The doors slid open, and crisp autumn air spilled into her lungs.
The moment Lunar stepped outside, she felt it—space. The world seemed taller here, the sky stretched wider overhead. Mountains rose in the distance, their slopes brushed in amber, rust, and deep evergreen, while the trees nearer the station burned quietly with autumn color. The air smelled clean, faintly of earth and fallen leaves, carrying a chill that felt honest rather than sharp.
"This place is really nice," More Than Ready said, turning slowly as she took it all in. "Way calmer than Tokyo." She huffed a short laugh. "That city reminds me of bad ol' Sydney—jam-packed, loud, like no one's allowed to stop moving."
Autumn Sun nodded, gaze lifting toward the mountains. "There's room to breathe here."
Anonym followed the line of the ridges with her eyes and gave a small, sincere nod. "…I like it."
Tazuna watched their reactions with a gentle smile. "This is only the surface of Hokkaido," she said. "Once you leave the cities, there's so much more—forests that stretch forever, coastlines that seem to swallow the horizon, and many more." She chuckled softly. "Sometimes it feels like Tokyo and Hokkaido belong to different countries altogether."
Namawa's ears shot straight up. "More beautiful stuff than this?!" she gasped, spinning in a small circle. "How is that even real!"
A soft laugh escaped Black Caviar. She lifted a hand and pointed just beyond the station exit. "Speaking of reality, our ride's here."
Parked neatly along the curb were two white vans. The doors were already opening as bodyguards stepped out, moving with quiet, practiced efficiency to secure the area.
Invincible Caviar blinked. "Uh… why two vans?" she asked. "Why not just one big bus like before?"
Black Caviar glanced back at her. "Because we're heading to Iwanai Town where Lunar used to live," she explained. "The roads there are narrow. A bus would be more trouble than it's worth—vans are faster and safer."
Namawa groaned dramatically, slumping forward. "Whaaat? We still have to travel more?"
Written Tycoon took a quick look at her tablet and answered calmly, "If nothing delays us, the distance is roughly one hundred and fifty kilometers. We should arrive in about three hours."
"Three hours?!" Namawa wailed.
Beside her, Saiya sagged at the same time. "I'm so tired of being in vehicles today…"
Lunar glanced up at Miss Tazuna, and the two of them exchanged a knowing look—then smiled.
Miss Tazuna clapped her hands lightly. "Now, now. It's a long ride, yes—but the route we're taking runs along the coast for quite a while. You'll see plenty of beautiful scenery along the way."
Their shoulders lifted just a little.
"…Okay," Namawa admitted. "That sounds kinda cool."
The group escaped the station together, footsteps echoing softly against the pavement as they approached the waiting vans. The bodyguards opened the doors with practiced efficiency, already gesturing for them to board.
Black Caviar clapped once, sharp and decisive. "Alright. We'll split into two groups."
She gestured toward the first van. "This one will be me, Vinnie, Namawa, Invi, and More." Then she turned slightly and pointed to the other vehicle parked a few steps away. "Everyone else will board that one."
Namawa blinked. Then blinked again.
"…Huh?" She spun around, looking at the others already drifting toward the second van. "Wait—why do they all get to go together?!" She pointed accusingly. "Lunar, Saiya, Anonym, Persian—all of them! And I'm stuck with big sis Invi?!"
Invi's brow twitched.
Before Namawa could dodge, Invincible reached out and pinched her cheeks hard. "Because. you're. so. damn. troublesome!" she snapped.
"OW—OW—OW!!" Namawa squealed, flailing uselessly as her words turned into garbled complaints. "I TAKE IT BACK—LET GO—!!"
Black Caviar sighed, though there was the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes. "I simply divided the adults evenly. Three in each van." She tilted her head slightly, gaze dropping to Namawa. "Besides… you do want to ride with Mommy Vinnie, don't you?"
"…Yes," Namawa muttered, rubbing her aching cheeks with both hands.
"Good," Black Caviar said, satisfied.
The groups began moving toward their respective vans.
