Red let out a rough scoff as he watched the two detectives disappear through the door, the tension still sitting hard in his jaw, refusing to ease. "Yeah, real classy," he muttered as he shook his head. "Those assholes been ridin' my last nerve for weeks now. One of these days, I ain't gonna hold it in, and when that happens, I'm givin' 'em a proper Brooklyn welcome, see how they like that."
"Let it go, Red," Lightning said, one hand settling on her hip as she exhaled, though the edge in her expression hadn't fully left. "This isn't the first time a couple of washed-up idiots tried to run us out." A faint grin tugged at her lips. "Funny how it's always the ones who've got nothing left to prove who make the most noise."
Nishimura let out a sharp breath, his attention shifting back to them. "You two alright?" he asked, though his eyes flicked briefly toward the exit again before returning. "Sorry you had to deal with those clowns. They've been a problem for this department longer than I care to admit."
He folded his arms, irritation plain on his face. "Cost the city more than a few headaches too, restitutions, lawsuits, you name it." He shook his head. "If you ask me, the brass keeps them around because they're willing to get their hands dirty when it suits them, but even that's starting to wear thin."
"If it helps, they've always got a habit of picking on the new blood," Kaito added, finishing off the last of his coffee before crushing the paper cup in his gloved hand with an easy squeeze. "Okabe figured out pretty quickly that I'm not the type to roll over and take it."
Red's smirk returned, the earlier tension easing just a fraction. "Yeah? I'm guessin' yer the one who fed him that knuckle sandwich."
Kaito's lips curved faintly in response. "Let's just say he had a hard time chewing for a while," he said, tone casual despite the implication. "Never reported it either. Claimed he slipped on a staircase. Wouldn't want anyone knowing he got dropped by a rookie."
Nishimura cut in with a sharp look. "Alright, that's enough," he said. "We're officers, not street punks. We don't sit around bragging about putting our colleagues in the hospital." He paused briefly, his expression tightening just a touch. "Even if they might've deserved it."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, the frustration clear in the way his shoulders tensed. "It's bad enough the MRA's got us running all over the damned city like strays," he muttered, exhaling through his teeth. "Now we're knee-deep in the kind of mess these Gurentai punks are stirring up on top of it."
"Gurentai?" Red echoed, folding his arms as he leaned back slightly. "Ya mean those rovin' packs of idiots runnin' around Tokyo lookin' to start trouble wherever they can?" His gaze snapped toward Kaito. "Same kind ya hauled in the other day, the ones who got their teeth knocked in?"
"Yes, and no," Kaito replied, stepping in before the assumption settled. "Gurentai's more of a catch-all term. They're not a proper gang, no structure, no banner, just loose groups with no real affiliation. Angry kids, dropouts, people with nothing better to do than lash out and make it everyone else's problem."
"Doesn't make them any less dangerous," Nishimura added. "If anything, it makes them harder to deal with. They've been escalating, pushing things further every week, and it's gotten bad enough that Chief Ando's had to address it personally. With resources already stretched thin, they're taking full advantage of the gaps."
Lightning shifted slightly, glancing toward Red before speaking. "If you need extra hands, we can help," she offered. "Patrols, stakeouts, whatever keeps things contained."
Nishimura shook his head immediately. "No. You two stay on your assigned track," he said firmly, his gaze leveling on them both. "I've already heard about your little run-in with Ando and Omura, and let's just say the Chief's paying closer attention than you might like. Don't give him a reason to tighten that leash."
Red let out a low scoff, a smirk tugging at his lips as he folded his arms. "Relax, Nishi, yappy and porky don't scare us," he said, brushing it off with that same careless confidence. "Sides, we've handled punks like them before."
Nishimura then turned his attention back to Lightning and Red, the tension from moments ago settling into something steadier as he regarded them both. "Anyway, you two should get some rest while you can," Nishimura said, his tone firm but measured. "We might be stuck here in Tokyo, but the race is only a few hours away, and just about everyone's going to be tuned in whether they admit it or not."
His gaze lingered on Lightning a moment longer, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips as he gave her a look that carried more than his words did. "And I'd bet there's someone in that lineup you'll be watching a little more closely than the rest, isn't there?"
He gave a small wink before tilting his head toward the hallway. "Come on, kid, we've got work to do."
As he turned and walked off, Kaito followed with a lazy salute tossed over his shoulder, falling in step behind him without a word. Lightning's expression softened slightly as she watched them go, the edge in her posture easing just a fraction.
"Ya think he's gonna be there?" Red asked, shifting his hazel eyes toward her, more thoughtful. "Deschain?"
"Oh, I don't doubt it for a second," Lightning said, folding her arms as her gaze settled ahead. "There's no way he'd miss it, not when it's his daughter crossing that finish line, not when it means reliving a moment like that all over again, just like her mother did all those years ago."
Red let out a low chuckle, a grin pulling at his lips. "Yeah, I know you and Hornet had some beef back in yer racin' days," he said. "Hell, I still remember sittin' there with my old man, both of us yellin' at the damn TV when you two were comin' down that final stretch." He gave her a sideways look, the grin lingering. "Gonna be honest with ya, partner, I was rootin' for Hornet back then."
Lightning shook her head, though a small smile found its way through. "Yeah, I don't blame you," she said, the memory softening her expression. "People always love an underdog, and she was exactly that, an uma everyone kept underestimating until she proved them wrong." She let out a quiet breath, her gaze drifting slightly. "She gave me one hell of a fight through and through."
Her expression softened further, something more reflective settling in. "I just wish she could be here today," she added, more quietly, "to see the kind of uma her daughter's become."
