What on earth happened to Kita-chan? She was unbelievably strong today.
Satono Crown felt like she was dreaming.
If Kita-chan had shown this level of ability during the Satsuki Sho, there was no way she would've lost. But there had only been a month between the two races.
How had she improved this much in so little time?
The power Kitasan Black had displayed couldn't be explained away by tactics alone. That terrifying stamina, that abnormal burst power—it felt like she could've won even without the breakaway.
But that was an illusion.
Kita-chan's body simply couldn't support the activation of multiple burst-type skills, and the skills she did use were less than half as effective as their normal output. Without the breakaway strategy, Kitasan Black genuinely wasn't confident she could've matched Duramente in a finishing sprint. But none of that was visible from the outside.
The truth was, this race had been a close call.
She'd given everything she had.
The reason she hadn't used more skills was that the body couldn't handle it. You couldn't expect a body with sub-B-rank average stats to perfectly execute her full skill roster. If the averages had been even a little higher—say, A-rank—things would've been much easier.
Higher physical attributes meant exponentially greater performance. At the lower stat ranges, the differences were surprisingly small. A runner with all-C stats could actually lose to someone with all-D stats.
As the runners filed off the track, the chatter in the stands continued.
The two fans with their cheering sticks conversed with studied calm.
"She won."
"Yeah. Just like you said—the third-place finisher from the Satsuki Sho."
"Are you going to call it luck?"
"Huh?"
Wasn't that what you said in the first place?
"No—Kita-chan won because of her own strength. Look at the results."
"I see them. Enlighten me."
"She broke the record."
"Ah. Then you're right—that's not luck."
Both nodded in agreement.
"I knew Kita-chan could do it."
"Same. I've felt that way for years."
"Think she's surpassed her?"
"Absolutely. In my heart, today's Kita-chan has surpassed Teio."
"I feel the same."
The people nearby gave them odd looks.
What were these two going on about so seriously?
...
When they saw Kitasan Black leave the track, the Spica members headed for the competitors' lounge backstage.
As Kitasan Black reached the lounge entrance, she found the whole group waiting.
"Congratulations, Kita-chan."
Tokai Teio stepped forward.
The other members had ceded this moment to her—they all knew Teio was Kita-chan's idol.
But neither Kitasan Black nor the floating Kita-chan felt any joy.
Kitasan Black, because she didn't idolize this Tokai Teio. If it were her Teio-senpai, that'd be a different story.
Kita-chan, because she knew she hadn't actually run this race.
"Kita-chan..."
Nishizaki Ryu approached and reached out to pat Kitasan Black on the head. She slapped his hand away.
Kitasan Black glared at the man.
"Satono Diamond should've told you already. I'm not the Kita-chan you know."
Silence.
Nobody had expected the mood to crash this hard.
"We know," Daiwa Scarlet said, voicing what they'd assumed. "But even if you're a second personality, you're still Kita-chan, right?"
Kitasan Black stared.
"Who said I was her second personality? I'm a Kitasan Black from another world. For reasons I don't fully understand, I'm temporarily inhabiting her body."
"...What?"
Everyone stared.
"Another world's Kita-chan?" Tokai Teio could barely process the idea. It was too fantastical.
Floating above, Kita-chan was equally shocked. She hadn't known this either.
"That's right. I'm a Kitasan Black from a parallel world. But please don't misunderstand—I have nothing in common with this world's me. My idol isn't you, Tokai Teio, and I'm obviously not a member of Spica. I've also never lost. In my world, I'm the strongest of my generation."
"What surprised me is that we share the same body. Even accounting for differences in talent, the me of this world shouldn't be this weak. It wasn't until I saw your training plan—and read what the internet thinks of the other me—that I understood why."
"Nishizaki Ryu—you really are a failure of a trainer."
The words cut like ice-cold steel.
Tokai Teio and the others frowned.
"Why would you say that?" Mejiro McQueen stepped forward. "Is there something wrong with the training plan designed for Kita-chan?"
The members who'd been on the verge of anger held themselves back when they saw McQueen speak first.
