The road narrowed without warning.
The van slowed as it began to twist and turn, tires crunching softly over gravel where asphalt thinned and bent to the shape of the land. Each curve leaned into the next, the vehicle swaying just enough to make the world feel unsteady.
Saiya stirred first.
"…Mmn," she mumbled, blinking as her head bobbed forward before she caught herself. She rubbed at one eye, tail flicking lazily as sleep loosened its grip. "Huh…?"
By the window, Anonym shifted next. She lifted her forehead from the glass with a faint sound, blinking once, then again, as her reflection dissolved into the world outside.
And what a world it was.
The town below unfolded gradually between hills and sea—small, quiet, and tucked gently against the coastline. Low houses with dark roofs clustered together. Fishing boats dotted the harbor like scattered beads, their masts swaying lazily. Beyond them, the ocean stretched wide and steel-blue, reflecting the pale autumn sun. Snow piled mountains rose behind the town, their slopes brushed with amber and rust, trees clinging stubbornly to the rock as if guarding the place.
Anonym leaned a little closer to the window, eyes tracing the curve of the bay. "So pretty…," she murmured, voice still rough with sleep.
From the front seat, Written Tycoon glanced back, having noticed the movement. "Oh, you're both awake?" she said evenly. "Good. We're getting close."
Saiya straightened immediately at the words, whatever drowsiness remained evaporating in an instant. "Close?!" she echoed, eyes widening as she twisted in her seat. "Like—actually close close?"
"Within the next several minutes close." Tycoon replied.
Saiya grinned, excitement bubbling up as she spun toward the back. "Lunar! Hey, Lunar—"
Her words died in her throat as what greeted her wasn't Lunar looking back. Instead, it was Persian.
She sat exactly as she always did—posture neat, expression composed, eyes focused on the tablet in her hand. Nothing about her face suggested anything out of the ordinary.
Except for one thing.
Her free arm was draped around Lunar's shoulders.
Lunar herself was asleep, head tilted gently to the side, resting against Persian's shoulder. Her breathing was slow and even, ears relaxed, fingers loosely curled in the fabric of her hoodie. She looked peaceful—unguarded as she always does when she sleeps.
Saiya stared.
She leaned back slightly, blinked once.
Then leaned forward again.
"…Huh?"
Anonym followed her gaze—and froze as well.
Neither of them spoke for a long second.
Persian, sensing the attention, lifted her eyes from the tablet at last. She glanced sideways, meeting Saiya's stunned expression without flinching. Her arm around Lunar didn't shift in the slightest.
"…What?" she asked quietly.
Saiya opened her mouth before closing it before any words could come out.
Then, very slowly, she turned toward Anonym with a look that very clearly said, Are you seeing this too?
Anonym nodded once, too speechless to say anything.
At the front, Written Tycoon watched the exchange through the reflection in the mirror, the faintest hint of amusement glinting in her eyes as the van continued its careful descent toward Iwanai Town.
-
The van eased into its final turn, gravel crunching softly beneath the tires before the motion slowed—and then stopped completely.
The driver glanced back and spoke with calm respect. "We have arrived, madam."
Written Tycoon inclined her head in a brief nod. "Thank you." Then she turned slightly, voice carrying just enough. "Everyone—we're here."
The effect was immediate.
Saiya threw her arms up with a stretch that nearly knocked her elbow into the seat. "Finallyyy! I thought my legs were going to fall asleep forever!" She hopped down as soon as her door slid open, practically bouncing in place at the promise of fresh air.
Behind them, Tazuna rose smoothly, preparing herself, while Autumn Sun followed at an easy pace, gaze drifting toward the window as if trying to take in the town even before stepping outside.
Persian noticed the movement all at once, except for one.
She looked beside her. Lunar hadn't moved at all.
Her head still rested against Persian's shoulder, breath soft and even, long lashes casting faint shadows against her round cheeks. She looked impossibly peaceful—ears relaxed, expression loose in the way only true, deep sleep allowed.