That was when Saiya suddenly broke into a sprint.
"FIRST ONE THERE GETS TO PICK WHO THEY SIT NEXT TO!!" she shouted, already halfway across the lot.
"HEY—!" Anonym yelled, instantly giving chase without a second thought.
"Saiya, Anonym— wait—don't run, be careful—!" Miss Tazuna called, quickening her pace after them.
Behind her, Written Tycoon stopped short, her expression darkening visibly. "…Unbelievable," she muttered, fingers curling at her side. "How many times have I warned her about running off like that—"
A hand settled gently on her shoulder. Autumn Sun stood beside her, offering just enough comfort to ensure she won't explode right this instant. Written Tycoon exhaled sharply through her nose, tension easing just a fraction as they resumed walking.
Lunar lingered for a moment, watching the scene unfold, before suddenly she felt a hand slip into hers.
She immediately looked beside her.
Persian said nothing, expression unchanged, simply tightening her grip and tugging Lunar forward as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
-
"It's not fair…"
Saiya sat stiffly in the middle row, arms folded tight across her chest as she pouted at the van floor like it had personally wronged her. Her tail flicked once in clear irritation.
"First I didn't get to sit with Lunar," she complained, cheeks puffed out, "and then I'm stuck with the aisle seat. That's totally unfair!"
Beside her, Anonym—comfortably settled by the window—slowly tore her gaze away from the passing mountains. Autumn forests rolled by outside, reds and golds blurring together beneath the pale sky.
"I got to the van first," Anonym said flatly. "Of course it's fair that I get to choose."
Saiya whipped around. "That's not what I meant! The rule was you get to choose who you sit with, not where you sit!"
Anonym stared at her.
Just… stared.
Then, without another word, she turned back to the window, attention fully reclaimed by the passing landscape.
Saiya's pout deepened, somehow managing to look even more wronged than before
From the single seat directly in front of them, Written Tycoon spoke without turning around. "Quiet down," she said coolly. "Accept the consequences of being reckless."
Saiya slumped slightly. "Auntie…"
"And besides," Tycoon continued, lifting a hand to gesture to her left, "Persian and Lunar are sitting right next to you. I fail to see why you're getting so worked up."
Saiya followed the motion.
Across the aisle, Persian occupied the aisle seat, posture relaxed and unbothered. Lunar sat by the window beside her, hands in her hoodie pocket. When Saiya looked their way, Lunar offered a small, reassuring smile, ears tilting gently in her direction. Persian didn't smile—but she did glance over, eyes softening just a little.
The sight drained the fight out of Saiya all at once.
She let out a long sigh. "…Fine," she muttered, sinking back into her seat. "I guess it's okay."
Behind Lunar and Persian, Tazuna and Autumn Sun exchanged glances before quietly chuckling at the sight before them.
About an hour and a half into the journey, the van had grown quiet in a way that only long roads could create.
Lunar noticed it gradually.
Saiya was slumped in her seat, head tilted awkwardly toward the aisle, mouth slightly open as soft, even breaths slipped past her lips. Anonym had fared better—curled toward the window, forehead resting lightly against the glass, black hair framing her round face as she slept without a sound.
Ahead of them, Aunt Tycoon was asleep too. That, more than anything else, made Lunar pause.
Aunt Tycoon's arms were no longer crossed, her posture no longer rigid with vigilance or control. Her expression was unguarded, softened by rest. She looked… tired. It felt strangely intimate to see her like that, as though Lunar were glimpsing something she wasn't meant to—an exhaustion usually hidden beneath discipline and sharp words.
Behind Lunar, Aunt Autumn Sun and Miss Tazuna were still awake, voices low and gentle as they whispered to one another. Lunar couldn't quite catch the words—only fragments of it. Their tones were calm, warm, mindful of the sleeping girls around them.
Lunar turned her gaze to her right.
Persian sat beside her, one leg crossed over the other, shoulders relaxed. Her eyes were glued on her tablet, earbuds tucked neatly in, shutting out the world. The faint glow of the screen played across her face as the screen shifted.
