Nase Fumino wasn't one to frequent places like this.
The izakaya was bustling with people when she first entered, and it'd only gotten more crowded ever since. She sat at her own table, a platter of freshly fried tempura prepared across the table. Her mug of lemon sour sat in front of her, having gone untouched despite it being the first item she'd received.
Despite the atmosphere, her shoulders were tense. She continuously traced the rim of her cold mug with her finger—a futile attempt to try and get her mind away from the confrontation that she would soon face.
Then–
"Fumino."
She went still, and all the chatter around her turned to static as she saw a man sit down on the seat opposite of hers. An aged man in a tight suit, his greying hair swept to the left, his eyes one she was too familiar with.
She forced herself to swallow. There were a million words she'd wanted to say, but they all remained stuck in her throat. Beneath the table, she'd unconsciously clenched her fist with such force that her knuckle had gone completely white.
Finally, she managed to open her mouth. "You're here." She said instead, uncaring of how rude she was being.
The man's placid expression remained fixed onto his face. "I am." He answered plainly. "The traffic was worse than I expected." He said as he grabbed a pair of chopsticks. "I'm sorry for being late."
She forced herself to breathe through her grit teeth. "It's fine." She said, as if she wasn't seconds away from standing up and leaving. "Tokyo's gotten busier as of late."
"It has."
The table fell entirely silent after that. The man began eating, utterly unphased by the acrid glare Fumino was sending his way. It took her everything in her not to vault over the table and kick the man in the face.
It was always like this. He assumed things were 'fine' between them, as if there weren't years of silence between them.
…But she wouldn't call her feelings 'hate'. It was too strong of a word to describe this bubbling anger she felt in her chest. Perhaps, once upon a time, she could've confidently said that she hated him. Perhaps she could've still looked at his seemingly earnest request to meet up and ignore it completely.
But she hadn't been a member of the Nase family in a long time.
This man in front of her had ceased being her father a long time ago.
"I saw you on the television a few days ago." He said as he drank from his mug of beer. "You made quite the splash."
She roughly bit down on a deep-fried shrimp tempura. "I barely spoke." She said instead. "Kitahara-san was the one who did most of the talking."
He hummed. "You're colleagues?"
"Yes."
"Hmm."
They continued eating in silence for some time. She was beginning to regret ever showing up, but she forced herself to remain seated. She'd already taken time out of her day to come here—she might as well see it through until the end.
"The team he leads," He then continued. "They're leaving overseas for next year?"
""Or maybe even longer." She added, taking another deep-fried croquet onto her plate. "They're still unsure of what to do after that."
"And Tamamo Cross is retiring."
She grit her teeth. "She is." She bit out. Was he just going to repeat everything that'd been during that interview? She could feel her blood pressure physically rising the longer she spent here.
"And you?"
She paused. It took a few moments to process what he'd asked, and when she did, she couldn't help but narrow her eyes. "What are you saying?"
"You and your trainee have been together for…3 years?" She nodded tersely, and he hummed. "It's not unusual for others to–"
"That's not for you to decide."
"...apologies." His placid expression remained as he inclined his head. "So are you planning on heading overseas, maybe?"
She took a deep breath. "Depends on what Creek wants." She bit out.
"I see."
Silence descended between them once more, broken only by the chatter of the other customers in the izakaya. She forced herself to breathe as she tightly gripped the chopsticks she was holding.
Their plan for the future was unknown; their timeline after the [Arima Kinen] was essentially blank. But she and Creek had agreed that it wasn't time for her to retire just yet. There was still more for them to do—more races for them to compete in. Their story wasn't ending so quickly.
Especially not now. Super Creek was at her absolute best right now. The idea of retirement was still a distant prospect.
"It's a shame." He then said as he drank from his mug. "My trainee won't be able to compete against them."
Fumino nodded slowly. She'd heard of the umamusume he was training—Bamboo Memory. She was the one who'd recently won the [Mile Championship], and to do so with a record-breaking finish.
But he wasn't wrong. Compared to the Generation of Miracles, Bamboo Memory still fell short. If she was to, say, enter this year's [Japan Cup],
The outcome would be obvious.
"She's not joining the [Arima Kinen]?"
He shook his head. "She is unfit for Long races." He said, dipping a shrimp tempura into some soy sauce. "She would've burnt out before she reached the last 300 meters."
She stared for a moment, before she looked away.
Silence descended once more. She turned her focus back onto her own plate, determined to finish the last of the tempura she'd ordered and get out of here as soon as she could. She'd been here long enough, and she could feel her restraint slowly slipping.
And then, as if the man was purposely trying to bait her–
"Will you be coming home for Christmas?"
Her fingers twitched, and she very nearly snapped the chopsticks she was holding. There were a million different things she could've said, but she forced them all back down. He didn't need to listen to her words—he likely wouldn't understand them anyway.
Instead, she smiled. "I already have another home to go back to." She said.
His eyes widened slightly, before his expression returned to that placid look he constantly had. "I see." He said, his tone neutral.
She scowled slightly, before she promptly finished the rest of her lemon sour and stood up. "I've already paid." She said. "I'll be leaving now." And before he could say anything else, she took her jacket and made her way out of the izakaya. Some of the staff looked surprised, but they remained polite and bowed as she left.
And back at the table she'd just left, Hidehito Nase smiled faintly as he watched his daughter go.
.
.
.
An hour later, Fumino blinked as she approached Tracen Central Academy and saw someone familiar waiting by the gates. "Creek?" She whispered, feeling somewhat faint from all the lemon sour she'd drank.
Creek's eyes lit up as she quickly approached. "Trainer-san~!" She giggled as she stopped inches away from her, gently placing a hand on her forehead. "Are you sick, trainer-san? Your face is all red!"
Her already flushed cheeks became even redder. "I-I'm just slightly tipsy." She said, before she suddenly hiccuped.
Super Creek smiled as she gently rubbed her back. "There, there~" She hummed softly. "Why don't we go and sleep? It's alright night, after all~"
Fumino gulped. "S-S-Sure." She stuttered.
Creek giggled as they made their way back home.
…
5 Days before the [Japan Cup].