"…Lunar," Persian whispered, barely above a breath.
Nothing.
She tried again, a touch firmer but still gentle. "Lunar. We're here."
Still nothing.
Persian hesitated, her hand hovering uncertainly. Waking Lunar felt… wrong somehow. She glanced down again at Lunar's face, at the faint rise and fall of her chest, and felt her resolve falter.
How was she supposed to do this without startling her?
Before she could decide, a shadow fell beside her.
"I'll handle it," Anonym said quietly.
Persian turned just in time to see Anonym lean in—far too close for comfort—and before Persian could protest, Anonym bent toward Lunar's ear and blew a soft puff of air right beside it.
Lunar's ears twitched sharply.
Her face scrunched up, brows knitting together as she shifted with a small, uncomfortable sound.
Anonym didn't stop there.
She reached out and gently rubbed Lunar's ear between her fingers.
That did it.
"…Mmm…" Lunar mumbled, stirring at last. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, unfocused, voice thick with sleep. "Mommy…?"
Persian stiffened. "How did you–"
Lunar blinked again, the world slowly coming back into place as the van, the seats, and the faces around her resolved into focus.
Persian cleared her throat softly, lowering her voice again. "Lunar… we've arrived. Everyone's getting ready to head out."
The words settled gradually, like snow falling into still water.
Lunar blinked once more.
Then her eyes widened.
She straightened abruptly, lifting her head from Persian's shoulder as though tugged upright by an invisible thread. Any trace of sleep vanished from her expression, replaced by something sharp and trembling.
Her gaze snapped to the window.
Outside, the town lay quiet and familiar. Narrow roads curved gently between modest houses. Utility poles towering over everything, wires crisscrossing everywhere. The color of the sea seemed to cling to everything, carried on by the breeze even through the tinted glass.
And there, at the edge of the road, half-hidden behind a stand of trees and a weathered fence, stood a cottage.
Small and tired in the same way she remembered.
The roof still sloped unevenly. The paint on the door was chipped in long strips, exposing the pale wood beneath. The steps out front dipped in that familiar way—one that had always made her careful where she placed her feet. The fence still leaned to the left, stubbornly unfixed, just as she remembered.
Her chest tightened, pain blooming like it was a hateful spring.
…It's still here.
Memories pressed in all at once—laughter, humming, warmth. Her heart ached, heavy and sharp, like it didn't quite know how to hold everything at once.
Then—
shhkt.
The sound of a van door sliding open broke through the moment.
Lunar's gaze focused to in front of her
Black Caviar stood just outside, one hand resting casually on the door, the gentle wind tugging at her long black hair."What are we waiting for?" she said simply. "Come out here."
The cold breeze slipped into the van, cool and fresh, brushing Lunar's face. She swallowed once, then nodded.
Lunar stepped down from the van, boots touching the ground sending an impact through her entire body, like awakening something she thought she had lost.. The autumn air wrapped around her immediately—cool, familiar, and carrying the faint brine of the nearby sea.
Persian followed close behind her, tablet tucked away now, attentive to everything and Anonym hopped down after that, stretching her arms with a small yawn as she glanced around.
From the other van, the rest of the group gathered quickly, voices overlapping as they reunited.
Namawa was the first to reach them. Without warning, she leaned hard into Persian's side, letting her full weight drop like she'd been waiting to do it all day.
"Ughhh, I'm exhausted," Namawa whined. "Big Sis Invi was torturing me the whole ride. No snacks when I wanted, telling me to sit properly, telling me to stop kicking the seat—why is she like that?" She groaned dramatically. "You guys must've had way more fun in this van."
Persian shifted away slightly, letting out a quiet, irritated sound. "…Get off,"
Unfortunately for her, Namawa did not move an inch even at the command. Instead, she clung harder, earning herself a deeper scowl.