Curious—just a little—Lunar leaned her gaze over.
A race filled the screen.
The camera tracked the pack as they rounded the final corner, Lunar could almost feel the sound and rhythm of steps meeting the ground even through the silent imagery,
As the camera zoomed to the leading pack, she saw her.
A girl surged forward from behind, slicing through the field with impossible ease. Her outfit was unmistakable: a sharp, elegant racing uniform accented with bright greens and whites, fitted yet flowing, as if designed to move with the wind itself. Her brown hair streamed behind her, dark and glossy, blue eyes alight with fierce joy rather than any strain.
She didn't force her way through the pack. She became the gale that surrounded and overtook them.
One moment she was there— the next, she was past them all. The final straight vanished beneath her feet as the finish line arrived in a blink.
Victory, absolute and beautiful.
The camera zoomed in on her face as she slowed, breath steady, smile wild and free.
Lunar's eyes shone in recognition. "Mr. C.B…" she murmured without thinking.
Beside her, Persian's ears twitched as she heard the soft murmur. She turned her head slightly, one earbud shifting as she glanced at Lunar. "…You know Mr. C.B?"
Lunar startled. "Ah—! I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to peek or disturb you—"
Persian shook her head at once. "You didn't," she said calmly. "It's fine." She paused, then repeated, more curious now, "Um, so, you know her?"
Lunar nodded, her voice soft as memory welled up. "Yeah. My momma… she talked about her a lot. There's a poster of Mr. C.B in our living room. It's been there for as long as I can remember."
She glanced back at the tablet, where the replay had already begun to loop, the great surge at the final corner playing out again.
"Momma used to say that watching Mr C.B. run didn't feel like watching someone chase victory," Lunar continued. "It felt like… the wind itself was racing. Like she wasn't forcing anything—just going wherever the wind carried her." Her voice grew quieter. "She said that was beautiful to see."
Persian listened without interrupting, eyes flicking briefly between Lunar and the screen. Mr. C.B burst forward again, the same effortless dominance, the same wild freedom.
Lunar took a small breath. "Momma really loved that about her. She said it made her feel… lighter. Like running could be something joyful, not just something painful or heavy."
After a moment, Lunar turned back to Persian, tilting her head slightly. "…What about you?" she asked. "Why are you watching Mr. C.B's races?"
Persian's fingers tightened just a little around the tablet. Her gaze lingered on the screen as the replay ended, the image freezing on Mr. C.B's smiling face—free, unrestrained.
After a moment, she spoke again. "After what Orfevre said that day," she admitted, tone thoughtful, "about my running being too safe… too restrained…" Her gaze sharpened, not frustrated—but searching.
"So I started watching races," she continued, words flowing more easily now. "Uma Musumes who are known as "running purists". The kind who puts their entire being into their run. Ruffian. Silence Suzuka. Mr. C.B." She paused, then added more quietly, "…Even Mom also qualifies as that."
The tablet's pale glow reflected faintly in her eyes as another highlight queued itself.
"I'm trying to understand that mentality," Persian said. "What it actually means to run for the sake of running. Not for results or anything else. Just… because that's who they are."
Lunar hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly. "…Did you figure it out?"
Persian glanced at her, then away again, fingers tightening slightly around the tablet. The confidence she usually carried wasn't there—replaced by something quieter, uncertain.
"…Not really," she admitted. "From what I gathered so far, I can only conclude that it meant running as hard as you can. Giving everything your body has." Her brows knit faintly. "That's what I've always done. I always run to win."
Her voice dropped a notch.
"So I don't understand why it's still not enough. Why… I still can't be faster."
Lunar listened in silence, her eyes never leaving Persian's face. Then she shook her head—just slightly.
"Maybe," she said carefully, "you understood it wrong."
Persian looked back at her, genuinely startled. "Wrong? What do you mean?"
Lunar took a second, eyes lowering as she searched for the right words. Then she lifted her gaze again.