"You're asking me if there's a problem?"
"I originally assumed you all knew and were choosing to look the other way. But apparently you genuinely had no idea. I overestimated you."
"...If you believe there's a problem, please explain."
McQueen kept her composure.
"Fine. Let me be direct. Who decided I was a sprint-to-mile type? I can tell you right now: my aptitude is mid-to-long distance. My training strengths are speed and stamina. And I was born with more endurance than most uma musume—right now, my stamina far exceeds anyone in my generation. But because this trainer assigned stamina training, my speed and power are both well below my peers."
McQueen's simmering anger evaporated instantly.
So did everyone else's.
Instead, they turned to stare at the trainer in disbelief.
You got THAT wrong?
"Hey—Trainer. Please tell me what Kita-chan just said isn't true." Daiwa Scarlet couldn't hold back.
She'd known their trainer could be unreliable in daily life, but she'd always assumed he was impeccable at his actual job.
And now he couldn't even get that right?
This was a catastrophic mistake.
Nishizaki Ryu's eyes were trembling.
What?
I got something like THAT wrong?
"Can a trainer even make that kind of error? When it was my turn, you figured out my aptitude and strengths immediately." Special Week delivered the innocent finishing blow from the sidelines.
The words triggered something in Nishizaki Ryu's memory.
He'd only used the standard observation method to assess Kita-chan's strengths and aptitude—watching her run casually, nothing more.
He hadn't used his signature diagnostic technique: bone-reading.
To be fair, he rarely used it on anyone.
Because he'd definitely get kicked. Potentially fatally.
And possibly reported to the police as a pervert.
But even with standard observation, he shouldn't have made a mistake this bad. Confusing mid-to-long distance aptitude with short-distance?
The deviation was absurd.
If Nishizaki Ryu heard about another trainer making this mistake, he'd have torn them apart for ruining their runner's career.
And yet the trainer in question was himself.
"Um, Kita-chan—is that really true? Would you, uh, let me examine your legs?"
He asked sheepishly.
Kitasan Black looked at him like he was garbage.
"Do you think I have any reason to lie? If you want to examine legs, wait until she comes back and ask her. I'm certainly not agreeing. Your impression score with me is in the negatives."
Nishizaki Ryu withdrew his hand, deflated.
Yeah. He'd known she'd refuse.
"Trainer, judging by your expression, you're clearly not confident. Which means this is probably true. And Kita-chan doesn't seem like the type to lie." Tokai Teio's gaze bore into the trainer, dark and quiet.
He'd held back their beloved junior. If not for this parallel-world Kita-chan crossing over, they might never have discovered the mistake.
And the damage was already done.
The Satsuki Sho...
Maybe Kita-chan could have won that race after all.
Floating above, Kita-chan couldn't believe her ears.
I'm not a short-distance runner? I'm actually a proper mid-to-long distance type?
And I didn't need all that stamina training—it was already my natural strength?
Her mind went blank.
"Well... probably, yeah," Nishizaki Ryu managed. "Once Kita-chan comes back, let me do a proper bone-reading examination and we'll know for sure."
"Drop dead, Ryu!"
Gold Ship lunged from behind and locked him in a chokehold.
"Ack—I can't—I can't breathe—I confess, I confess!"
Gold Ship didn't let go. She slammed him to the ground.
She'd pulled the impact, but it still hurt. Nishizaki Ryu's face contorted in pain.
"You careless idiot! Have you been coasting lately? Not taking Kita-chan seriously?!"
"I haven't! It's just—I haven't used the basic observation method in a while, so I probably made an error. And I figured if I kept doing bone-readings, people would think I was a pervert, which would hurt the team's image—"
"That's WHY you're an idiot! Since when does that matter more than KITA-CHAN?!"
Gold Ship was furious.
She considered Kita-chan her disciple (self-appointed).
And their trainer had made this colossal blunder.
"Trainer, this is squarely your fault." Mejiro McQueen's tone was severe. "You had every opportunity to catch this. You kept telling us to just 'believe in Kita-chan.' But if not for this incident, you would have ruined her career. You understand that?"
