "Any uma would be right to idolize you. To aspire to your strength, your grace, your victories." Her tone then shifted, quieter, carrying a faint edge of unease. "But it's your other record… the one tied to your years with C.H.A.S.E. That's the one that gives me pause."
"Yeah, I figured you'd say that." Lightning uncrossed her legs, leaning forward slightly as her fingers steepled together. "I know you've had… reservations about the umas you've recommended me. So, allow me to make things clear. Who I am, what I do, and why I'm here in Tokyo." She let the silence stretch, her gaze unwavering, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound between them. "I'm sure you've heard about the Strider Scandal back in the States?"
Rudolf's face sharpened. She inclined her head.
Lightning's jaw set. "That whole mess nearly tore the States division of the URA apart. In a hundred years of racing, nothing's come close to that level of rot. It wasn't just a scandal. It was an infestation. And in a sense of cruel irony, none of us would have known where the bodies were buried. Or the fact that there were bodies to begin with, if the director's son hadn't gotten his head bashed in."
The image hung between them, heavy and silent. Rudolf's brow gave a quick, involuntary twitch. The smallest crack in her composure that betrayed the unease she otherwise kept carefully boxed away.
Her hands tightened for a second. "And when they threw the man I admired most into a cell, I swore I'd burn that place down. I promised myself I'd drag every rotten bastard out into the light, even if I had to do it alone." She inhaled, slow and bitter. "When the case closed, I thought it was over. Thought I could put the torch out." She shook her head once, flatly. "I was wrong."
Lightning held Rudolf's gaze, every ounce of steel in her sapphire eyes unchanged. "Strider was only the beginning. Director Roark and his pack were one tentacle of something far bigger, nastier. A sprawling network braided through the sport. Pull one string and another rotten knot came free. The more I pulled, the more rooms opened, and behind each door was filth I didn't have words for. In the end, it all led back to one thing."
"The Midnight Run Association." Rudolf's voice was low, the name carrying weight.
"Exactly." Lightning nodded, jaw hardening. "And it isn't just racing gone bad. It's an industry built in shadow. We're not talking about a few crooked bets. It's gambling platforms, drug routes, money laundering, prostitution, trafficking, racketeering. Some of it's so grotesque I can't even put words to it."
She paused, then pressed on. "Don't get me wrong, this isn't new. In fact, the MRA's been around for decades. The difference used to be they kept it quiet. Small-time bookies, hidden parlors, pockets of corruption you could bury under a press release. No flash, no headlines."
Her sapphire eyes hardened. "That changed. In the last few years, they stopped hiding," she said. "They built a super app. Polished, state of the art, and completely unhackable. High-definition drone feeds, live commentary, paid influencers, slick editing. Then came the professional sites, social media pages, branded merch. They've franchised their filth like a legitimate enterprise. What used to be a rumor traded in back alleys is now plastered on speakeasy bar screens, streamed on-demand, and fed straight to every tired working man's phone while he eats lunch at his desk."
Rudolf's composure didn't waver, though a flicker crossed her eyes. "As much as I dislike admitting it, I've heard whispers around campus," she said evenly. "Chairwoman Akikawa is fully aware, and the Student Council has made it clear. No student of Tracen will ever be associated with the MRA. Anyone caught engaging in such activities will be dealt with… harshly."
Lightning exhaled through her nose, leaning back slightly. "I'd expect nothing less. But that might not be enough."
Rudolf's brow arched, her arms folding across her chest. "With all due respect, senpai, are you suggesting that any of Tracen's finest would willingly throw away their careers for something so low?"
"Trust me, I'm not losing sleep over your champions, Rudolf," Lightning said with a dry chuckle. "I don't expect the likes of Oguri Cap or Majiro McQueen to go tearing through Shibuya traffic at two in the morning."
Her expression sobered. "It's not the top I'm worried about, it's everyone underneath it. The ones who never made the podium. The forgotten. The ones who gave everything and still got left behind." She leaned forward. "Desperation breeds recklessness. And that's where the MRA finds its runners."
