Tokyo. Inside a solemn dōjō.
On the central wall hung a bold wooden plaque: Mind • Body • Technique.
A horse girl in a spotless gi stood motionless beneath it, eyes lightly shut, breath long and even—as if she'd blended into the air around her.
Suddenly—
Her foot slid. The air itself snapped with a crisp pop.
In the next instant, only an afterimage remained where she'd stood. White flashed around the room—body following will—shape flickering like a phantom.
A heartbeat later, several razor gusts of fist-wind tore through the stillness—
Bang!
With a heavy stamp, she halted, hips and shoulders locking as one; a straight punch fired forward with unstoppable force.
She was a prime contender for this autumn's Tenno Sho (Autumn), one of the Classic Triple Crown winners—Satsuki Sho's champion: Yaeno Muteki.
Her condition was tuned to a razor's edge. Yet her fair face held a weight heavy enough to drip.
Another punch carved the air…
But Muteki's thoughts were dragged into a whirlpool of time, flung back four months to that nightmare of a Takarazuka Kinen.
…
"Inari One surges from behind! What terrifying speed! That unbeatable late kick! No one can match it!"
The announcer's voice still rang in her ears.
In memory, a crimson bolt split the course from the outside—brute, unreasonable, inevitable.
"She's through! Inari One passes Yaeno Muteki! One length—three lengths! She's still accelerating!"
"No one can catch her! Another landslide victory!"
Muteki's awareness drifted above herself, coldly watching the girl below—watching the her that no one should have surpassed so easily. Watching the her whose eyes burned and throat ripped with a roar as she wrung out the last drop of strength… and still fell farther and farther behind, powerless.
Back to now—
That bone-deep powerlessness and shame clenched her heart. Muteki bit down hard, a decisive light flashing in her eyes.
"Hah!"
She stopped punching. Hands crossed, palms folded at her chest to shape a lotus seal—then thrust forward.
Vmmm—!
Air before her palms compressed under an unseen, crushing force—then detonated outward.
Boom!
A visible shock-ring rippled from her center, snapping her gi loud as flags in a gale.
At that moment, an elderly man—beard no longer pure white—stepped in through the open doors. Age lined his face, but his spirit burned; back straight, steps sure—like a hidden master from a fighting manga walking into frame.
"Yaeno Muteki, I'm coming in—"
He'd just reached the threshold when the blast-front caught him square in the face. Even for a budō master of his tier, the sudden impact churned his qi and blood; he nearly spat a mouthful on the spot.
Humans and horse girls—there is a gulf you can't paper over. However long a human trains, however far they climb, a single G1-class horse girl can throw a shock-wave with one punch that no ordinary body can meet head-on.
"Shihan-dai!"
Muteki gasped, hurriedly pulled her force back, and jogged over to steady him onto a bench.
After a moment, the man—Muteki's trainer, known as Shihan-dai—caught his breath. He looked at her slight panting, and that shadow in her brow that wouldn't leave, then sighed.
"Your heart is unsettled. You're thinking about Yaeno Man a lot, aren't you?"
Muteki was quiet for a beat, then gave a small nod. "…Yes."
"Inari, and Creek… both have beaten me. I won't deny I'm uneasy."
"Mm." The elder stroked his greying beard, thought a moment, then asked, "From those races—what stuck with you?"
"Impressions…?"
"Your subjective read is fine. If you had to compare—what kind of enemies are they?"
"…Let me think."
Head bowed, Muteki chewed in silence. At length she spoke, voice dry:
"Creek… no matter the situation, she can look down from above and make the most correct choice. Her stamina is like her thinking… bottomless."
In her mind, the ever-gentle, ever-assured blue figure of Super Creek took shape.
She hesitated, choosing her words, circling once:
"As for Inari… honestly, I don't know her that well."
"Unlike the others, she transferred in suddenly late last year—and her personality… jumps around."
Her tone cut hard, suddenly solemn. "But—Inari is strong. Stronger than anyone I've seen."
A blaze of crimson from the Takarazuka—like it would burn the sky—flashed behind her eyes.
"So strong… I don't have confidence to face her." Her shoulders dipped; her voice fell small.
Shihan-dai didn't scold her for weakness. Instead, pleased, he nodded gently.
"Accurate. Your eye is sharp."
"'Know yourself and your enemy, and in a hundred battles you will not be imperiled.' Seeing your opponent clearly is the first step that matters most."
He fixed her with a bright, earnest gaze. "You've fought all of them."
"Not only Super Creek and Inari One—even Oguri Cap, Sakura Chiyono O, Mejiro Ardan—you understand them deeply. That is your greatest advantage."
Muteki scratched her cheek, a little abashed.
Finally, his steady voice tolled like a temple bell, each word striking her heart:
"Have confidence, Yaeno Muteki. You have grown stronger. Like budō—one grain each day. Bit by bit, stacked to a tower—you will become a true powerhouse."
Muteki blinked.
She stared at her master a long time, then slowly raised her arm—fingers curling, fist forming.
The gloom on her face lifted, replaced by a relieved, confident smile.
"Yes… yes!"
Her shout rang like the edge she'd shown in her Satsuki Sho—straight, fearless, cutting forward.