Namawa finally peeled herself off Persian just long enough to tilt her head, eyes narrowing with sudden curiosity. "So?" she asked, a grin tugging at her lips. "What did you guys do in the van anyway?"
Persian's gaze flicked away a fraction too fast. For just a moment, her thoughts betrayed her.
Long stretches of quiet conversation, voices kept low so as not to wake the others. The gentle memory of an earbud being shared, their shoulders brushing as videos flickered across the tablet screen. Legendary strides frozen in time, commentary murmured between them, Lunar's soft observations landing more insightfully than Persian had expected. And then—somewhere along the way—silence again, not the awkward kind, but more so.. comfortable.
Lunar's breathing evening out. Her weight settling naturally against Persian's shoulder, warm and solid. The faint rise and fall of her chest, the way her ears relaxed when she slept, trusting without question. Persian remembered how she hadn't moved for the longest time, afraid that even the smallest shift would disturb her.
The memory hit harder than it should have as a faint flush crept up Persian's cheeks.
"Nothing happened," she said a little too quickly, turning her head away to hide it. "Everyone was just sleeping anyway."
Namawa squinted at her, clearly unconvinced. She opened her mouth to press further—
"Namawa!"
Invincible Caviar's sharp voice cut through the air from behind.
Namawa yelped. "I'm coming!" She shot Persian one last suspicious look before scrambling away, arms flailing as she ran.
Meanwhile, Lunar noticed none of it.
Her attention was locked entirely on the cottage before her. Up close, it felt smaller than she remembered.
The walls seemed narrower, the roof lower, as if time itself had pressed down on the place. And yet, somehow, it felt heavier—like it carried the weight of every day she hadn't been there.
Her chest tightened.
She remembered mornings spent by the window, chin propped in her hands as she watched the sea change colors with the sky. The way sunlight spilled across the floor in thin, slanted beams.
She remembered laughter echoing through the thin walls, too loud for such a small house. The creak of the steps beneath her feet—how she learned exactly where to step to avoid the worst of it. The way the door always stuck just a little when the weather turned colder.
She took a half-step forward… then stopped. Her feet felt suddenly heavy, as if the ground was holding it in place.
Something shifted beside her.
Black Caviar had slowed as well, stopping just a little closer than before, offering an unassuming presence. She looked down at Lunar, affection softening her normally sharp gaze.
"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
Lunar nodded after a moment. "Yes," she answered just as softly.
Black Caviar didn't push. Instead, she extended a hand.
Lunar looked at it for a second—at the strength there, warm and reminding her of a piece of memory from the near past—before slipping her smaller hand into it, their fingers closed together naturally, the contact made her feel safe.
And just like that, Lunar began to walk again.
Hand in hand, they moved toward the cottage—mirroring a memory she hadn't realized had been waiting inside her. The day she'd left this place behind, she'd walked the same way. The same grip. The same quiet conversation wrapped around two aching hearts.
Her steps grew careful as she approached the short wooden stair leading up to the front door.
There were only three steps. She remembered every one of them.
The second one dipped slightly inward, worn down by years of footsteps and rain. She had tripped there once, pain blooming sharp and hot in her knees, the scrape of skin against damp wood, tears spilling before she could stop them. Not because it hurt so badly—but because she'd been scared.
She could still hear her mother's voice, half-laughing, half-scolding as she rushed over, lifting Lunar up like she weighed nothing at all.
"I told you not to run on the steps, silly."
Lunar lifted her foot and stepped over the dip carefully.
Her heart thudded once, heavy and uneven, as she reached the landing, walking her way up to the door.
It looked smaller than she remembered. Narrower. The blue paint had peeled almost entirely now, flaking away to reveal pale, weathered wood beneath. Scratches marred the surface, old and familiar, and the handle had lost its shine—dulled by countless turns, countless comings and goings.
Her fingers twitched at her side, instinctively wanting to reach for it. But she didn't.