"Running as hard as you can," she said slowly, "isn't the same as running as hard as you want."
Persian blinked. "Isn't it… the same thing?"
Lunar shook her head again, this time with a little more certainty, as if the distinction mattered deeply to her.
"When you run as hard as you can," she explained, "you're running up to the limit you believe you have. The point where your body—or your mind—says, this is enough. You stop there, even if there's more ahead."
She glanced back at the tablet, where Mr. C.B. was replayed surging past the pack, free and unrestrained.
"But running as hard as you want," Lunar continued, voice quiet but steady, "means running past that line. Letting your beliefs carry you further than what your body thinks is possible. Letting your spirit decide how far you go—not your calculations."
Persian followed her gaze to the screen.
"But running as hard as you want," Lunar continued, her voice quieter now but steady, "means you don't let that line decide for you. You run past it. You let what you believe in—what you desire—carry you further than what your body thinks it can handle. You stop calculating, stop measuring, and just… go. You let your spirit decide how far you're willing to reach."
Persian followed her gaze, eyes lingering on the screen as the replay shifted again.
"…Mr. C.B. did that," Lunar said softly. "Every time she ran."
The footage changed, flowing into later races—moments where the brilliance was still there, but something fragile had crept in alongside it. A slight stiffness. Bandages wrapped carefully around her legs. The quiet, accumulating cost of pushing too far, too often.
"She kept running beyond her limits," Lunar went on, "and because of that… she paid the price."
Persian swallowed, her throat tightening as the truth settled in.
"She injured her feet," Lunar said. "Again and again. It followed her for the rest of her career, all the way to retirement. Those injuries took away chances she should've had—races she never got to run properly. She never had a chance to compete at her best with Symboli Rudolf. She never got to run the way she once did."
Persian's grip tightened, something complicated flickering plainly across her face.
"But," Lunar said softly, "she never regretted how she ran."
"She knew the risk," Lunar said. "And she accepted it. Because that was how she wanted to run. That was who she was." Her voice warmed, something dawning behind her eyes. "She enjoyed it. That's what momma told me."
For a brief moment, Lunar's eyes seemed to glow golden— clear and resolute.
"But, not everyone ends that way," she added quickly, turning slightly. "Look at Aunt Nel." A small smile touched her lips. "You said she ran with everything she had too. She never held back. And she retired undefeated and uninjured—she became a legend."
Persian slowly nodded, the pieces beginning to fall into place.
Lunar met her gaze, earnest and steady. "What Orfevre said… I believe that it wasn't only about just running faster," she said. "It was about choice." She hesitated, then continued. "To win is to seize victory—no matter the cost. And sometimes… that cost includes risk."
She turned her attention back to the window, to the blur of autumn colors rushing past them. "…I don't think there's a right or wrong answer to it," Lunar added quietly. "Not everyone has to run the same way. Not everyone should take that risk."
Her voice softened at the end, almost thoughtful. "The real question is…" she said at last, "…how far you're willing to run for the way you want to run."
Persian let the words linger between them for a heartbeat longer. Then, quietly, as if testing their weight, she echoed them back. "…How far I'm willing to run… for the way I want to run."
She lifted her gaze and met Lunar's eyes fully this time. "I don't know the answer yet," Persian admitted. Her voice was softer than usual. "I'm not sure what that looks like for me." A small pause, then a breath. "But… I want to try and find out."
Lunar's expression warmed immediately, something gentle and relieved blooming across her face. "Me too," she said. "I don't think I know the answer either."
She hesitated for half a second—then held out her hand, pinky extended between them. "So," Lunar said with a small, hopeful smile, "let's promise to figure it out together."
Persian blinked, clearly caught off guard. Then her face softened, the tension she carried easing at the edges. A faint flush crept up her cheeks as she hooked her pinky around Lunar's without hesitation.
"…I promise," she said quietly. "I'll try my best."
Their hands lingered like that for a second longer than necessary—something unspoken passing between them—before Persian reluctantly let go.