Lightning drew a slow breath before speaking again. "I've been doing this a long time. From Los Angeles to London, from Singapore to Seoul. It's always the same damned story." Her sapphire eyes lifted, distant yet steady. "Some of them do it just to survive. To keep food on the table, to have a roof over their heads. But others…" her voice dipped, "others just want to feel what they never could. A glimpse of the glory they were denied."
Rudolf's expression softened, her magenta eyes lowering slightly as Lightning went on.
"You and I, we've stood at the top. We've heard the crowds, felt the lights, the pride." Lightning's tone grew heavier. "But most of these girls? They spend their lives chasing shadows. Training, bleeding, breaking themselves… and still, there's always someone faster. Someone better. They want what we had so badly they'd risk everything for a taste of it."
Her hands tightened into fists on her lap. "Those are the ones I find in the morgue. I still remember my first chase. She was fifteen balling down the highway. I was closing in, lights flashing, sirens screaming in the back… then a semi came out of nowhere." Her eyes shut for a moment. "I can still hear the impact. It's been years, and I still see her every time I close my eyes."
"Senpai…" Rudolf's composure tempered with concern.
Lightning gave a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I know what you're thinking. For an uma like me to walk away from a career most would kill for. It sounds unthinkable." She glanced toward the window, where the sunlight caught the edge of the curtain. "I wouldn't wish this path on anyone, least of all someone like you. I could've kept racing, had a few more wins in me, maybe even another title, but I couldn't keep pretending the world was all cheers, glowsticks, and confetti while knowing what rotted underneath it all."
Her shoulders eased slightly as she exhaled. "Anyway, I've probably talked your ear off enough." She reached for her teacup, the porcelain clinking softly as she took another sip. "Officially, I'm here to establish a C.H.A.S.E. division in Tokyo. But that's only part of the story."
Rudolf tilted her head, the jade earring at her lobe catching the light.
"Word is, the MRA didn't start in the States. It started here," Lightning said. "A splinter born from an old fracture inside the URA itself. Two families, two factions, two ideologies, one of which crawled underground and never came back up."
"I've heard that rumor," Rudolf admitted softly.
Lightning nodded. "Well, rumor or not, we've reason to believe the prodigal devils have returned. The MRA's gotten big. Too big. And from what our intel shows…" her sapphire eyes met Rudolf's, cold and certain. "They've come home to Tokyo."
Rudolf's eyes widened, a ripple of tension running through her shoulders. "You don't mean to say…"
"That's exactly why we're having this talk," Lightning said. "If the MRA really is shifting its main operations back here, they'll be ramping up fast. Recruitment, scouting, laundering, whatever it takes to dig their claws into the scene again."
She set the teacup down with a soft click. "I'll be addressing the students myself soon enough, but it's crucial that the Council and the Academy take pre-emptive measures. Lock down communications, monitor sponsorships, and make sure every uma under your care understands exactly what they're dealing with."
Her sapphire eyes hardened until they were nothing but ice. "And don't only watch the students, Rudolf. Watch the staff," she said. "I've seen this game play out a hundred ways. Plenty of rats wear polished shoes and tidy smiles. The nastiest deals start with a handshake from someone wearing a faculty badge. Next thing you know, girls are being shipped halfway round the world to play pretty little pony for sick, private appetites, or they end up torn apart on the asphalt. If you think the latter sounds brutal, believe me: in many cases it would've been the kinder fate."
Rudolf pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head with a weary sigh. "By the Goddesses… it feels like only yesterday my greatest headache was organizing Sports Day." Her shoulders slumped slightly. "And now this." Her magenta eyes fell to the desk. "Every uma who walks through those gates worries about track times and grades. Not the monsters lurking beyond them. It feels as though the world grows darker by the day."
"I'm sorry to break it to you," Lightning said quietly. "The world's always been dark. We've just been too blinded by the spotlights to notice. All the trophies, all the glitter. It tricks us into thinking the darkness isn't there. But it is. It always has been."
Her gaze drifted to the framed slogan on the wall—Eclipse first, the rest nowhere. A faint, humorless chuckle escaped her. "Fitting, isn't it? Taken another way, it's almost prophetic."
Rudolf frowned. "I'm not sure I follow, senpai."