Red let out a slow breath, the weight of it lingering as he leaned back against the table, his head giving a small shake while the disbelief refused to leave him. "Still wild to me," he muttered. "I mean, they didn't just push Deschain outta the picture, they wiped him straight outta the kid's life."
He glanced over at her, his brow furrowing as the thought settled in deeper, refusing to let go. "But that's the real question, ain't it?" he said. "No outrage, no pushback, not a damn thing?" He shook his head, a faint scoff slipping under his breath. "I don't know about ya, but if that were my kid, I'd be raisin' all sorts of hell till the until the Goddamned trumpets mark the end of days."
Lightning scoffed lightly, though there was no humor in it. "Reminds me of how Rourke made it his life's mission to erase Logan, like somehow all his efforts would be enough to bury the Hand of God," she said with quiet disdain. "Bastard tried scrubbing Strider of every mention of the man, down to shelving the Godly Fifteen Convention." She paused for a moment, her expression tightening as her thoughts shifted. "But you're right, and that's precisely what's been bugging me, and this was even before Fujii decided to storm that stage."
Red stayed quiet, giving her his full attention.
Lightning shifted her gaze around the room, taking in the quiet emptiness of the floor, the hum of the overhead lights and the distant clatter from the back the only signs that anyone else was still on the floor. The attendant had stepped away from the counter, likely to restock or catch a breather, and once she was certain no one was within earshot, she leaned in slightly and continued.
"When I first met Melody at Tracen, something didn't sit right with me," she said. "She only ever talked about her mom, never once mentioned her dad." She paused, her expression tightening as she worked through the thought again. "At first, I figured it made sense that her grandmother would keep things quiet, especially considering Logan's history, but Melody's thirteen, and from what I gathered, she's not dumb. If there was even a hint of something missing, she would've gone looking for answers, and given who Logan is, she would've found something. It wouldn't have taken more than five minutes online. I know I would've."
"Ya sure she ain't just one of those straight-and-narrow kids?" Red said, tipping his head slightly as he glanced at her. "Y'know, the good girl type, does what she's told, keeps her head down, don't go pokin' around where she ain't supposed to?"
Lightning let out a quiet scoff, rolling her eyes. "Please," she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "No one's that straight."
Red let out a quiet chuckle, unable to help himself. "Speak for yerself," he said, tilting his head with a smirk. "You didn't even know what a deep dish was."
Lightning shot him a sharp look, her tail whipping behind her. "For the last time, I'm from the South, and when something's thick and stuffed, we call it a pie," she snapped, before exhaling and shaking her head. "Can we stay on topic?"
"Alright, alright, relax, geez," Red replied, raising a hand in surrender.
"Anyway," Lightning continued, settling back into focus, though the frustration beneath it remained. "I started digging, records, certificates, anything I could get my hands on, even the public stuff that should've been easy to verify." She shook her head slowly. "There's nothing. No mention of Logan anywhere. Hornet's marriage records, hospital files, all of it's been altered. There isn't a single official trace tying him to Melody."
"In its place, there's a name. Steve Asmussen," Lightning continued, her tone steady, though there was a weight behind it that hadn't been there before.
Red's lip pressed thin as he tried, and failed, to hold back a laugh. "Ya serious? ASSmussen?"
Lightning shot him a look, unimpressed. "What're you, two?" she said flatly before continuing without missing a beat. "Anyway, I dug into him. On paper, he's just some nobody trainer out of the States. Strider alumnus, which means he would've been around the same time Logan was active."
She paused just long enough for the details to sink in, her gaze steady as she continued. "Couple of minor wins here and there, nothing remarkable, nothing that would've put him on anyone's radar. Then, somewhere down the line, he gets picked up on racketeering charges tied to a race-fixing operation with the mob, does ten years, and after that…" She let out a quiet breath. "He just disappears. No follow-up records, no activity, nothing. Just drops off the map entirely." A beat passed, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And that's where it starts to get strange."
Red's expression shifted, the humor draining as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he tried to follow the thread. "Sounds pretty damn straightforward to me. So, they got some mook to stand in for Logan," he said, though there was a hint of skepticism creeping in now. "But alright, I'll bite. What kind of strange are we talkin' about?"
Lightning's gaze hardened. "The kind where the guy doesn't exist."
Red blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Everything about him is fabricated," she went on. "History, childhood, family records, address, career trail, even his rap sheet, all of it. It's not just detailed, it's meticulous. Someone built him from the ground up and seeded it into every system that matters, made it consistent enough to pass a surface check, made it real enough that nobody would question it."
Red stared at her for a second, trying to process it, before both his hands came up in disbelief. "Hold on, hold the damn phone, yer tellin' me they just made up a whole damned human being and tricked the whole Goddamned world into believin' it?"
Her jaw tightened as she let that sit between them. "I don't know how they pulled it off, and I don't know why, but whoever did this didn't just cover their tracks, they literally erased him." She let out a quiet breath. "Ten years of it, turning Logan Deschain into a Goddamned ghost."
"That's when it hit me." Her gaze hardened slightly as the conclusion settled in. "It's not that Melody never looked. It's that there's nothing for her to find, not on paper, not on record, not anywhere that would lead her to the truth."
"And between you and me," Lightning continued, turning her gaze toward him, "Sides, you and both know that Melody's family isn't as simple as people think." Her eyes sharpened. "Her grandmother, Agnes Takao, has influence in places most people don't even get close to, and I'm talking both sides of the line, the kind of connections that don't show up on paper."
She paused for a moment, letting the thought settle before continuing. "It's like the only people who know about Logan and Melody are the ones who were already aware of it to begin with," she said. "And anyone else who thinks they remember something, who tries to look it up or confirm it, just ends up second-guessing themselves and brushing it off like it's some kind of Mandela Effect."