She cleared her throat and glanced back at her tablet, tapping the screen to bring up another video. "Do you… want to watch some more?" she asked, sliding one earbud free and holding it out. "Races or maybe documentaries? There are some really good ones."
Lunar's eyes brightened. "Yeah!" she said, taking the earbud with a small laugh. She slipped it into her right ear, leaning slightly closer.
The screen filled again, glow washing softly over both their faces.
Old footage rolled by first—grainy colors, narrow tracks, crowds packed shoulder to shoulder. Northern Dancer burst forward in a blur of motion, compact and fierce, her stride short but relentless.
"She's so small," Lunar murmured, leaning in a little. "But she doesn't seem to struggle at all."
"That smallness was what made her terrifying," Persian replied quietly. "That low center of gravity made it seem like she was cutting through the ground at every corner."
The video changed.
Zenyatta appeared next—towering, patient, lingering at the back of the pack as if half-asleep. Persian frowned faintly. "She's… really far behind."
Lunar smiled, just a little. "Watch."
And then Zenyatta moved. The camera struggled to keep up as she unfurled down the final stretch, swallowing distance in impossibly long strides. Persian's eyes widened. "She waited the whole race just for that?"
"That's how she wanted to run"
The next clips came faster—Ghostzapper exploding forward with raw, violent speed; Curlin digging deep, muscles screaming, refusing to yield even as challengers closed in.
Then the tone shifted with a documentary video of Oguri Cap, the narration earnest and dramatic, swelling with reverence and respect. An elderly trainer filled the screen, gesturing passionately as he launched into an intense explanation of strategy and effort—
Only for Oguri Cap herself to suddenly lean into frame. "…I'm hungry."
The old trainer froze before he exploded."I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING!"
Lunar clapped a hand over her mouth just in time, a muffled laugh slipping out anyway. Her shoulders shook once, eyes crinkling.
Persian's lips twitched. She looked away quickly, pretending very hard not to find it funny.
They finished the documentary and found a video with a bold title on the recommendation section.
"The Greatest Uma Musumes of All Time."
Persian straightened instantly. "…Oh, this is an interesting one."
The countdown began.
Names rolled by—Shinzan. Hanover. Citation. Seabiscuit. Each accompanied by brief highlights and reverent narration.
Then—
Black Caviar – Rank #6.
Persian scowled instantly. "Six?" she said flatly. "That's ridiculous. Mom should be number two."
Lunar tilted her head, ears twitching. "Only number two?"
Persian huffed, folding her arms. "I love Mom, but I'm not delusional. She's not beating Secretariat."
The screen continued.
Man o' War. Count Fleet. Native Dancer. Frankel.
Then—
Secretariat – Rank #1.
Lunar stared at the footage—those massive, invincible strides, that impossible pace that seemed to tear the track apart. Though she thought to herself, Eclipse's was even more impossible…
Persian nodded at the ranking, satisfied.
After that, they queued up old compilations of Black Caviar's races—dominant, merciless, elegant. Lunar found herself smiling without realizing it, watching the way Aunt Nel surged ahead as if the rest of the field simply didn't exist, like victory was something she claimed by right.
At one point, Lunar squinted faintly, leaning forward just a bit, brows knitting as the details blurred.
Persian noticed it, and without a word, she nudged Lunar closer, a careful arm lifting to rest around her shoulders, drawing her just enough that their sides brushed properly this time. It was subtle but extremely bold.
Lunar looked up at her, surprised—then smiled. "Thanks," she said softly.
It was a small smile, innocent yet dangerous.
Persian's heart gave an abrupt, traitorous thump. She stiffened for half a second, then nodded once, eyes snapping back to the tablet as if it suddenly demanded her full concentration.
"…Mm," she murmured, pretending nothing had happened.
At the front of the van, Written Tycoon had woken at some point—silently, as she always did. Her sharp eyes flicked behind, taking in the scene in a single glance— the shared earbud, the closeness, the ease.
A faint glint passed through her eyes. "Going better than I thought it would..."