"The conqueror of the Arc! Kitasan Black!"
"Winner by a massive gap!"
"Second place — Found!"
"Third place — Highland Dance!"
The world was bathed in adulation and roaring celebration.
Only Kitasan Black stood in silence, staring at the trophy in her hands, her emotions flat.
Beneath the gaze of the entire world, all she felt was boredom.
With no further craving for money, and her own heart finally laid bare to her, Kitasan Black understood one simple fact: she did not like racing.
Victory. Being the strongest.
None of it mattered to her.
She was sick of these meaningless races.
A thought surfaced.
Why did I never stop running?
She knew the [truth]. She had already given up out of fear a long time ago. So what had kept her pushing on, lying to herself, coming back to the track again and again?
She already knew the answer.
Looking out at the people offering their congratulations, Kitasan Black wished she could accept their praise with a smile. She couldn't. Because she knew — even standing at the top, the praise and the glory didn't belong to her.
It felt almost as if she were one of the losers still standing below, staring up at the figure bathed in light. In her mind's eye, she saw McQueen and the others.
That was it. She was only looking up at her senpai's brilliance. Borrowing their power, standing like a cheater on this fake podium, pretending she didn't care, smiling insincerely — was that supposed to be enough?
Don't make me laugh.
From her shadow, the [darkness] surged up.
Self-mockery and self-loathing rose until she felt physically sick.
Now that she stood at the peak of the world, she could no longer pretend not to hear her own heart. The real reason she hated racing wasn't what she'd been telling herself — that she was too strong, that victory was certain.
It was the exact opposite.
The real reason she couldn't love racing was that she had no faith she could win.
Because she had no confidence she could beat them, she pretended she didn't care. She picked on weaker opponents, sneered that races like these could never light a fire in her — all while knowing it was nothing but cowardly avoidance.
So she pretended not to care. Let herself drift, listless. Refused to hear her own voice.
Telling herself that if she just sank low enough, if she gave up hard enough, she'd eventually be able to forget all of it.
But if all of that was true — why had she even become an uma musume? Why keep running?
Was it really just for the money?
Wanting an easier life, loving money — those were real desires, she wouldn't deny that. But they weren't the reason she couldn't let go of being an uma musume.
I refuse to keep living as a failure.
That was it. That was the real reason she had become an uma musume despite hating it.
She couldn't fool herself anymore, no matter how she pretended.
She was a reincarnated [Player] soul, same as the rest of them. She carried her own indelible grudge, her own unbreakable obsession.
She had already lived one failed life.
Given another chance, she refused to waste it the same way.
She was going to win this time.
This life, she would live without regret. Without lingering.
A pitiful, half-crazed voice inside her was screaming it now:
I want to win. I want to win!
Trophy in hand, Kitasan Black walked back to her locker room.
The whole way there, the feelings she had kept buried came clawing up from the shadow at her feet.
She reached the door. Her hand came up toward the handle.
Kitasan Black's eyes went hollow and terrifying. She hadn't entered her mental domain, but the [shadows] came swarming up regardless, hammering against the stone door that represented ZONE. That raging, ugly thing was the [truth] she had kept hidden all this time.
The instant her fingers reached for the handle —
Two [selves] appeared before her.
On the left was the self from the past. The one with the calm, untroubled face, who pretended nothing mattered.
"Are you sure about this? You finally won a stable, quiet happiness for yourself. If you keep pretending not to care, no senpai is going to force a fight on someone with no will to compete. You won't get real victories, but you'll get a life better than most people ever have — resting on your laurels as a 'winner.'"
The voice wasn't wrong. That had been her [pursuit] up until now.
But —
On the right was the other self she had hidden away for so long.
Empty, fathomless eyes. A wild, unhinged posture. Nothing beautiful about it at all. Her thoughts, when they came, were almost childishly simple.
"Destroy! I'm going to destroy all of it!"
The empty glory, the meaningless life — tear it all down. If this world wouldn't let her be happy, then the world could burn. Smash every obstacle in her way.
Nothing charming about that self. Just pure selfishness.
But that was the [me] she had kept locked away. The real one.
"You'd listen to that monster? You know that's just mindless desire," the former self pressed.
And yet —
"Shut up," Kitasan Black said, without a flicker of hesitation.
"Like this — I can't have any peace at all. Peaceful life? Can this restless, grinding anxiety really be called peace?"
Hearing the question, the former self smiled.
"Probably not."
Despite her words of caution, the moment Kitasan Black's fingers closed around the handle, both versions of herself — past and present — broke into matching smiles. In that instant, the monster broke free from its cage.
She couldn't stand the fake [sky] anymore.
That was the truth. That was the hate she'd hidden this entire time.
Only by destroying all of it could she live a real life.
The Arc de Triomphe trophy dropped from her hand like garbage.
That [false] glory meant nothing to Kitasan Black's heart.
The [door] swung open.
Kitasan Black left this world.
Only the trophy remained, rolling slowly across the floor.
...
In the System Space, the senpai who had received the completion notification gathered together.
"Seriously, you lot are all so boring. The kid just cleared a single Story Mode run — do you really have to throw her a celebration party? Stop spoiling that brat!"
Gold Ship jabbed a finger at Tokai Teio and Rice Shower, face twisted in disgust.
"It's because you all keep coddling her that she hasn't grown at all! She's got the talent to surpass every one of us, and she's still this weak!"