"Jesus," Red muttered, staring at her. "They can actually do that?"
Lightning gave a slight shake of her head. "Hell if I know, Red," she admitted. "But whoever had a hand in it knows exactly what they're doing, and they're good."
Red let out a rough scoff, the sound edged with irritation as his jaw tightened again. "Yeah, well, if they got that kinda reach, maybe they should've used it on those vultures tearin' that kid apart in the press," he muttered as the frustration bled through. "Wouldn't hurt nobody if a gook like Fujii just up and disappeared one day, far as I'm concerned."
He shook his head, the tension still sitting heavy in his expression. "Takes a real low kinda bastard to twist it like that," he went on. "Tryin' to make it sound like she's glad her rival got taken out. That ain't just wrong, that's straight-up nasty."
Lightning's gaze sharpened at that, something shifting behind her eyes. "Speaking of her rival," she said, "Scarlet Rose. I mentioned once she had a sister. Nishimura said she never made it into the big leagues."
"Yeah," Red replied, raising a brow as he glanced at her. "Just another one they wrote off 'cause she couldn't keep up." His eyes narrowed slightly. "What're ya thinkin', partner?"
Lightning's ears twitched as she gave a small shake of her head, brushing the thought aside before it could take root. "It's nothing, just something that crossed my mind," she said, her tail flicking once behind her as she shifted her weight. "Anyway, I think I could use a bit of shut-eye before things kick off. You coming?"
She didn't wait for an answer, already turning and making her way toward the exit.
Red let out a low smirk as he pushed himself off the table and fell in step behind her. "Sleep's for wussies." he scoffed. "I'm gonna knock back some Red Bull and ride that out like a real man."
Lightning shot him a look over her shoulder as they walked. "Those things are going to kill you one day."
"Yeah, yeah, talk to the hand, partner," Red shot back, waving her off as he followed her out.
****
As the city stirred beneath the first sweep of amber and gold, light spilled across rooftops and glass, catching along the edges of ancient temples and castle silhouettes that stood firm against the Kyoto skyline, remnants of a bygone era now bathed in the glow of a new day. With it came a different kind of energy, one that moved not in quiet rhythms but in something sharper, more electric, coursing through every street, threading through subway lines, carried in the hum of engines and the steady pulse of footsteps that filled the city.
Japan had awakened with a sense of purpose that ran deep through its streets and its people, and not even the bite of the autumn air was enough to dull the energy that had taken hold.
Along the sidewalks, pedestrians moved with a quiet urgency, their strides quicker, more intent, as though the anticipation of what was to come had settled into the air itself, touching everyone in ways they could not quite name but all seemed to feel.
At long last, the Shūka Shō had arrived.
Kyoto swelled with life as thousands converged toward the Kyoto Racecourse, a steady flow of faces from every walk of life, young and old, seasoned fans and first-timers alike, humans and umas moving side by side as they poured out from trains, buses, and cars, spilling into the streets in a tide of expectation. Colors flashed among the crowd, jackets, scarves, banners, and merchandise worn proudly, while children clutched plushies of their favorite racers close, eyes bright with excitement.
High above it all, draped along the grandstands, banners of the contenders stretched wide, each one marking a name that had drawn the nation's attention, though among them, one stood out against the rest. Its bright yellow and black standing bold against the rest, unmistakable in its presence.
Melody.
Within the dressing rooms beneath the stadium, sealed behind layers of steel and concrete, Melody could feel it all the same. The distant thunder of footsteps filled the structure as spectators poured into their seats, the sound rolling down through stairwells and corridors, carried by the hum of thousands of voices speaking at once, until it settled deep into the foundation itself, a constant, living pulse that pressed in around her.
She sat forward on the bench, elbows resting on her thighs, hands clasped tightly together as her eyes remained shut, grounding herself against the weight of it all. This was it. Every lap she had run, every pair of cleats worn down to nothing, every drill, every hour spent with Hana going over lines, timing, strategy, every moment of exhaustion and doubt and resolve had led her here.
Eighteen runners, drawn from across the country, from academies both renowned and lesser known, all stepping onto the same stage with the same goal in mind, yet only one of them would leave as the victor, the rest fading into the margins of memory as the race moved on without them. And despite that, despite knowing that every girl here carried her own expectations and burdens, it still felt as though the weight pressing down on her shoulders was heavier than all the rest combined, settling deep in her chest in a way she could not quite shake.
It wasn't just because this was her debut, not simply the pressure of stepping onto a stage like this for the first time, but everything that came with it, everything that had been building toward this moment long before she ever set foot on the track. Because of what it meant, and more than that, because of who she was expected to be when it was all said and done.
Her eyes opened slowly, her gaze drifting across the dressing room as she let out a quiet breath. The space itself was simple, almost modest in its layout, chairs arranged neatly before dressing tables, mirrors framed with soft amber bulbs casting a warm glow across the room, closets and wardrobes lining the walls. One of the tables held an assortment of makeup, powders and liners laid out with care, the final touches meant to ensure each runner stepped onto the turf looking their best.
But none of it held her attention for long, not the quiet order of the room nor the careful arrangements meant to prepare them for what lay ahead, because her focus had already drifted elsewhere, drawn toward something far more personal. Her gaze settled instead on a single framed photograph resting among it all, a presence that seemed to anchor the entire space without effort, pulling her in with a familiarity that cut through the noise in her mind.
Her mother.
Hornet, captured in a moment of triumph with her fist raised high, the culmination of a legacy carved through sheer will and relentless drive, frozen in time beneath the very same colors Melody now wore.