"To eclipse," Lightning said, "is to cast a shadow. And if the MRA has its way, that's exactly what'll happen. It'll blot out everything—Tracen, the URA, everything we've built. All the light, gone. What's left will be ash and dust."
Lightning blinked, realizing she'd let the tone slip too far into gloom, and gave a soft laugh. "Sorry, got a bit morbid there for a second," she said, shaking her head. "Didn't mean any disrespect to your alma mater." Her grin returned, light but genuine. "On a brighter note, you know I've still got an open slot on my team. I know I said I wouldn't wish this life upon you, but I sure as heck could use an uma of your talents if you're in need of a change of scenery."
Rudolf chuckled, the corners of her mouth lifting. "I'm flattered, truly. But your heart's in the field, and mine's here at Tracen." She gave a sly tilt of her head. "Besides, I wouldn't want to steal your lightning."
Lightning blinked, lips parting. "You… you mean steal my thunder, right?"
Rudolf tilted her head, brows knitting. "Is that how it's supposed to go?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. "Translating English phrases is so much harder than it looks."
Lightning paused, and broke into a laugh, the tension in the room finally easing. Then, came a knock at the door.
"Come in," Rudolf said.
The doorknob clicked, and the office door swung open. An uma stepped inside, her Tracen uniform crisp and immaculate. Her black hair, streaked with dark gold, caught the light as her crimson eyes swept across the room. Her tail flicked once before she spoke. "Good afternoon, Miss President. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Lightning turned toward her, brow lifting slightly. There was something familiar about the girl. Something she couldn't quite place.
"Melody," Rudolf greeted warmly. "Come in. I assume those are the finalized plans for the upcoming event?"
"Yes," Melody nodded, stepping forward with a polite bow. "Miss Air Groove and Miss Brian have already reviewed them. Everything's cleared." She crossed the room, headed towards the desk.
"Oh, where are my manners," Rudolf said, rising from the sofa. "Melody, I'd like you to meet—"
The words barely left her lips before the files hit the floor with a loud thud. Melody's eyes went wide, her mouth parting in disbelief. "Oh my God… you're Wild Lightning!"
Lightning blinked, then broke into a warm laugh as she rose to her feet. "Wow, someone who actually recognizes me," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I've been out of the circuit for so long, people practically forget what I look like. Thanks for making an old, retired racer feel young again." She stepped forward with a smile and extended her hand.
Rudolf sighed, shaking her head with a helpless smile as she crouched to retrieve the fallen papers.
Melody seized Lightning's hand, shaking it so hard the older uma nearly lost her balance. "It's such an honor to meet you! I've been a huge fan, ever since I was little! You and the rest of the Godly Fifteen!" Her grin widened. "I've even got all your posters on my wall. Every single one of you… even my mom!"
Lightning froze. "Wait, what did you just say?"
"My mom," Melody repeated, her excitement softening. "She's part of the Godly Fifteen too." Her crimson eyes dimmed slightly. "Well… was."
A chill crept up Lightning's spine. "Your mother… she wouldn't happen to be Kadokawa Hornet, would she?"
"Yeah, that's her," Melody said with a small nod, before offering a bright, unassuming smile. "And I'm Hachimitsu Melody."
Lightning's breath caught. The name hit like a punch to the gut. Her knees weakened, forcing her to take a step back. Rudolf looked up, concern flickering across her face.
"Miss Lightning, are you alright?" Melody asked, her tone shifting with worry. "Did… did you know my mom?"
Lightning forced a small, shaky smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." Her words wavered, the faintest tremor behind the words. "She joined the team after me. A real firebrand, that one. Never stayed still for a second."
She tried to laugh, but it came out thin. Fragile, cracking under the weight of something buried deep. Inside, her thoughts spiraled, colliding into memories she had tried for years to bury. So that's it, she realized, the truth hitting her like a gut punch. That's why he came to Tokyo.
Her sapphire eyes lingered on Melody, and for an instant, the past tore through the present. She saw a baby uma in Bee's arms, her small face nestled against her chest. Logan standing beside her, smiling with quiet pride. The warmth in his eyes mirrored in Bee's. Two people who belonged together, if only for that fleeting moment.
