Kuroha left Central Tracen Academy and strolled along the bustling shopping street just across the road.
It was a late-autumn afternoon, sunlight warm and gentle. Storefront displays on both sides had already swapped to thick fall-and-winter outfits. Students and couples wandered in and out, the whole street humming with ordinary life.
Hands in his pockets, Kuroha walked without any destination in mind, savoring this rare stretch of free time.
But when he passed an extravagantly decorated luxury dress boutique, his steps stalled on their own.
"Huh?"
As if he'd spotted something genuinely entertaining, Kuroha couldn't help the grin tugging at his face.
Right in front of the most eye-catching full-length mirror inside the shop, a breathtaking girl with long silver hair and rare heterochromia—one gold eye, one crimson—stood there like a fish that had given up on life, letting three women fuss over her.
The all-but-certain popularity favorite for this year's Japan Cup. Last year's runner-up. New Zealand's hurricane. The Atlantic's strongest Uma Musume…
The Folkqueen—burdened with countless titles, always icy and aloof in public—was currently wearing a princess-style Lolita dress so aggressively pink it bordered on criminal. The skirt was layered and frilly to the point of absurdity, lace everywhere, bows everywhere.
"Aww! This one's good too! See? I told you—your base is the best no matter what!" said the woman beside her, practically vibrating with excitement as she held up a gigantic bow accessory and compared it against the Folkqueen's head from different angles.
"…Elleslie-onee-san."
The Folkqueen rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck. Her mismatched gaze was pure resignation. "We came to Central to prep for the Japan Cup, not to enter some beauty pageant…"
"And this outfit…"
The silver-haired girl tugged stiffly at the skirt hem and muttered under her breath, "It's so embarrassing…"
"Quit whining!" Elleslie Glory snapped, hands on her hips, cutting her off with righteous confidence. "Do you even understand what balance is? If you're tense all the time, you'll never run your best!"
"From Hong Kong until now—how many months has it been? You haven't taken a single day off. Today, you're listening to me!"
"…Ha." The Folkqueen let out a helpless sigh. Where Elleslie couldn't see, a faint dimness surfaced in her eyes.
Rest… When do I even have time for that…
Still, she couldn't win against her sister. Just as she was about to accept her fate, her gaze slipped past the glass display window and caught Kuroha standing at the street corner, watching with a very complicated expression.
In an instant—
The doll-like Atlantic champion's eyes lit up like she'd found a savior.
"Hey—! Over there! Kuroha!!"
She stopped caring about her image entirely, grabbed up the fussy skirt, and yelled out the window while waving hard enough to start a storm.
Kuroha watched the scene, the corners of his mouth climbing out of control. But to spare her what dignity he could, he forced the laughter down and pushed the door open.
"Yo. Isn't this the Queen herself?" he said, teasing while barely holding it together. "That look… has personality."
"You bastard… If you want to laugh, just laugh," the Folkqueen said, face blazing red as she yanked at a strip of lace in open surrender. "If you dare send a photo to Oguri or Obey Your Master, I'll kill you."
"Hm? Trainer Kuroha."
Elleslie Glory's eyes brightened. She offered him a graceful bow. "It's been a long time. Since we parted in Hong Kong, you look even better than before."
After a full month of training together, the sisters' relationship with Kuroha—and with Chasing Light's Uma Musume—could be called friendship, at least.
Seeing him here made Elleslie genuinely happy.
As she spoke, she slung an arm around her sister's shoulders, the way someone might show off a prized treasure. "Well? Isn't she ridiculously cute when she dresses up?"
"Sis… Onee-san…" The Folkqueen struggled halfheartedly.
Kuroha looked her over from head to toe.
Honestly, the Folkqueen's natural looks were already unfair. Silver hair, mismatched eyes, that cool and detached aura—paired with sweet, frilly pink… the contrast hit like a punch. It was startlingly charming.
"She's definitely cute," Kuroha said, nodding with sincere approval. "If you wore this on the track, your opponents would probably jump out of their skin."
"Don't encourage her…" The Folkqueen rubbed her forehead weakly. Still, having a familiar face around loosened the tension in her shoulders a little.
"Trainer Kuroha, if it's convenient, could you keep her company for a moment?" Elleslie Glory gestured toward the counter. "I'll go pay."
Kuroha nodded. "Sure. I've got time."
Watching her sister hum her way toward the register, the Folkqueen finally exhaled. Without Elleslie's "demonic claws," she could breathe again.
She smoothed her skirt casually. Even dressed in something that cute, her expression shifted sharply—like a blade sliding free of its sheath—returning to the keen, predatory edge of a top-tier Uma Musume.
"I heard you went to Europe," she said, looking at Kuroha, her tone turning serious. "And you took two G1s in Ireland and France… congratulations."
"Too kind." Kuroha leaned against the counter, smiling. "So—are you ready for the Japan Cup?"
"…Of course." The Folkqueen nodded, then paused. She lifted her striking gold-and-crimson gaze to meet his.
"So then… you and Chasing Light really aren't entering this year?"
Last year's Japan Cup, she'd narrowly lost to Obey Your Master—the Uma Musume in Kuroha's team.
And back in Hong Kong, when they ran into each other and trained together, she'd seen for herself how almost supernatural Kuroha's guidance was.
For a proud queen like her, if she couldn't defeat the strongest opponent on the biggest stage, victory itself tasted thin—hollow.
So even though she already knew the answer, she still couldn't stop herself from asking again.
Kuroha froze for a beat, then nodded openly. "Yeah. We're not entering."
"As for the reason… you already knew it back in Hong Kong, didn't you?"
The moment she heard it confirmed, the light in the Folkqueen's eyes dimmed—visibly, painfully.
"I see…" She lowered her head and murmured, flat and lifeless.
A few seconds later, she looked up again. She stared at Kuroha for a long moment, then let out a quiet sigh. "Honestly…"
"A Japan Cup without you… Even if I win, it'll feel like something's missing."
"Your country probably won't see it that way," Kuroha said with a laugh. "After this race, the name 'Folkqueen' will be carved into New Zealand's monument of history."
"…Those people have nothing to do with me."
After a short silence, the Folkqueen folded her arms and turned her face aside, her voice cold. "Other than Elleslie-onee-san, I don't care what any of them think. Not even a little."
Just then, Elleslie Glory returned from the counter with several shopping bags in hand.
The Folkqueen didn't say anything more. She took one last look at Kuroha and spoke softly.
"Even if we might never get the chance again…"
"But next time—if a miracle happens—I want to race that Obey Your Master again."
With that, she gathered up the complicated skirt and walked back to Elleslie Glory.
In Kuroha's line of sight, the silver-haired foreign Uma Musume was wrapped in the very same kind of black aura that Mejiro Ardan carried.
"…A miracle, huh…?"
Kuroha murmured to himself, watching them go, then raised his right hand.
Hmmm—
As his thoughts converged, a gorgeous, prismatic brilliance bloomed from the empty air—something no one else could see—shaped and molded at Kuroha's fingertips like clay.
"Maybe someday… there really will be a chance."
He crushed the shimmer in his palm, smiled with a small shake of his head, and turned away.
(End of Chapter)
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