Melody rose to her feet and stepped toward it, until she paused just before the mirror. For a moment, she looked at her own reflection, taking in the image staring back at her.
Her racing silks sat sharp against her frame, a black shirt worn open at the collar with a loose yellow tie resting against it, black denim shorts secured by twin belts with gold buckles, and fitted racing boots of black leather strapped tight along her legs. Golden gloves wrapped her hands, catching the soft light, while over it all rested the long bosozoku-style coat that fell to her ankles, black fabric edged in yellow kanji that ran along the sleeves and hem.
Within in, woven with intricate detail, was the Irezumi image of a bee.
A yellow ribbon circled her torso and waist, its ends trailing freely with even the slightest movement. For a moment, she simply stood there, caught between the reflection before her and the legacy behind it, the distance between the two feeling both impossibly wide and yet closer than it had ever been.
Melody's gaze settled on the photograph as she reached for it, lifting the frame carefully into her hands as though it carried more than just an image, her eyes tracing every detail of the moment captured within it. A soft smile found its way to her lips, quiet and sincere, as she held it close, her fingers brushing lightly against the glass before she lifted two of them to her lips and pressed them gently against the surface.
"I'll make you proud, Mom… I promise," she murmured, the words barely above a whisper, meant more for the memory in her hands than for the room around her.
A sharp rap of knuckles against the door broke the moment, pulling her attention away as the handle turned and the door opened inward. Her head lifted instinctively, her posture straightening the moment she saw who had stepped inside, her eyes widening as her ears flicked upright, her tail giving a quick, startled lash behind her.
"M-Miss President!" she blurted, the nervousness slipping through before she could catch it.
"Good morning, Melody," Rudolf said, her own expression briefly touched by surprise at the reaction before it softened into something more composed. "At ease. This is your day, not mine."
A flush crept across Melody's cheeks as she fumbled for composure, the photograph still held close to her chest. "Y-yes, I know, it's just…" She paused, drawing in a breath as she tried to steady herself. "I'm sorry, I'm just—"
"Nervous?" Rudolf asked, her head tilting slightly, her ears giving a small, thoughtful twitch.
"Scared," Melody admitted quietly, her ears lowering as the word settled heavier than she intended.
Rudolf stepped closer without hesitation, placing a steady hand on Melody's shoulder, grounding her in a way that felt both firm and reassuring. "Despite everything I've accomplished, despite the races I've run and the victories I've claimed, I cannot pretend to fully understand what you're carrying right now," she said. "What you've been asked to bear, it's more than what should ever be placed on someone your age."
Melody lifted her gaze to meet hers, the weight of those words settling somewhere deep.
"I know it's unfair," Rudolf continued, her expression softening further, "and if I could, I would take that burden from you myself, but if you allow it to anchor you, to hold you in place, then it will only keep you from becoming everything you're capable of being."
She paused, letting the moment breathe before continuing, her tone shifting just slightly, quieter, more personal.
"So, just this once," she said, "forget it all. Forget the world, forget the expectations, forget the names that came before you. Forget even me." Her gaze dipped briefly to the photograph Melody held, understanding flickering in her eyes. "This is your race, Melody. Your moment. Your era."
Her hand rose, resting lightly against Melody's cheek, the gesture gentle but certain.
"And when you step onto that track, I want you to run with everything you have," she said. "Run the way your mother did, with nothing held back." A faint smile touched her lips. "And whatever the outcome may be, whether you stand at the top or not, understand this is not where your story ends."
Melody's expression softened into a warm smile as she gave a small nod. "Thank you, Miss President," she said. She let out a quiet breath, her shoulders easing as she glanced down for a moment before looking back up. "Feels like everyone's been trying to lift me up lately, like I'm about to fall apart if they don't."
She shook her head, the uncertainty giving way to something firmer, something grounded, as her gaze sharpened with resolve. "But not anymore," she continued, her tone steadying as conviction took hold. "I'm going to run, and I'm going to win."
"That's the spirit," Rudolf replied, a bright, approving smile breaking through as she gave a small nod of her own. "I, for one, look forward to seeing you bring home the hamburger."
Melody blinked, the confidence on her face faltering for a split second as confusion took its place. "Um… you mean bring home the bacon, right?"
Rudolf's expression went still for a moment before she exhaled, a faint, resigned sigh slipping through as she pressed her fingers lightly to her temple. "I really must spend more time studying English idioms," she admitted. "I appear to get them wrong far more often than I'd like."
For a brief moment, silence hung between them before Melody tried to hold it in, her lips pressing together as the effort failed, a laugh slipping out despite herself. Rudolf followed a second later, a quiet chuckle joining hers as the tension in the room eased into something lighter, if only for a moment.
****
As the hours slipped by, the crowd swelled steadily until the grandstands were filled from edge to edge, stretching from one end of the straight to the other in an unbroken wave of people. The grand structure rose four stories high, each level packed tight, every inch occupied as spectators stood shoulder to shoulder, an ocean of faces drawn together by the same anticipation.
Voices layered over one another in a constant hum, debates and speculation blending with bursts of laughter and cheers as fans called out the names of their favorite umas. The energy moved through the stands like a living current, rising and falling with every new conversation, every passing moment. Vendors wove through the masses, their calls cutting through the noise as they peddled merchandise and snacks, while the rich scent of buttered popcorn and sizzling yakisoba drifted through the air, settling over the crowd and mingling with the excitement that had taken hold of the entire stadium.
Dahlia stood at the front of the crowd, pressed close to the railing that separated the stands from the track, nearly swallowed by the sheer number of people packed in around her. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, yet from where she stood, she could see it clearly in their faces, the excitement that lit their expressions, the bright eyes, the wide smiles, the fists pumping into the air as whistles cut through the noise. Some held banners high above their heads, others waved handmade signs decorated with cutouts and glitter, each one a declaration of who they had come to support.