Black Caviar stepped up beside her instantly. She didn't say anything. She simply reached out, her movement slow, and wrapped her fingers around the handle.
For a brief moment, she paused—just long enough for Lunar to breathe in.
Then she turned it.
The door opened with a long, aching creak, and the sound alone hit Lunar like a wave.
Memory rushed in all at once.
The scent reached her first—old wood warmed by years of living, a faint trace of salt carried in from the sea, and something softer beneath it all. Something unmistakably home. It was a smell no amount of time could erase. The air inside was still and undisturbed, as though the house itself had been holding its breath through every lonely day, waiting.
Light spilled in through the open doorway, cutting a pale path across the narrow entryway.
Lunar stepped forward.
Her foot crossed the threshold—
—and the world tilted.
She was small again.
Shoes lay abandoned by the door, kicked off carelessly the moment she'd come home, toes aching from a long day. Her mother's favorite coat hung crookedly on the hook by the wall, one sleeve perpetually sliding down because Momma never bothered to hang it properly. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet in the same familiar places, each sound etched into her bones. Near the wall, there it was—the faint scratch in the wood from when Lunar had dragged a chair across the floor, standing on tiptoe, desperate to look taller than she was.
Her chest tightened in beat with another step taken.
The living room opened up before her.
It was just as modest as ever. A low wooden table in the center, edges rounded and worn smooth. Cushions stacked haphazardly on one side. A long green sofa rested against the wall, a blanket draped carelessly over the back of it.
The same one that…
Lunar could see it so clearly she almost expected to find her mother there, feet tucked beneath her, humming softly as she flipped through channels or stared out the window lost in thought.
The memory twisted as what greeted her vision was the sight of her mother's body lying there—cold, pale and unmoving. The blanket pulled up too neatly. Hands still. Eyes closed as if sleep might explain everything.
Lunar's heart stuttered painfully.
Her gaze drifted upward—slow, almost reluctant—and landed on the wall.
The posters were still there.
Uma Musumes of many kinds, posed in moments of brilliance and defiance. Mr. C.B., wind-swept and smiling after her crushing defeat to Katsuragi Ace. A limited poster celebrating Cigar's glorious sixteen-race winning streak, colors bold despite the years. River Verdon. Hansel. Silver Charm. Rembrandt.
They lined the wall like constellations in the night sky.
They were crooked now, more so than Lunar remembered. Corners peeled where tape had long since lost its strength, the adhesive yellowed with age. Time had tried to claim them—but they'd refused to fall.
A quiet breath left Black Caviar who was standing beside her.
"…These are the same ones," she murmured, stepping closer. Her fingers lifted and brushed gently against a particular poster—one of the Uma Musume named Super Impose. "Your mother had these up in our old dorm room too." A faint smile tugged at her lips, softened by memory. "We used to talk about her for hours. She was my idol, and Guair always said she liked listening because it made me feel happy."
Behind Lunar, the others stepped inside more carefully now, voices lowering without anyone asking them to.
Autumn Sun paused just past the doorway, gaze moving slowly across the room as if feeling the space rather than seeing it. A soft smile touched her lips. "…This place really feels like her."
Miss Tazuna wandered farther in, her attention drawn instinctively to the walls. She stopped when she noticed the posters, recognition flickering across her face. "…She talked about having these so often," she said quietly. "I didn't think she would have kept them all."
Somewhere behind Lunar, Saiya moved in, taking it all in silently, a thought forming in her mind.
So this is where Lunar grew up…
Around them, small murmurs filled the air—Namawa whispering about how old everything felt and looked, Invi remarking on how small the place was compared to the dorms at the academy, Anonym quietly tracing the living room with her eyes, Persian saying nothing at all but taking everything in. The sounds blended together, distant like waves breaking far away.
Lunar barely heard any of it.
Her feet carried her forward, guided by memory, past the living room and into the small kitchen.
