The opening ceremony of the Arima Kinen was rather unusual.
Normally, in traditional Uma Musu races, each girl would step onto the parade stand one by one. But the Arima Kinen went in the complete opposite direction.
Here, the Uma Musu would co out one by one from the paddock tunnel, walk past the front of the audience stands, then gather by the parade stand—only standing together once all had arrived, to complete the ceremony.
And the one who ended up standing the longest on the stand was the first to appear—the one with the lowest popularity.
But Gotham Song quickly stopped paying attention to the endless sequence of girls stepping out.
Her reason was simple. The one she cared about this ti wasn’t just jiro McQueen. There was another—
The one who had also entered the Arima Kinen, who had only rushed over from the academy that very morning—ninth in popularity, Manhattan Cafe.
Just earlier, as she walked into the paddock tunnel, Gotham Song had seen her own onee-sama there, as well as Oguri Cap, who had been waiting for so ti, gazing toward her with eyes as round as saucers.
But what was strange was—Manhattan Cafe hadn’t co over to her side like usual. Instead, she stood against the wall, breathing deeply, as if steadying herself.
It was the old thing—Sunday Silence—who slipped quietly out after being subdued for so long. She winked at Gotham Song, shrugged, then struck a powerful gesture with her arms. Without saying a word, in silence, she explained everything about Manhattan Cafe.
She was fully concentrated, to the very last fiber, determined to show her authority as an onee-sama.
Cafe wasn’t using so clumsy words or actions to force pressure on Gotham Song in a way that would only make her yield. No—she was striving with all her strength to prove herself in the very field where the gap between them yawned widest, the field of Gotham Song’s despair-inducing strength.
Perhaps it was Manhattan Cafe’s feelings. Perhaps sothing else. Perhaps it was a promise with another. Or simply the thought of not betraying those who had traveled all this way to watch her.
Whatever the cause, Gotham Song herself grew more serious.
This was a race she could not relax in, definitely could not approach with indifference...!
Perhaps sensing it, Sunday Silence gave a crooked smile. It was the look of soone who had made a decision, before quietly slipping back into Cafe’s body to prepare for the strength she would need soon.
And in her place—released at last from the shadow of suppression—Phantom Ruka revealed her form.
She looked at jiro McQueen, who stood behind Gotham Song gripping her skirt hem, pushing down her nerves and urging herself forward. Then at Gotham Song herself, utterly unruffled, her breath steady.
And Phantom Ruka stayed silent.
What could she say, at a ti like this?
Or rather—what was there to say?
Her gaze was invisible, but hot, burning straight into Gotham Song’s back. Yet the one she stared at did not react much at all. In fact, Gotham Song reached out, pulling the still-nervous McQueen close, and during the sixteenth entry of the parade, she bent down and indicated for her sister to lower her head.
She covered McQueen’s ears with her palm, then whispered, sly and quiet—
"McQueen, you know... this race isn’t just about our placent, right?"
"There’s Phantom too. She’s part of our contest, don’t forget. So McQueen—just this once, take it as your sister’s request. Run harder. Show your power to —"
"And to her. Show her your growth. Show her your strength."
The strength that belongs only to jiro McQueen—!
McQueen hadn’t thought of it at all. It was only then that she realized—
Ever since Song-neesan ca back... I completely forgot Phantom was still around, didn’t I?
She turned at her sister’s prompting, and saw her—the pale purple filly drifting in the air, staring at her with a look both haunting and bitter.
But McQueen knew at once—the weight of that gaze wasn’t on her. No, she could sense it clearly.
Phantom Ruka’s eyes, her every thought, were fixed on one person.
On her sister.
So... you’re trying to take Song-neesan from ?
That makes you my enemy, doesn’t it?
At first McQueen felt a twinge of guilt. But that was earlier. Now, suddenly, she understood sothing.
It wasn’t just that she hadn’t called for Phantom this whole month. Phantom Ruka herself hadn’t appeared before her, not even for a single second—!
Then it was ti to decide.
Not necessarily life-or-death. But sothing decisive.
A storm surged inside her chest, crashing like waves. One belief now consud her whole being.
At the very least, this race—I must defeat Phantom Ruka. I must prove it. I must win Song-neesan’s recognition.
And more than that...
If this is about claiming her, then I cannot lose.
"Don’t worry, Song-neesan. I’ll... win it all."
"A-ah... o-okay. Alright."
Gotham Song was startled. She had only felt Phantom Ruka’s overwhelming will and thought to encourage her sister in a different way. But this reaction—
Wasn’t it a little too effective?
McQueen, who had been visibly nervous just monts ago, was now a different person. Gotham Song caught sight of her twitching tail from the corner of her eye, her ears flicking, her hooves pawing at the ground with barely contained energy.
This wasn’t nervousness. This was blood boiling, battle fire surging, ready to charge into war at any second!
If she burst into literal flas right there, Gotham Song thought she wouldn’t even be surprised.
But well—at least the result was good. Her intention had been achieved. From that perspective, no matter how you saw it, it was a good thing... a good thing, right?!
Nodding, she turned her gaze toward her elder sister, Manhattan Cafe. And there she t eyes that burned back at her, flashing with the intensity of fire.