Beside her, Light stood just as still, though for entirely different reasons, her gaze wide with something softer, almost childlike, as she took it all in for the first time. There was a quiet wonder in her eyes, an unfiltered awe that came from someone who had never experienced a race like this before, and it showed in the way she leaned forward ever so slightly, as though afraid she might miss even a second of it.
Dahlia found herself watching her for a moment before her gaze drifted back toward the track, her thoughts slipping elsewhere.
She couldn't remember the last time she had stood in a place like this, not since Scarlet's win at the Tennō Shō, back before everything had changed, back when her sister had made her attend after days of persistent pleading. Since Scarlet started racing professionally, Dahlia had kept her distance from the track, avoiding it whenever she could, because it had never been just about the races for her. It had been about the way her father would stand there, watching, turning every moment into something far more juvenile, praising Scarlet with pride that felt effortless while directing quiet, cutting remarks her way, reminders of everything she hadn't been able to measure up to.
Her expression dimmed slightly as the memory surfaced, the weight of it still lingering, though she pushed it aside before it could take hold, forcing her focus back to the present. A part of her still didn't quite understand why she had agreed to come along with Logan all the way to Kyoto in the first place, why she had let herself step back into a place she had spent so long avoiding, but Saburo's words had lingered just enough to convince her.
A bit of fresh air, he had said, might do her some good.
Standing there now, surrounded by the noise, the energy, and the sheer scale of it all, she wasn't entirely sure if he had been right, but for the first time in a long while, she hadn't turned away either.
Her gaze shifted to Logan beside her, taking in the way he stood just a little too still despite the chaos around them, dressed in a white shirt left open at the chest, a black waistcoat fitted cleanly over it, and a dark gray windbreaker that did little to hide the tension sitting in his frame. The dark-tinted Ray-Bans masked his eyes, but they didn't do much to disguise the rest of him, not the tightness in his jaw, not the subtle shift of his posture that gave him away all too easily.
Most of all, Dahlia could tell that he was itching for a cigarette.
"Will you relax for a second?" Dahlia said, folding her arms as she glanced at him sideways, her tone edged with dry amusement. "You're making me nervous just standing next to you like that, and those shades aren't fooling anyone."
She tipped her head slightly, casting a glance over her shoulder at the crowd packed in behind them. "I'd be real surprised if someone here hasn't already figured out who you are."
"Doubt it," Logan said, the corner of his mouth pulling into a quiet smirk as he shifted his attention toward her, entirely unfazed. "They haven't exactly updated my Wikipedia page with my current mug, and most people are pretty bad at recognizing someone out in the wild. Half of them wouldn't know a celebrity if they walked right past them unless somebody pointed it out first."
He let that sit for a beat, the smirk lingering as he tilted his head slightly. "And besides," he added, "you're just jealous I can pull this off and you can't."
Dahlia let out a quiet scoff, a crooked grin tugging at her lips as she met his look without missing a beat. "Pull what off, exactly?" she shot back. "Lookin' like a complete douchebag?" Her smirk sharpened. "Yeah, you can keep that one."
A soft breath left Dahlia as her expression eased, the tension in her features giving way to something steadier, more assured. "She'll be alright, Logan," she said. "You said it yourself that she's being trained by Hana Tojou, and I know her reputation well enough." She paused, her gaze drifting for a moment as memory surfaced. "Even back when my dad was still a trainer, she stood out as one of the best at Tracen."
A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she glanced aside. "On the rare occasions he wasn't busy ranting about how much of a disappointment I was, he was usually going on about her instead, about how her racers kept outperforming his trainees, about how she kept making him look bad." Her smirk sharpened slightly. "Safe to say it didn't sit well with him, getting outdone by someone half his age."
Logan let out a low chuckle, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Yeah, I know that feeling," he said. "Back at Strider, the old guard used to get plastered in the pub and talk all kinds of shit about me. Didn't matter that I was already training champions by thirteen, didn't matter that I was running circles around them in their own field, I still couldn't even buy myself a drink." He shook his head faintly. "Funny how that works."
"Well, there was a time people said Hana was next in line to inherit the title of Hand of God," Dahlia continued as she glanced back at him. "When that article came out, my dad was practically fuming. Took it real personal, mostly because it hit too close to the truth." She paused, her expression shifting slightly. "And then not long after, another name started coming up alongside hers. Okino Kouji."
Logan tapped his chin lightly, considering. "Heard of him," he said. "Solid track record, trained his fair share of champions, even if they never quite reached the same level as Hana's." He let out a quiet breath. "Thing is, Hana and I go back further than most people realize."
Dahlia's eyes widened as she turned toward him. "Wait, I knew she was Melody's trainer, but I didn't know you actually knew her like that."
Logan nodded slightly. "She was one of Bee's closest friends," he said. "They stayed in touch even while Bee was over in the States, and when she came back to Japan, Hana was just starting out." He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "And man, she was a mess back then. Always second-guessing herself, stumbling through things, unsure of every decision she made. Guess you could say I was the standard she was trying to reach." He glanced at Dahlia. "In fact, she was at our wedding."
He tilted his head slightly. "You remember that photo back at the apartment, the one with the girl in the background, thick nerd glasses, short hair, nervous smile?"
Dahlia blinked, her expression shifting into open surprise. "Wait, that was Hana?" She stared at him. "She looked so… so different. I mean, she just seemed… plain."
"Yeah," Logan said quietly, his tone softening. "After Bee passed, and after I went away, something in her changed. Experience did the rest." He exhaled slowly. "Turned her into the hardass you see today."