"Good." Shihan-dai nodded, satisfied. "Rest well this morning. This afternoon—your campaign begins."
…
Central Tracen Academy, Trainers' Quarter.
"Papa, look—I got a perfect score!"
"Papa, I placed first in the national mock exam…"
"Father… I graduated university early, so… I'll be a trainer too…"
Scenes like dreams flickered one after another: a twin-tailed little girl, then a willowy maiden—then, reborn, a thousand facets of a cool, violet-haired beauty.
Yet whatever she achieved, the slightly worn man before her always answered, simply:
"I see…"
Thud.
Fumino Naze shot upright in bed, a sheen of sweat on her brow. She sat, silent for a few seconds, then shook her head hard to fling away the heavy muddle of that dream.
"What a… rotten dream."
She dressed in quick, neat motions and stepped outside the trainers' compound—where several journalists (already cleared by the academy) had been waiting.
Failing to corner the absurdly fast trainer whose sprint matched a sports car—Inari One's trainer—they'd poured all their zeal onto Fumino.
"Trainer Naze! Thoughts on the Tenno Sho (Autumn)?!"
"I won't take anything lightly. I'll do everything to help my runner perform at her best." Fumino kept her eyes forward, walking, delivering the well-polished line.
"What's for lunch?"
"Sushi."
"How's Super Creek's condition?"
"Excellent at present."
"Will this be a revenge match against Inari One? Are you personally fixated on it?"
"…You could say that."
The questions were all over the map. Fumino exhaled softly. She'd just fielded one more and was about to turn away when a line slipped in and knifed her ear:
"Ah, incredible—no wonder, the daughter of the beautiful Naze!"
Fumino froze. The air around her went sub-zero.
"Please leave."
Some of the reporters blinked, confused. A second later, Fumino turned—those cool eyes now arctic with frost.
"Now. Immediately."
She left them rooted like statues and strode off without looking back.
…
On the training oval, Fumino watched the elegant blue figure cruising the track and, unbidden, heard the echo of that dream—and of that reporter's careless line. Her lips pressed thin.
I'm not someone's daughter. I'm me—Fumino Naze.
She let out a steady breath and focused on the tablet in her hands, Creek's metrics streaming in real time.
Then, quietly: "Creek."
The blue girl glanced over.
Fumino didn't speak more. She simply signed—a small, precise motion:
Full speed.
Creek understood.
Bang!
Deep-blue fire sparked in her eyes. The vast power she'd held in check unfurled, becoming a straight bolt that knifed through the line with irresistible force.
As she eased down and drew a slow breath, a breezy voice piped up behind her.
"Aww, still not there, huh?"
Creek turned to find a horse girl with a hachimaki bearing the kanji "Dream"—grinning sheepishly as she scratched her head.
"Sorry—I started tailing you partway through on my own. Turns out… beating you at long distance is really tough!"
She winked. "So much respect!"
"Thank you," Creek answered with a gentle smile that felt like spring sun. She was kind by nature.
"…But if it's at a mile," Creek added, "I'm not confident I could beat Twin Turbo."
"Really?!" The girl in the Dream headband—Twin Turbo, Creek's peer—lit up. Then her shoulders sagged again.
"Buuut… I couldn't beat Chiyono O in the Yasuda Kinen. She's so fast… truly worthy of a Derby filly."
"Chiyono O?" Creek blinked. Like Inari, Chiyono O was now one of Chasing Light's girls.
Turbo drooped only a second before balling her fists again. "I won't give up! One day, I'll lead Chiyono O out to post!"
"You will," Creek encouraged. "I believe it."
They chatted a little longer. Then Turbo checked the time and jolted.
"Ah! Gotta run! I've got Disciplinary Committee duty—see you!"
"If we meet in a race, please go easy on me~!"
Before the words finished, she was gone in a streak, already hollering down the path: "It's discipline time—!"
Behind her, Creek waved like a gentle mother, thought warm: Turbo really is so lively and cute.
When the path was quiet again, Creek stood alone on the turf, pressing her toes into the soft grass.
Inari One. Sakura Chiyono O. All of them—beyond reason, strong.
And today, I face Inari for the second time…
As the thought formed, Fumino stepped up beside her.
"Trainer?"
Fumino's eyes held no fog now—only the clean, single-minded hunger for victory.
"Creek… rest well. Then go out there—and win."
Creek blinked, then blossomed into a bright, steady smile.
"Yes!"
…
Afternoon.
Another training ground.
Kuroha watched Inari One finish her last warm-up set and nodded, satisfied.
"Very good, little Inari—your shape is perfect."
"Heh-heh! Of course!"
Inari grinned; her small ears twitched forward and back.
"Outside, they're all making predictions," Kuroha said. "How's our lady Inari planning to answer them?"
"Answer?"
Inari cocked her head. Then her mouth curled into a beast's free grin. Her fists cracked together.
"Same as always—crush everyone else."
Kuroha chuckled at his ace's iron confidence and closed his notebook. "Then let's go. Bring home the honor of a Tenno Sho spring–autumn double."
The Tyrant of Ōi—marches to war.
(End of Chapter)
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