Chapter 147: Next Race, Face Me Again
For a brief moment, Kitasan Black felt as though her heart had stopped beating.
Three uphill climbs.
Four corners.
Acceleration.
The final sprint.
Months of daily, relentless training—all the sweat and effort—were now pouring out at once, every ounce of strength on full display. She knew she hadn't slacked off for even a second.
But she also knew that her own determination wasn't enough.
Every single opponent stepping onto this track had trained just as hard. She had seen it before, and she was seeing it again now.
She had just shaken off the pursuit behind her—barely enough time for a single breath—before it came again.
No, this wasn't a pursuit anymore.
She was being overtaken.
Her peripheral vision tilted outward against her will, and in that instant, she met a pair of glowing crimson eyes.
Her heartstrings quivered. The next second, she realized who it was—Duramente.
Those eyes were the same violet-blue gradient she remembered—beautiful, striking—but now the whites were veined with blood.
The pupils had shrunk into needle-sized black dots, as if they would devour all the light—and even her shadow along with it.
The bloodshot lines looked like lightning bolts, flickering with a manic energy that made the air itself smell burnt and acrid.
Just a single glance from those eyes sent a chill of primal fear through her heart—fear unlike anything she had ever felt before.
And it wasn't just the eyes.
Duramente's entire body exuded something terrifying—familiar, yet alien, something that demanded distance and reverence.
Her breathing came in short, sharp bursts, like metal scraping against glass—each sound slicing straight into Kitasan's eardrums.
The pale skin of her neck was laced with veins, writhing like living vines, pulsing violently with every forward thrust of her head.
Each swing of her arms lifted her shoulder blades like wings; each stride drove her body forward with the precision of a blade—each movement cutting through the air like a scythe.
And suddenly, Kitasan Black remembered—the practice races during training, that strange dream she'd had.
In that instant, the figure running beside her no longer felt like Duramente.
It was Deep Impact.
It was Tokai Teio.
Those unreachable peaks, those radiant figures that had always seemed so far beyond her.
For a fleeting second, she saw the wall that had always loomed before her—the brilliance she had always chased—and the weightless, falling sensation of countless failures struck her again.
Her heart, already pushed to its limit, faltered for just an instant—slipping into the dark, bottomless abyss of helplessness.
But it lasted only a moment.
Her feet… so heavy…
Her legs… numb…
Her arms… tingling…
Her lungs… about to burst…
And yet, as if her very blood and marrow were being wrung dry, her body—on the verge of collapse—suddenly surged with new strength.
Her heart throbbed violently, stretched to its limit, beating so hard it felt like it would leap from her throat.
Her limbs, heavy as lead, still moved.
Her arms swung.
Her legs ran.
Her lungs burned, her throat felt raw as if scraped by knives, and yet the wind kept crashing into her face—sharp, salty, and alive.
Her vision was already blurred, but the finish line ahead shone crystal clear.
Kitasan Black let out a low, guttural roar.
"My rhythm… isn't over yet—!!"
"Duramente!!"
For a split second, the familiar yet alien eyes beside her wavered.
In them, she saw astonishment, admiration—and for some reason... gratitude.
Then the figure blurred.
Not only blurred—distorted.
Maybe it was a hallucination, but the twisted silhouette seemed to drift slowly, tilting, receding—and then, in the blink of an eye—as the finish line vanished from her sight—Duramente was right in front of her.
Then she tilted and collapsed to the ground.
"Eh…?"
Kitasan Black froze. A wave of confusion, anxiety, and concern surged up from her chest all at once—and then she heard the commentator's voice crack, breaking through the roar of the crowd.
"What an amazing final 100 meters!"
"What a duel—one destined to make this Japanese Derby go down in history!"
"And the one who emerges victorious from this life-and-death clash is… Duramente!"
"2 minutes 23 seconds!"
"A new Derby record!"
"And right behind her, with 2 minutes 23.1! Kitasan Black also breaks the previous record!!"
"A new era!"
"An era of two unrivaled rivals has begun!!"
…
…
…
Kitasan Black mouth opened several times, but no sound came out.
She tried to turn toward the results board, but her neck refused to move, rusted stiff.
Her eyes stung, as if sand had blown into them during the final sprint.
Her nose ached—just like the time she'd fallen after the finish line in her debut race.
For a long moment, she took a deep breath and held it in her chest.
Then slowly, the tension drained from her body; her chest rose and fell, and she exhaled softly.
"…I lost…"
The words came out in a whisper.
Her drooping ears and shoulders lifted again, and though the haze of confusion faded, something new took its place—an anxious urgency.
She looked ahead—at the figure still sitting on the ground—and ran toward her.
"Duramente-chan! You—you okay?! Are you hurt anywhere?!"
Duramente didn't respond.
She just stared blankly, her eyes unfocused and hazy, like drifting fog.
Not until Kitasan Black knelt beside her—checking her thighs, her arms, touching her forehead, patting her cheeks—did those eyes finally regain focus.
"Ah… I…"
Duramente's voice came faintly. She pressed her palms to her knees, raised one leg, and tried to stand.
Her hips barely left the ground before she sank back down.
Only then did she realize—her hands, her knees, her calves, every muscle in her body—were trembling uncontrollably.
Kitasan Black saw it too and panicked.
"W-wait! Don't move yet, Duramente-chan! You—you should let the medics check you first!"
She straightened up, about to dash toward the medical team stationed outside the track—
—but a hand suddenly grasped hers.
Startled, she looked back—into Duramente's eyes, and the faint movement of her lips.
"…Next race… face me again…"
Kitasan Black froze.
And without anyone telling her, she understood what Duramente meant.
Her lips parted—no sound came out.
Then a strange thrill ran through her entire body, half trembling, half exhilarated.
She drew back the step she'd taken toward the sidelines, turned, and gripped Duramente's hand firmly in return.
As her friend—her rival—slowly pushed herself to her feet, Kitasan Black nodded hard.
"Alright."
"The Kikuka Sho, the Arima Kinen, the Tenno Sho, the Takarazuka."
"G1, G2, G3—it doesn't matter what race it is."
"The next one, and the next, and the next after that."
"I'm not going to give up that easily."
"And don't you dare think you can just win once and disappear… Duramente."
Duramente met her eyes—steady, sincere—for a long, silent moment.
Then, suddenly, she smiled.
"I won't disappear. No matter what race it is, I won't run away."
"The rivalry's only just begun—it's not over yet… Kitasan Black."
<+>
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