His gaze drifted back toward the track, the noise of the crowd fading slightly behind his thoughts. "I don't doubt her for a second," he went on. "If anything, I'd bet on her surpassing me one day."
He paused, the weight of his next words settling in before he spoke again. "But the truth is, she's not the only one carrying that shadow. Everyone in this sport is," he said. "The name, the title, the legacy, the Hand of God. It's become this peak everyone feels like they have to climb, but deep down, most of them don't believe they'll ever reach it."
He shook his head slightly. "And that belief… it holds them back." His gaze lifted again, distant now, fixed somewhere beyond the track. "Same way racers look at Rudolf and what she represents."
For a moment, he said nothing, the noise of the crowd filling the space between them before he finally spoke again, quieter this time.
"Sometimes I wish all of it, the name, the reputation, everything tied to me would just disappear," he admitted. "Maybe then people would stop measuring themselves against something they think they can't reach, and actually become something greater than it."
Dahlia's expression softened as she looked at him, something quieter forming in her eyes, though whatever she meant to say never quite made it out.
Light cut in before the moment could settle, her words bright with excitement. "This is incredible, I've never been to the races before!" she said, her eyes wide as they moved from the crowd to the track and back again, taking in everything at once. "In fact, I've never been to Kyoto either, and it's… it's just amazing!"
She turned toward Logan, the enthusiasm in her expression unfiltered. "Thank you, Logan, this really means a lot."
Logan's grin came easy, the kind that softened the edge he usually carried. "Anytime, kid," he replied, giving a small nod.
Light looked back toward the track, her excitement settling into something more focused as anticipation took hold. "I really hope Melody wins this," she added, quieter now, though no less sincere. "I mean it."
"They say only the umas with the strongest closing speed can take the Shūka Shō, the final leg of the Classic Triple Tiara."
The voice came from just beside them, and Logan, Light, and Dahlia all shifted their attention to the left, where two young men stood shoulder to shoulder among the crowd.
One was broader, with brown hair and a slightly heavier build, dressed in a white shirt with thick black-framed glasses that sat firmly on his nose. The other stood leaner, his dull moss-green hair falling just enough to frame a pair of amber eyes that remained fixed on the track, as though nothing else in the world held his interest.
"Do you know why that is?" the broader one asked, turning slightly toward his companion.
The thinner one didn't look away from the track. "Why?"
"Because this race demands everything," the first continued, his tone carrying the confidence of someone who had rehearsed this more than once. "Speed, stamina, and experience all come into play. It's two thousand meters, starting on a gradual incline before easing into a flat backstretch, and then it all comes down to that final turn, tight and unforgiving. If you don't have enough left by then, it's over before you even realize it."
He paused briefly, adjusting his glasses. "Even Still In Love, the last Triple Tiara champion, only managed to secure it by three-quarters of a length over Admire Groove."
"I was a fan, I had hoped to see her race again the following year," the thinner one remarked. "Hard to believe she just disappeared from Tracen one day, along with her trainer."
"Yeah… it is," the other replied, the weight of that thought lingering for a moment.
Light watched the exchange with wide-eyed fascination, clearly hanging onto every word as though she were listening to something sacred, while Dahlia remained still, her expression flat, unimpressed.
Logan, on the other hand, let out a low groan, dragging a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Jesus freakin' Christ," he muttered under his breath. "Even in Japan, you can't escape these exposition types."
****
At the far end of the grandstands, where the noise dulled just enough to give space for thought, Hana stood with her back against the wall, arms folded as her sharp gaze remained fixed on the track below. To her right, the umas of Team Rigel lined the wall in quiet formation, a presence as formidable as it was composed. Veterans who had carved their names into the sport stood shoulder to shoulder with its rising stars, from legends like Narita Brian, Hishi Amazon, Air Groove, Taiki Shuttle, and Grass Wonder, to the newer members who had only just begun to make their mark.
Their expressions varied, some calm and measured, others carrying bright, eager smiles, but beneath it all ran the same quiet anticipation, each of them waiting to see how their youngest teammate would perform when it mattered most.
Hana's gaze shifted slightly, moving further down the line to where Kitahara Jo stood alongside his uncle Musaka, Belno, and Ryan who was clutching a bag of popcorn to his chest as though it were something worth defending. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at Oguri Cap, who returned the look with a half-lidded stare that suggested she had already made up her mind about its fate. Between them, Belno offered a strained, nervous grin, caught squarely in the middle of whatever silent standoff was unfolding.
Nearby, Jo leaned back with his hands tucked into his pockets, while Musaka sat on a makeshift stool, both of them watching the scene ahead with the quiet patience of those who had seen enough races to know better than to get caught up in the noise.
Beyond them, just a few steps apart yet unmistakable in presence, stood another trainer with her own team. Fumino Nase, her striking violet hair and cold, composed expression setting her apart as surely as her reputation had, the so-called Prince of Tracen and one of its brightest rising figures. At her side stood a taller uma with braided brown hair, one Hana immediately recognized as Super Creek.
Hana adjusted her glasses slightly, her gaze narrowing just a fraction as she took in the gathering. It wasn't unusual for trainers to attend a G1 event of this scale, but the presence of so many notable figures, all gathered in one place, lent the moment a weight that could not be ignored, a quiet acknowledgment of what was at stake.
Of Melody, and of the expectations that followed her, bound tightly to the legacy she carried into the race.
"Quite the sight we have here, Miss Tojo."
The voice slipped in beside her, smooth and composed, carrying that unmistakable refinement, and Hana turned her head just enough for her gaze to settle on the young man at her side.
