No response…
In the office of a media company, Fujii Senosuke stared at the printed news spread laid out before him.
They were all filled with reports about Maruzensky's victory, praising the talented competitors and speculating about their future races.
But within all of them, the most crucial piece of information was missing.
The 'Black Ghost'—the one nobody had believed in, who had defied public pressure, surpassed Maruzensky, overtaken Tamamo Cross and so many other racers, and ultimately crossed the finish line first.
People had selectively turned a blind eye, acting as if this person had never even been in the race from the start.
The reason for this wasn't hard to guess.
She had deceived 170,000 spectators and slapped the faces of every critic.
Fujii Senosuke let out a sigh.
If she had only gone against the central authorities, it might have been one thing. But now, after she had shut everyone up with her performance, the result wasn't honest apologies—just silence.
Put simply, it was the trend. The tide of public opinion.
Shifting that tide was incredibly difficult. Even with undeniable facts right in front of them, people would use clumsy means to cover it up.
The wind of opinion wasn't so easily turned.
Or perhaps, if that Black Ghost had chosen a gentler approach—say, going all out from the very beginning and winning convincingly by the end—people wouldn't have acted so blind, so stubbornly silent.
But she had chosen the most radical method possible.
Fujii leaned back in his chair, holding his head.
"The stiffest tree is most easily cracked," he murmured. "The flexible survive." That Ghost was plenty smart; she had to know that.
So why choose the path most likely to provoke disgust—or maybe fear—in everyone?
Did she want to stand against the entire audience?
Was she so angered by their words that she sought revenge through action?
For now, those were the only two reasons Fujii could come up with.
But neither would do her any good.
Humans were social creatures. Their words and actions weren't purely driven by independent judgment. The news they read, the gossip they heard, even a few lines in a comment section—all of it shaped their consciousness profoundly.
Across the whole world, people were likely the creatures most easily influenced by external factors.
Stubborn, yet fickle.
Never go against the tide—that was a cardinal rule every journalist knew.
And right now, the public didn't want news of a black Uma Musume winning. Because of her actions, she was swimming against the current.
That's why most media outlets weren't reporting on it extensively. Those that did mostly discussed whether the black Uma Musume had broken the rules, just as the central committee claimed.
Every article carefully avoided the conflict between her and the spectators, steering the conversation elsewhere.
Trying to reverse public opinion in a single race… it was just too unrealistic.
More than once, he'd thought about calling her—calling Miss Silence—to ask about the Black Ghost. To ask what her goal really was.
But each time he took out his phone, he put it back again.
What good would it do, even if he knew?
Aside from adding to his own worries, there was nothing he could change.
He didn't come from some influential family that could shake the Uma Musume-racing world. He wasn't some well-connected insider.
He was just an ordinary journalist writing columns, and even if he poured his heart into a piece, whether it got published depended entirely on market trends.
A nobody in the racing world—a stagehand, never seen by the audience.
Fujii Senosuke scratched his head in frustration.
It grated on him…
This feeling of seeing everything unfold, yet being powerless to change any of it.
During his last call with Miss Silence, she had asked him to look up toward the upper stands, to shout her name loudly.
And so he had stood up, raised his hand, and pointed high toward that black figure.
In that moment, Fujii had felt it—he had truly contributed, in his own small way, to the horse racing he loved, to the Uma Musume he wanted to see succeed.
It had excited him.
He was no longer just a bystander, watching from the sidelines. He had become part of the story.
Quietly, Fujii turned on his computer and began scrolling through online comments about the black Uma Musume.
'I saw it—the whole stadium went dead silent.'
'Didn't feel like a race at all. More like a memorial service.'
'That final sprint was terrifying. I couldn't even speak.'
'How is she not super strong even without breaking the rules, like the committee claims??'
'Maruzensky's first loss.'
'Too bad, I was hoping Narita Brian would win…'
Message after message appeared before his eyes. It was completely different from what people said in person.
Behind the barrier of the internet, their words flowed more freely.
Those who thought the Black Ghost was amazing praised her openly. Those who found her annoying cursed without restraint.
Here, it wasn't just one single 'current.'
As he scrolled deeper, Fujii began to find messages he'd never hear in everyday conversation:
'Does anyone know where she's racing next?', 'I'll cheer for her', 'I want to see her race again', 'Shut those noisy haters up.'
More and more, Fujii discovered supporters hidden among the crowd—those too afraid to speak up aloud.
Unbound by rules, they simply wanted to see that black figure racing down the track.
And then, between the lines, some hinted at something more:
'I believe that black Uma Musume… is a ghost.'
Click—
The pen on his desk rolled to the floor.
Fujii's eyes widened.
Yes… Yes! Of course!
He didn't need to change everyone's minds. He just needed to find those who believed—those who trusted the truth.
Even if it was just a few thousand, a few hundred, or maybe only a few dozen people… as long as they believed, she wouldn't be alone.
With that thought, Fujii quickly typed a line under one of the comments:
"How many of you believe the ghost really exists?"
But just before hitting send, he paused, thought it over, and deleted it all.
No—he couldn't be so direct.
He had to be subtle. He needed to package it, polish it, make it intriguing…
A website! That's it—a website dedicated to the 'Ghost'!
Just a simple page with information about the 'Black Ghost.'
The Eight Major Races!
Miss Silence said her goal was the Eight Major Races, so her next race must be one of them.
If another warning letter came, he could publish it on the site beforehand—boost its credibility!
Why hadn't he thought of this earlier? He'd been so stupid!
He smacked his forehead, then got straight to work, wasting no time as he began building a simple webpage.
Even someone like him had something he could do.
A firefly's glow could rival the moon's.
Nothing was sadder or more boring than watching the story you longed to see unfold right beside you, yet being unable to take part.
For the things you love, to witness what you yearn to see—even if it means going against the current, defying the trend, even if you're cursed by thousands—it's worth it.
Just as he typed the first line, Fujii Senosuke's fingers suddenly stilled.
He thought… he understood now. Why the Black Ghost had done what she did.
--+--
T/N: While I am an inexperienced Translator, I have a Patreon! While it may seem empty as of now, webnovel will get 2 Chapters Every Day, and advanced chapters will be uploaded on Patreon.
It may not seem worth it now, but maybe in the future. Who knows!
[email protected]/AspenTL
If you guys wanna check it out.