Before the two could exchange words, the broadcast sounded, calling her na.
Manhattan Cafe said nothing. She only nodded, once, firmly, before walking toward the track.
This ti, I’ll prove with victory my reliability and my dignity—as an elder sister.
For so reason, Gotham Song clearly heard it—this proclamation that carried only the timbre of her onee-sama’s voice.
Old Ghost #1... if you mimic my sister’s voice next to my ear one more ti, I’ll send you flying with a punch straight to the Afterlife Stakes as an extra character—!
[Hahaha. But—how can you be sure this isn’t your sister’s true thought?]
[Alright, alright. But... how fun. Whether it’s Cafe, or you, or that little sister at your side, or that tiny one I nearly frightened away—yes, I’ve decided. This race, I’ll co out and enjoy myself. That’s fine, isn’t it?]
[Even if you say it’s not, it’s still fine. I’ve already decided.]
Sunday Silence said so, and without even giving Gotham Song a chance to refuse, she dissolved into smoke, vanishing at her ear.
This Old Ghost #1... looks like you’re begging to be beaten with Zidan.
So Gotham Song thought, though she had no reason to stop her.
Simple enough: she couldn’t stop her. And there was no need to.
Old Ghost #1—Sunday Silence—was a legend so famous that even those who knew nothing of this world had heard her na.
If that’s the case, then to have a race against such an old thing—wouldn’t that be sothing to look forward to?
And if Sunday Silence won—then fine, let her sleep clutching my hair... not that she could ever manage it.
Inwardly mocking that frail old thing, Gotham Song moved to the very edge of the paddock tunnel, peering out at the sky beyond.
The pace of the parade was slower than usual races, but only a little. Though there were still several girls before her, the distance from tunnel to stand was nothing taxing for those chosen to walk this stage.
Soon, Gotham Song heard the voices from the comntary box. In the hushed stillness of the world, the thunderous cheers burst out to match her steady steps upon the grass.
"Now—coming toward us with the roar of the crowd—is a na this year’s URA has made into one that none alive could fail to know! A Demon King who crushed an entire age, the one who gave us a mory we may never forget, one destined to have her own Chapter written into history! Shall we call her na together—!?"
"Her na is—"
"Gotham Song!"
It was obvious—the comntator’s emotions were burning hot. Normally, such hosts were supposed to maintain rigor and fairness, at least not show their bias so openly, so brazenly.
But when it ca to Gotham Song, the two in that booth poured out their passion without reserve.
How to describe it? Perhaps this was conquest in its purest form—convincing the very ones least ant to be convinced.
Heehee. This feeling’s not bad at all.
She high-fived her supporters one by one, slowly passing the stands before stepping up onto the stage.
This ti, there weren’t many familiar faces in the audience.
On one hand, Ramonu-neesan and Ardan-neesan had said there was no need. They saw her daily. Unlike the Japan Cup, this wasn’t a mont of particular import—it wasn’t necessary to step out here and add weight to Song’s burden.
On the other hand, perhaps—it was because this, after all, might be the only channel through which her fans could get close to her. Better, then, not to steal that away.
But what caught her attention most—was that she saw again the Uma Musu with those strange, glittering eyes.
She smiled faintly and high-fived Gotham Song like any ordinary fan. But at such close distance, Song saw it clearly—sothing completely different from the emotions of the crowd.
Eyes blazing—burning with the desire to run beside her, to race her head-to-head, and the confidence, the fantasy of felling Gotham Song and ascending to the throne herself.
How to describe it?
I think... her na was Almond Eye?
Ah—an unfamiliar Uma Musu. Well, if you truly wish it, then co and take it yourself.
Take from this weighty, profound glory.
If you can.
Gotham Song stood on the parade stand, turning her gaze toward the tunnel. There, clearly visible just behind her, ca another—an Uma Musu with higher popularity.
El Condor Pasa. Her condition was excellent. Yet what drew Song’s eyes most was that strange mask upon her face.
Co to think of it—Grass Wonder and Special Week weren’t in this year’s Arima Kinen. Perhaps next year?
Maybe.
While she mused, El Condor Pasa finished her walk and ca to stand beside her, even offering a quiet greeting.
Both foreign-born, both "expedition" horses—under such similar circumstances, it was unexpectedly easy to feel a sense of camaraderie.
But Gotham Song had no space for more such thoughts.
Because jiro McQueen had stepped from the tunnel.
When Gotham Song had appeared, the cheers had erupted in a frenzy. McQueen, too, drew shouts of passion—but the air was different. Not quite as fevered.
Or rather—it wasn’t pure.
Within those cheers was sothing more. Sothing not belonging purely to "support for McQueen."
Why was that?
Why was her popularity so high at this mont?
Of course—because of that victory parade. Or rather—because of being clasped around the waist, carried along in a victory parade.
Would that weigh on McQueen? Would it trouble her?
Gotham Song worried it might.
But before her eyes, McQueen strode out, head held high. Not the slightest sign of being shaken.
She showed herself in full—every inch of her pride, the pride belonging only to jiro McQueen.
And just before stepping onto the stage, the sisters’ eyes t.
Song-neesan. This ti—I won’t lose to anyone.
Not ever. This is my answer to you.
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