He stood with an ease, dressed in a black turtleneck and tailored slacks beneath a long overcoat, the polished leather of his loafers catching the light overhead. His hair was striking, dual-toned with pale gray at the back and jet black at the front, a single white strand falling across his forehead in a gentle crescent curve that framed his features. Leaning back against the wall, hands tucked neatly into his pockets, he looked every bit as composed as the tone in which he spoke.
"It is not often one finds themselves in the presence of such a gathering," he continued. "A collection of champions, each having carved their name into the sport, and, of course, the trainer responsible for shaping them."
Hana's eyes narrowed slightly as she adjusted her glasses, studying him with quiet scrutiny. "And you are?"
"No one of particular importance," he replied without hesitation, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. "Merely someone passing through, taking in what promises to be a rather memorable occasion."
There was a brief pause before his gaze settled fully on her, his greenish-gold eyes sharpening just enough to give weight to what followed.
"Though I must say," he added, his tone softening only slightly, "there is a great deal riding on your trainee today." His head tilted a fraction, that composed expression never faltering. "And, by extension, a great deal riding on you as well."
Hana's gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly. The shift subtle yet unmistakable as she studied him more closely.
"Rivalries between umas have always been the darling of the media," the young man continued. "The world has a fondness for narratives built on competition, on two souls pushing one another to the brink in pursuit of glory, of legacy, of the right to be remembered as champion." He allowed himself a brief pause. "One need only look to motorsport, to figures such as Niki Lauda and James Hunt, whose clashes were romanticized into something almost mythic."
He drew in a measured breath before continuing, his gaze drifting briefly toward the track before returning to her. "We have had our share of such rivalries within the world of uma racing, of course, though none quite so theatrical in its presentation." His words softened slightly, though the weight behind it remained. "And yet, for all the attention placed upon the athletes themselves…"
He let the thought linger, his eyes settling back on Hana.
"Very little is said of the rivalries that exist behind them."
Hana's expression tightened, her focus narrowing further.
"For years, you have stood opposite Kouji Okino, matching him step for step, result for result," he went on, observational rather than accusatory. "But the field has evolved, and the stage has grown more crowded, now placing you alongside figures far younger, yet no less formidable in their potential." His gaze shifted past the line of umas, coming to rest briefly on Jo. "Kitahara Jo, who may have arrived later than most, yet has already guided one of this generation's defining champions…"
Then his attention moved again, settling upon Fumino.
"And Fumino Nase, heir to the legacy of Hidehito Nase, the so-called Wizard of Tracen, now carving a name of her own with remarkable speed."
He leaned back more comfortably against the wall, though his composure never wavered.
"It is rarely spoken aloud," he continued, "but every trainer who enters this world does so with a singular destination in mind, whether they choose to admit it or not." A brief pause followed, his eyes holding steady. "There is always a throne at the end of the path, and a title that defines it."
His voice lowered slightly.
"The Hand of God."
Hana's gaze widened, if only by a fraction, just enough to betray the shift beneath her otherwise composed exterior.
"And with a field as crowded as this, Miss Tojo," the young man continued, "do you truly believe you still possess what it takes to claim that throne for yourself?" He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Or will you simply stand by and watch as it is taken from you?"
Hana let out a sharp breath through her nose, the tension in her posture tightening before settling again.
The young man inhaled slowly, then pushed himself off the wall with unhurried grace. "Allow me to leave you with some propitious advice," he said, smoothing the front of his coat as though the conversation had been nothing more than a passing curiosity, "and perhaps a word of caution."
His gaze flicked briefly toward the stands, toward the crowd gathered beneath the weight of the moment. "Tracen is on the verge of becoming a battleground unlike anything you have yet witnessed," he continued. "I cannot speak for those content to remain where they are, satisfied with the present as it stands."
He paused, just long enough for the implication to settle.
"But for those still reaching toward that summit…" A faint smile curved at the edge of his lips, subtle and knowing. "They would do well to wrap up warm, because a new wind is beginning to move through the illustrious academy, and with it, a fire that will reshape everything you think you know and understand about this sport."
With that, he turned on his heel and began to walk away, his departure as composed as his arrival.
"A pleasure, Miss Tojo," he added lightly, lifting a hand in a casual wave over his shoulder.
Hana's eyes followed him as he moved through the crowd, and she wasn't the only one. The members of Team Rigel watched in quiet confusion, their attention lingering on the retreating figure as though trying to make sense of something that had yet to fully reveal itself.
Her gaze shifted again, settling on Okino as he approached, and for a brief moment, the two men passed one another. Okino slowed just slightly, glancing back over his shoulder at the young man, his eyes narrowing as the stick of his lollipop dragged thoughtfully across his teeth. Then, with a small shake of his head, he continued forward until he reached her side.
"Friend of yours?" he asked, his hands slipping into his pockets as he leaned casually against the wall.
Hana didn't hesitate. "No," she said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Just someone making conversation. Nothing important."
Okino studied her for a moment, his brow lifting just a fraction. "You say that," he replied, leaning back with his arms folding loosely across his chest, "but you look a little more wound up than usual."
He tilted his head, watching her carefully. "What did he say?"
"As I said, it was nothing of importance," Hana replied, though the edge in her words came sharper than she intended, enough for Okino to catch it immediately. He stilled for a moment, the faintest flicker of recognition crossing his expression, and Hana noticed. She exhaled softly, the tension easing just a fraction. "I'm sorry… it's just nerves, that's all."
"Nerves?" Okino echoed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "The Iron Lady of Tracen, Hana Tojou, getting nervous?" He let out a low chuckle. "Man, time really has softened you up. I used to think there wasn't a damn thing in this world that could shake you." He reached up, pulling the lollipop from his mouth as he gave her a sidelong look. "Or is this about Melody?"