It was cramped—barely enough room for two people to stand comfortably—but it felt impossibly full to her now. Every inch of it was layered with moments. She remembered countless mornings here. Momma leaning against the counter, half-awake, silver hair a mess, grumbling about the early hour even as she cooked breakfast anyway. The smell of warm rice. The quiet clatter of dishes.
Lunar's fingers brushed the edge of the counter.
She remembered sitting there, legs swinging, listening to momma talk about things she barely understood about. Still, no matter what, they always ate together.
Because eating alone was not good.
Her mother's voice echoed so clearly it felt like it was spoken beside her.
"Never eat alone, Lunar. Food is something meant to be shared."
Lunar could see it—Momma sitting, leaning beside her slightly, smiling as she extended her pinky. "Always find someone to eat with. Even if that someone isn't me. Got it?"
A much smaller Lunar had hooked her pinky without hesitation.
"Promise!"
The word echoed back at her from a smaller, brighter version of herself—and this time, it didn't land gently. It caught in her chest, tightened there, until her breath came a little uneven. The memory pressed too close, too warm, and the space it left behind ached in a way that felt almost physical.
Lunar turned away before the feeling could spill over.
She moved down the narrow hallway, steps slow, drawn toward the door at the end—the one that stood slightly ajar. Momma's bedroom.
Saiya saw the way Lunar's shoulders dipped, her eyes had seen the deep, blue sadness that seemed to trail behind her like a shadow. Without saying a word, Saiya lifted her gaze towards the others and gestured quietly. Anonym fell in beside her at once. Persian followed, expression alert. Namawa hesitated for half a second—then hurried after them.
They stayed close, enough to be felt, but just enough space left for Lunar's grief to slip through.
She stopped in front of the door. Her hand hovered in the air, fingers stiff, as if the simple act of touching it might shatter something fragile inside her. For a heartbeat, she hesitated.
Then she pushed it open.
The room was small—barely more than a bed and a dresser—but it felt unbearably large to her. The window faced the sea, thin curtains fluttering gently as pale light filtered through. Dust danced lazily in the air that suggested things left untouched.
On the dresser sat a single framed photograph.
It was taken at an awkward angle, from an old camera that broke a long time ago. Momma sat on the grass, silver hair slightly messy, smiling down at the lens. On her lap, a much smaller version of herself slept soundly, curled into her warmth, utterly unaware of the world around her. Even frozen in time, Momma's smile radiated something deep and gentle—pride, affection, a love so full it almost hurt to look at now knowing how distant it is, and will be for the rest of her life.
Lunar stepped closer, hands beginning to tremble.
Regret welled up inside her all at once. She had left this picture behind. She had walked away without taking it with her, too numb at the time to think, she abandoned the only picture left she had of them together. The thought of that emptiness pressed down on her chest, heavy and suffocating.
Her vision blurred.
Tears spilled freely, one after another, blurring the room until everything became a wash of light and shadow. A deep, biting cold crept into her chest, hollowing her out from the inside, stealing the warmth with each tear that escaped.
As if to save her from the cold, a cluster of heat came in the form of small arms wrapped around her from behind, firm yet soft. Another presence closed in at her side. Then another. And another.
They didn't wait for words.
The moment Lunar's shoulders began to tremble, they stepped forward together, surrounding her, holding her, anchoring her to the present. Saiya's grip was tight and protective. Anonym's was quiet but spoke louder than any words could. Namawa clung to her sleeve, sniffling along. Persian's arms were sure, thorough, pulling Lunar back from the edge of the memories threatening to swallow her whole.
"I'm sorry, Lunar," Saiya said gently. "We're all here for you."
Lunar finally broke—sobs tearing free, grief pouring out as she clutched at the warmth around her. Her tears soaked into familiar shoulders, into warmth that did not loosen, did not pull away.
Warmth that did not leave her behind.