Nishizaki Ryu could only accept the dressing-down.
He was drowning in regret. If a regret pill existed, he'd have fought to be first in line. If time machines existed, he'd have gone back to beat some sense into his past self.
And when he thought about what he'd planned to do next, he nearly lost it—because after the Japan Derby, he'd been preparing to take Kita-chan to Rice Shower and Mihono Bourbon for intensive stamina training. He'd already made the arrangements.
Now he was profoundly grateful that the other-world Kita-chan had crossed over when she did.
"I have zero interest in your internal affairs. I'll most likely be going back soon. Explain the situation to the other me yourselves. Right now, I need to prepare for the Winner's Stage."
Kitasan Black had no stake in their team dynamics.
She'd spoken up only because she couldn't stand by and watch.
If she'd never crossed over, never discovered the truth—fine. But she had, and she had the ability to change things. She wasn't going to let Kita-chan keep running down the wrong path.
"Yes—I understand. Thank you, truly."
Nishizaki Ryu's gratitude was sincere. Without Kitasan Black pointing this out, he might not have realized the mistake until after the Classic year. By then it would've been too late.
"Don't beat yourself up too much. She's not blameless in this either. Blindly trusting her trainer's guidance without a shred of independent thought—someone like that was always going to hit a wall."
Behind her, Kita-chan lowered her head in embarrassment.
The other her was right.
She'd noticed some oddities during training but never thought about them too deeply. She'd genuinely believed that total trust in her trainer was the path to achieving her dreams.
Her own critical thinking? Nonexistent.
Nishizaki Ryu shook his head.
"Don't try to comfort me. Kita-chan did nothing wrong. I'm the one who failed to honor her trust. You're right—I am a failure of a trainer."
Failing to live up to an uma musume's trust was the single greatest failing a trainer could commit.
And he wasn't some rookie, either.
At the end of the day, he'd been too confident. He hadn't used basic observation methods in ages, yet he'd blindly trusted that he couldn't make a mistake. Had the team's recent success gone to his head?
"Those words aren't meant for me."
Kitasan Black opened the lounge door and stepped inside.
She had nothing more to say to them.
Though she'd admit—Nishizaki Ryu's willingness to own the mistake had improved her impression of him somewhat.
At least his core hadn't changed.
If he'd refused to acknowledge the error, or admitted fault while clearly resenting it—that would've earned her genuine contempt.
But Nishizaki Ryu had simply made a mistake.
Some might argue that a veteran, high-level trainer should never make such an error. That was a fair point. But no one could guarantee they'd never be wrong.
Besides, what she'd said hadn't been meant as comfort for Nishizaki Ryu. She meant it.
This wasn't his responsibility alone.
Kita-chan's own obliviousness was equally to blame.
Trainers and runners needed mutual trust, absolutely. But that didn't mean you could turn your brain off entirely.
What you're good at, what stride feels most natural—shouldn't you know that better than anyone?
And yet in an entire year since her debut, Kita-chan had never once raised these concerns with her trainer.
It was genuinely baffling.
She'd just stubbornly convinced herself she wasn't training hard enough.
This was why Kitasan Black believed Kita-chan's Wisdom stat was rock-bottom.
That stat had clearly never been trained. Not even once.
"So I've been working hard in the wrong direction this whole time..."
Kita-chan covered her face with her hands.
She no longer resented Kitasan Black.
If anything, she was grateful.
...
Unaware of Kita-chan's change of heart, Kitasan Black entered the lounge bathroom to wash up.
Next up: selecting a song and choreography for the Winner's Stage.
The champion's privilege.
This was her first time performing on stage with other people. When it was just her, she could pick any song at random and ignore the choreography entirely. But a group performance required coordination.
After cleaning up and changing into the performance outfit, Kitasan Black sat down with a tablet and started browsing.
She decided quickly: first, filter for the shortest songs; then check which ones had the simplest choreography with the fewest moves.
Floating behind her, Kita-chan was unimpressed.