Then another memory crashed through. The sound of rain hammering on pavement, the cold wind whipping through her hair. Lightning stood alone beneath the downpour, watching from afar as Logan and Bee held each other in the storm, lips meeting in a kiss that tore her heart in two. The rain had hidden her tears, but not the ache.
The rush of it all left her dizzy, her chest tight. She barely noticed the hand that came to rest gently on her shoulder until Rudolf's voice pulled her back. "Are you truly alright, senpai?"
Lightning blinked, forcing her focus back into the room. Melody was still watching her, concern etched across her face. Lightning drew in a slow breath and exhaled, managing a faint smile. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "Didn't mean to worry you. Guess I'm just… a little tired, that's all."
Lightning's gaze softened as she turned back to Melody. "As I was saying, your mother and I go way back," she said gently. "She joined the team a season after I did, so technically, I was her senior." A small laugh escaped her, tinged with something wistful. "She was a storm on the track. Fierce, unstoppable, with a temper shorter than a wolverine's."
She shook her head with a faint, wistful smile. "I swear, that girl was hardwired never to back down from a fight," she said softly. "But she had heart, real heart. She'd stand her ground for the people she cared about, no matter the odds." The words lingered in the air a moment before Lightning's expression dimmed, the light in her eyes giving way to a quiet sorrow. "I'm sorry… for what happened to her."
Melody smiled faintly, a soft laugh slipping through. "I've heard so many people describe Mom that way. Like she was a wildfire," she said, her words warm but threaded with longing. Her gaze drifted for a moment, thoughtful. "I don't remember much about her, so whenever someone talks about her… it feels like I'm getting to know her all over again."
Rudolf's expression gentled, pride threading through her tone as she glanced toward the younger uma. "Actually, Melody's one of our brightest here at Tracen. Part of Team Rigil, my team." She folded her arms with a hint of satisfaction. "More than half a dozen wins already, three of them graded. I'm certain her run at the Shūka Shō will be one to remember."
"Um, thank you, Miss President." Melody dipped her head, cheeks softly pink. She then turned to Lightning, bright and earnest. "It was truly an honor meeting you, Miss Lightning."
Lightning offered a warm nod. "I'll be giving a talk to your classmates on Monday. Maybe we can chat more then."
Melody straightened, excitement flickering in her crimson eyes. "I'd like that."
She turned to go, only to pause when Lightning spoke again.
"And Melody?" Lightning said gently. Melody looked back, expectant. Lightning's smile was small, touched by something old and tender. "Just so you know, you look so much like her. Like Bee."
Melody bowed once more, a little deeper this time, before stepping out. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the office steeped in a quiet that felt heavier than before.
Lightning exhaled slow, gaze fixed on the door even after it closed. "Well," she murmured, "that's something."
Rudolf let out a breath of her own, eyes softening. "I knew her mother was a champion from the States, but I never imagined she was one of your fifteen." She shook her head, lips tightening with self-reproach. "A lapse on my part."
"Don't." Lightning cut in gently, shaking her head. "Bee… Hornet, she was one of the last three in our group. We weren't exactly shouting that chapter of our life from rooftops." Her voice dipped, memories stirring like dust in sunlight. "We didn't stack accomplishments the way our seniors did. Mostly because…" She paused. A breath in, not steady. A breath out, not quite whole. "...she passed. And I turned my back on racing for good."
Rudolf stood still for a heartbeat, the silence respectful, not prying. "You mentioned three," she said quietly. "What of the third?"
Lightning's eyes drifted, something distant flickering behind them. "That's the part that keeps me up at night." She leaned back slightly. "After what happened, she… disappeared. No trace. No sightings. No whispers." Her fingers tightened against her own arm. "It was like she stepped off the world."
Rudolf's brows knit. "Disappeared?"
Lightning nodded slowly. "The press called her the Lost Number Fifteen." A beat. "And I've been looking for her ever since. Because I know she's out there. Somewhere. Still breathing." Her eyes lifted, quiet and steeled. "And one day, I'm going to find her."