November 26, the day of the Japan Cup.
Tokyo Racecourse roared like mountains and seas. Over two hundred thousand spectators gathered here, filling every corner of the stands.
Countless flags and banners fluttered in the crisp air, merging into a colorful ocean to witness this clash of the century together.
"Six top Uma Musume from overseas, and nine who bear Central's honor—their paths crossing, each chasing the other. This is the full lineup for this year's Japan Cup!"
"With such a luxurious field, it's second to none in any year. We have every reason to expect a high-level race that will go down in history!"
Above Tokyo Racecourse, the commentator's impassioned voice thundered through the sky.
As his introductions rolled on, the Uma Musume who would take part in the decisive battle began to file onto the pre-race review platform one after another.
Meanwhile, in a rather secluded corner of the stands—
Two girls with a distinctly foreign air, bundled in thick coats, rested bare hands on the railing and quietly watched the dozen powerful juniors appearing below.
"It really is… quite nostalgic…"
A girl with dazzling blonde hair spoke softly, a trace of reminiscence in her red-gold eyes.
The other, a black-haired girl with a noble aura, glanced over at her with a faint smile at her lips: "Compared to last year, you've really gotten used to this place, Tony."
These two were last year's Japan Cup entrants, the former European tyrant—Tony Bianca—
and, from Great Britain—Moonlight Madness.
After fracturing a foot bone in last year's Japan Cup, Tony Bianca returned home and soon announced her retirement.
And Moonlight Madness, unable to return to peak form after that summit duel, chose to bid the track farewell not long after.
Now they had returned to this battleground in a foreign land as retired Uma Musume and seniors, accompanying their juniors or friends.
As for classes back at their own Tracen Academy?
For girls long since financially free and resplendent in achievement—whether they attended hardly mattered.
"Haha, is that so?"
At that, Tony Bianca gave a light laugh, gazing gently toward that familiar green turf. "Maybe… I'm just a little sentimental."
She narrowed her eyes softly, as if recalling this very moment last year.
Before her, three figures wrapped in endless radiance, so strong it seemed they would crack the earth.
A pity that, even though she gave her all, she never truly kept up with their steps…
"Speaking of which, Moonlight," Tony Bianca drew herself from memory and asked, "anyone you know running this time?"
"Yeah… though she's a rather noisy little sister."
Moonlight Madness sighed helplessly and folded her arms. "Still, if she was chosen to be a representative, she ought to at least know the most basic etiquette, right?"
Even before the words finished, a lively, clear figure strode onto the review platform.
"Our next entrant, representing Great Britain—Ibu Bocchi!"
The commentator hadn't even finished the intro before the girl on stage, in a gorgeous victory dress, planted hands on hips and released the classic ojō-sama triple laugh:
"O—hohoho! It's this lady's turn!"
Ibu Bocchi, of course.
After that uninhibited laugh, she belatedly realized she'd cut off the commentary, tilted her head, and asked, "And then? What rank am I in popularity?"
When the reply came from staff at the side, her eyes flew wide in surprise:
"Fourth in popularity?! That's extremely glorious!"
She wasn't discouraged in the slightest about not being in the top three. Instead, she grew even more excited and smiled to the crowd:
"Thank you very much! This lady will run hard for you all! After all, Ibu-nee is nobility!"
In the stands, Moonlight Madness pressed a hand to her forehead, speechless. "…This kid really hasn't changed at all."
Beside her, Tony Bianca wore a light, relaxed smile. "Being spirited isn't bad, is it?"
"That's true, but…"
Moonlight Madness nodded slightly, then her tone turned, a trace of doubt coloring her brows. "But Kelly Room didn't even crack the top four in popularity?"
Fellow Britons both, she knew the two locals well.
When Kelly Room won the Arc, she was happy for her from the heart.
She hadn't expected that, on this foreign stage, the new European queen would be so little favored.
Tony Bianca chuckled. "The Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe isn't an invincible honor. Look at me—didn't I lose miserably last year?"
…That's not the same.
That wasn't your true strength, Tony.
Moonlight Madness looked at the former tyrant beside her.
Now, Tony Bianca had long since let go.
Even when speaking plainly of her own defeat, there was not a speck of regret or resentment.
Such composure belongs only to those who have truly laid the past down.
The course is merciless; snow rages like wind.
Now that they were both retired, there was no point in saying more.
Just then, the commentator's voice climbed higher again, pulling their thoughts back to reality.
"Next to appear, ranked third in popularity—the world record holder—representing the White Eagle Nation: Pirate Ravenhawk!"
With that, Pirate Ravenhawk strolled in with both hands in her pockets.
But her air pressure was low; that usual arrogant, unruly blaze was greatly reined in.
Whether because she'd been squarely suppressed by Obey Your Master's presence at yesterday's meet-and-greet, or simply because she was only third in popularity—
Either way, annoyance was written all over this battle-hungry overseas girl's face.
"Next, representing Central, ranked second in popularity—Super Creek!"
The gentle blue girl stepped onto the platform.
Serene and focused, she gave a light bow to the stands.
Even a string of losses to Inari One hadn't excessively hurt Super Creek's popularity at home.
Of course, some of that might be "home-field water"—it's not as if the Far Eastern host would really let the overseas girls hog all the top popularity slots.
"And finally…"
The commentator drew a deep breath and poured his lungs out: "The previous queen descends upon the turf!"
"Popularity number one, beyond all doubt—Obey Your Master!!"
"Oooohhhhhhh—!!"
Like a volcano erupting, the stands exploded into the day's hottest cheers, a wave of sound that seemed ready to rip the roof off the racecourse!
Obey Your Master, resplendent in her victory dress, walked out at a measured pace.
Her steps were calm and unhurried; her face wore no excess expression—only that strange, faint serenity.
As if the frenzy of two hundred thousand, as if this stage that would decide history, were to her nothing more than a casual stroll in a garden.
(End of Chapter)
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