In her opinion, the Winner's Stage song should be as dazzling and spectacular as possible. It was your chance to show off everything you had!
That was how most uma musume thought about it.
But clearly, Kitasan Black—like her senpai—treated the Winner's Stage seriously while harboring exactly zero enthusiasm for it.
Athletics were athletics. Being forced to double as an idol?
Too much.
After Kitasan Black finalized the song and choreography, the other performers received notification. They'd have some rehearsal time—GI-level Winner's Stages were far more elaborate than lower-tier ones. The scale rivaled—and often surpassed—top-tier idol concerts. Only world-class performances could definitively outshine a GI Winner's Stage.
Though that was in Kitasan Black's world. This world was probably different. Without Domain Expansion powering the artistic performances, the GI stage might actually be the ceiling. And in a world where skills weren't well-developed, the artistic domain likely didn't exist at the same level.
The Winner's Stage.
Kitasan Black stood center. Duramente and Satono Crown flanked her as backup.
All three were talented performers.
Kitasan Black was genuinely world-class.
Even with a simple song and basic choreography, she carried the entire venue.
Watching the performance, Kita-chan finally accepted that Kitasan Black really was another version of herself.
If the performance had been bad, she might've had doubts. But this level of polish? That was definitely "her."
In racing, Kita-chan had no confidence right now. But when it came to performing? She was absolutely certain of her abilities.
As the show ended, Kitasan Black glanced at Duramente with mild surprise. She hadn't expected the girl whose brain was consumed by "strongest" and "Arc de Triomphe" to actually be a decent performer.
Then it clicked. Aside from small-town uma musume, anyone from a prestigious background was naturally trained in the arts. Even Gold Ship could sing and dance.
Come to think of it, if she were in the audience, the performances she'd most want to see were the gap-moe ones. Imagining the Demon King-senpai or McQueen-senpai—normally ice-cold faces—forced to display sweet smiles onstage...
Absolutely thrilling.
Kitasan Black indulged in the fantasy.
She didn't realize that in her own world, the fans thought of her exactly the same way.
Once I clear the game, I'm absolutely going to goad Demon King-senpai into challenging McQueen-senpai—and then watch them dance!
A delightfully irreverent thought.
It was the joint performance with Duramente that had sparked this interest. During the show, Duramente had actually dropped her usual blank expression and flashed genuinely alluring smiles. It was fascinating.
The Winner's Stage concluded.
The audience wanted more.
"Kita-chan's performance was amazing—she really is a festival girl at heart."
"Duramente's was great too! That gap between her racing persona and her stage presence—that's what hooked me."
"Right?!"
"What about Crown-ojou-sama? She was practically a succubus!"
"YES—it was technically a proper performance, but Crown-ojou-sama just radiates this... energy."
"Not enough! I need more!"
"If only the Winner's Stage did encores. But this isn't an idol show."
"The Winner's Stage is sacred!"
"Praise the Three Goddesses!"
As the stage lights dimmed, the satisfied audience began filing out.
Kitasan Black and the other two returned backstage to change.
On the way back, Duramente spoke.
"The Kikka Sho. I'll win it back."
Kitasan Black and Kita-chan both: "..."
Not unexpected.
But neither could respond.
Kitasan Black didn't know if she'd cross over again for the Kikka Sho. And Kita-chan had zero confidence—she couldn't replicate what the other her had done. Accepting Duramente's challenge was signing up for guaranteed defeat.
Kitasan Black said nothing.
Duramente took the silence as contempt.
Which she thought was fair. This victory had been so utterly dominant that she'd nearly been eliminated outright.
So yes—Kitasan Black had earned the right to look down on her.
After all, before this race, Duramente hadn't even registered Kitasan Black as a real opponent.
Satono Crown walked over.
"Don't forget about me. I'm entering the Kikka Sho too—and I'm going to be the one who wins!"
Duramente spared her a single dispassionate glance.
Who are you again?
The only opponent worthy of my attention is Kitasan Black.
Kitasan Black was at a loss for words.
These two were absurdly presumptuous.
Were they supposed to be friends or something?
...
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