Hana's gaze softened, her composure loosening just enough to let the truth through. "Yes and no," she admitted quietly, her fingers drumming lightly against her arm as her thoughts settled into place. "It's more than that." She hesitated, then continued. "If she loses, if she falters out there, I can't help but feel that it'll be on me. Especially knowing who she is." Her jaw tightened slightly. "There's a part of me that wonders if she might have gone even further, if her father had been the one guiding her instead."
Okino let out a quiet sigh, slipping the lollipop back between his teeth as he shook his head. "Yeah, no, we're not doing that," he said. "This is the part where you pull your head outta your ass, Hana."
Hana snapped her gaze toward him, her expression shifting sharply, caught somewhere between disbelief and offense.
"You're stubborn, you're intense, and yeah, you can be a real pain in the ass to deal with sometimes," Okino went on, unfazed as her glare hardened further, only for him to break into a grin. "But that's exactly what makes you who you are, and whether you like hearing it or not, that's something I respect."
The tension in Hana's expression wavered, softening just slightly.
"You've led more than your fair share of umas to victory," he continued. "Hell, you trained Symboli Rudolf. How many trainers in this country can honestly say they raised an undefeated Triple Crown champion?"
He leaned in just a little, his gaze leveling with hers. "So, take your own advice for once and stop trying to measure yourself against Deschain," he said. "You're not him, and you're never going to be him."
There was no harshness in his words, only certainty.
"You're you," he added. "And if you ask me, that's more than enough."
A brief pause followed before his expression eased, something quieter settling in. "And for what it's worth, I've got a feeling he'd be damn proud of you. That includes Hornet."
Hana's expression eased into a faint smile as she adjusted her glasses, the tension in her shoulders finally beginning to settle. "Thank you," she said. "I suppose I needed to hear that."
Okino's grin turned a touch sheepish as he shifted his weight. "Yeah, well, while I'm on a roll, how about you do me a favor—"
Hana's expression hardened instantly, cutting him off before he could even finish. "No, I am not buying you dinner," she said flatly. "You still haven't paid off your last tab."
"So stingy!" Okino shot back, throwing his hands up in mock offense, though the grin never left his face.
A brief pause settled between them, the kind that came easier after years of familiarity, before Hana spoke again, her tone lowering just slightly.
"By the way, that thing about Deschain and Melody?" she said, her gaze steady as it fixed on him. "That stays between us. If you so much as breathe a word of it to anyone, especially Fujii, I will make you regret it."
Okino raised a hand lightly, the lollipop shifting between his teeth as he shook his head. "Relax, you don't have to worry about Fujii," he said. "We're not exactly on speaking terms these days anyway."
Hana studied him for a moment, searching his expression, then gave a small nod, choosing not to press further.
Silence lingered again, softer this time, before Okino spoke, his tone more thoughtful.
"You think he's out there somewhere?" he asked. "Deschain, I mean."
Hana's smile returned, faint but certain, her gaze drifting back toward the track below.
"On that," she said quietly, "I have no doubt."
****
The door to the private box at the top of the grandstands opened with a soft creak, held by a man in a sharply tailored black suit, his white shirt and dark tie immaculate beneath the low light, a pair of shades obscuring his eyes despite the indoor setting. He stepped aside without a word as Rudolf entered, clad in her Tracen uniform, her ears giving a small, instinctive twitch as her tail swayed lightly behind her.
She had been in rooms like this before, private suites reserved for those who operated at the highest levels, accompanying politicians, corporate magnates, foreign dignitaries, and the upper echelon of the URA, yet the moment she crossed the threshold, she could tell this was something else entirely.
The space itself was not overly grand in size, closer to a well-appointed dressing room than a sprawling lounge, though every detail spoke of quiet refinement. The floors were lined with soft gray carpet, the walls dressed in oaken panels that caught the warm amber glow of the lights overhead, casting the entire room in a muted, almost intimate atmosphere. At the far end stood a fully stocked bar, its shelves lined with bottles of whiskey, sake, gin, and other spirits, their glass catching the light in soft reflections. The air carried a faint fragrance, jasmine layered with a touch of frangipani, subtle yet present enough to linger at the back of the senses.
What stood out, however, was not the decor.
It was the men.
A dozen of them, stationed throughout the room, all dressed in identical black suits and shades, earpieces tucked neatly into place, their stillness and quiet attention marking them unmistakably as security, the kind typically reserved for figures of significant importance.
Rudolf's gaze moved past them, settling toward the center of the room where a pristine gray couch faced the tall glass windows that overlooked the course below, the view stretching wide and unobstructed. A suspended flat screen hung just off to the side, displaying race statistics alongside the faces of the runners, each name and number laid out with clinical precision.
And seated upon that couch, waiting as though she had always been there, was an older uma.
She wore a rich golden kimono adorned with delicate white floral patterns, interwoven with shapes reminiscent of bees, her hands resting gently upon her lap with practiced grace. Her graying hair had been styled in a traditional fashion, reminiscent of a bygone era, held in place by an ornate golden comb set with precious stones that caught the light with quiet elegance. Her complexion carried a natural warmth, a shade deeper than Rudolf's, and though time had left its mark in the fine lines across her face, there was nothing frail about her presence.
Her amber eyes, soft yet keen, settled upon Rudolf with unmistakable recognition.
A warm smile followed.
"It has been a long time, Rudolf-chan," she said, a soft twitch in her gray ears.
Rudolf straightened instinctively, stepping forward before inclining her head in a respectful bow.
"It most certainly has," she replied. "Takao-sama."