If she were the one in charge of educating Kitasan Black, she'd have the kid unlocking every ounce of that talent. She was a Demon King, after all. Forcing challengers to draw out their absolute limit was part of her job description. And if they couldn't? Well, they could just drop dead.
Which was, of course, exactly why no one was ever going to agree to let Gold Ship mentor a junior. Her teaching methods were a little too extreme.
"If you don't want to help, you don't have to," Tokai Teio said, clearly out of patience with the Demon King's sermon. "Rice Shower, come help me in the kitchen."
"Yes."
Rice Shower obediently trailed after her Teio-oneesan.
Gold Ship snorted in annoyance and turned toward the couch where McQueen sat sipping tea.
"Well, what do you think, McQueen?"
"I have no opinion. I'll respect Kita-chan's own wishes."
"You've gone soft too!"
"Heh. Me, soft? You're the one panicking."
Mejiro McQueen cut to the heart of the matter without mercy.
Gold Ship had hit a wall in her own growth. She wanted pressure to force a breakthrough, and that was the real reason she was so eager to have Kita-chan cut loose. She wasn't coming to McQueen, Rice Shower, or Teio because the gap was now too wide in the wrong direction — the current Demon King had no chance of beating McQueen or Rice Shower, and Teio couldn't put enough pressure on her to matter.
So Gold Ship was getting desperate. Her Overload Mode needed more races to refine, and those races had to be pitched at just the right intensity — too weak wouldn't work, too strong would break her.
In theory, there was another route to power. She could have Rice Shower devour her ZONE, then attempt to awaken a new one — shatter and regenerate, and almost certainly gain something stronger on the other side.
But Gold Ship's pride wouldn't allow it. Not until she'd pushed self-development to its absolute limit. Not until she had no other option. She was a Demon King who had bullied the world with her own two hands. She didn't ask for handouts.
"..."
Called out for exactly what she was doing, Gold Ship's fist clenched in frustration.
Damn it. Damn you, McQueen. One of these days I will put you beneath my heel.
(Tsch. Guess working on the newcomer is off the table. That just leaves that system — the system from the Three Goddesses' script.)
In Gold Ship's own world, the Satomi Corporation was also secretly developing that virtual reality system. Once it was complete, she'd be able to load McQueen and the others' data into it, make some targeted adjustments, and finally get the [nourishment] she needed.
(I'm not going to fall.)
No matter how many times she got knocked down, she'd get back up. That was her Demon King's way. That throne at the top would eventually come back to her.
McQueen paid no attention to Gold Ship's glare. If anything, her own situation wasn't far off from Gold Ship's — if this brat Demon King could actually grow a little stronger, she'd be pleased about it.
The difference was that McQueen wasn't in a hurry about her own progress. She knew, beyond doubt, that she would keep getting stronger. That ease, that certainty — that was the mark of the strongest.
While Tokai Teio and Rice Shower prepared the celebration, and McQueen and Gold Ship took their rest, the guest of honor — Kitasan Black — finally pushed open the door to [home].
"Welcome back—"
McQueen started to speak and stopped the instant the words were out.
The aura was wrong. It was the bearing of a berserker looking for a fight.
She looked up at the doorway.
Kitasan Black wore an expression McQueen had never seen on her before — but one she'd seen often enough on others. The look of someone unwilling to concede, someone who wanted a fight.
"..."
Mejiro McQueen hadn't expected that all this time, behind the training-dodging slacker act, this was what Kita-chan had been hiding. It surprised her — but it didn't offend her. If anything, she was relieved. This was what a member of [their circle] should look like. When she'd first met Kita-chan and seen that hollow disinterest in her eyes, McQueen had half-wondered if the system had glitched while creating a new character.
Either way, she would have taken Kita-chan in. But she was glad to see this version. It was much more like [her].
"Ho~ Interesting. So this is your real face."
Gold Ship's grin was feral.
She had been startled at first. The pressure radiating off Kita-chan was, in this instant, a match for her own and for Rice Shower-the-Overlord. That was completely unexpected.
Or rather — it was delightful.
She was strong. Even Gold Ship, Demon King in her own right, felt her blood thrum at the sight of that fighting spirit.
She'd known Kitasan Black had some substance to her, but this was more than she'd bargained for. This brat had been hiding this vicious a side the entire time?
Hahaha! Now this is fun!
The two in the kitchen felt the pressure as well and came out.
Tokai Teio frowned as she took in Kita-chan's hollow stare. She'd assumed that since Kita-chan had already cleared Story Mode, it meant she was fine — not like Rice Shower's situation. But evidently that wasn't true at all. This wasn't the expression of someone who had just completed her journey.
"Kita-chan..."
Rice Shower started to speak. Then the Overlord took over.
Overlord Rice Shower said nothing. She simply released her aura.
She had already read the will behind Kita-chan's bearing. If this is your wish, then come.
As the Overlord, she refused no challenge. But even to her cute little sister, the price of peering into that abyss still had to be paid.
"Hahaha! Don't leave Your Truly out, you two!"
Gold Ship unleashed her own Demon King Aura and joined the fray.
Tokai Teio glanced helplessly at Mejiro McQueen, who set down her teacup.
"If you're going to fight, take it to the arena."
Tokai Teio sighed. She'd known McQueen wouldn't try to stop this. It figured. She didn't especially want to get involved herself — but clearly she wasn't going to have a choice.
With that, her gaze sharpened.
No one had proposed a race out loud. None of them had to. They were all [themselves]. They all understood [themselves] instinctively.
And so, the next race began.
...
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