Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vodka steps out of the airport into the crisp March air, and takes a deep breath. The sky is lightly clouded, but the familiar scent of Tokyo petrichor tells her rain is on the way. Her trainer, RB, steps out right behind her.

“Ah! It’s good to be back home, isn’t it, RB?” Vodka laughs.

“It sure is,” RB says. She turns and starts walking away, taking a hand out of her pocket just long enough to motion for Vodka to follow. “Come on, I’ll drive you back to Tracen.” 

Next to Vodka, she looks like the most boring person ever, beige slacks and white blouse making Vodka look at least twice as cool by comparison. The most interesting thing about her was a naturally curly head of strawberry-blonde hair. As far as trainers go, though, Vodka couldn’t have asked for a better one, even if she still doesn’t know her real name. She’s easygoing but thorough in her regimen, and figured out what makes Vodka tick pretty early on in their time together. When Vodka was told she had been assigned a trainer, she was worried it would be some pain-in-the-neck hardass, and had about ten other worries when she met said trainer, but it worked itself out pretty quickly.

Vodka catches up with a quick canter. “Nah, don’t sweat it! I’m itchin’ to stretch my legs after that flight, you know?”

RB sighs. “That tracks. Just let me know when you make it back then, yeah? I’ve got most of your luggage here and whatnot,” she waves to the mess of suitcases rolling behind her. Vodka only has a duffel bag of essentials slung across her back.

“No problem.”

“And again, Vodka, congrats. You did well out there.”

Vodka beams. “Of course I did! I’m not the coolest for no reason, after all.”

RB chuckles, keys jingling as she takes them from her pocket. They’ve reached the parking lot, and with the press of a button, RB’s car emits a charming beep from a few lanes over.

“That you?” Vodka asks.

“Yep. I don’t need to tell you, but have a safe run back to the dorms, alright?”

Vodka pounds her fist against her chest. “You got it!”

RB sticks out her own fist for a bump, which Vodka happily gives. Fist bump taken care of, RB heads to her car, leaving Vodka alone. Out of nowhere, Vodka is hit with an intense need to go lay down in her own bed, not some nice hotel mattress. It's been nearly a month since she got to sleep in her own room, since she even got to be in her own room. She misses her awesome posters and the stack of motorcycle magazines she keeps tucked under her bed. Ignoring that it's Miss Perfect’s room, too, she reminds herself. Hell, she almost thinks her room wouldn't be hers without Daiwa Scarlet around. Having to decorate her half of the room while that nag complained about half the things she put up was half the challenge. If anything, it was weird how upset Daiwa Scarlet got over her trip. Vodka thought she would love to get some time alone. The thought of Daiwa Scarlet missing some of her beauty sleep on account of Vodka gives her a hint of satisfaction and something else that's hard to name. Maybe it’s that weird German word she’s heard some horses throw around before. Schadenfreude? Vodka can’t even remember what the word means, though, so this line of thought is useless. Before she can think on it for much longer, her feet carry her onto the umamusume lane, a free ticket through the regular vehicular traffic.

Vodka’s feet hit the asphalt in a smooth, relaxed rhythm that belies how fast she's actually running. Even with the bulk of her bag, she’s still a well-oiled machine. As she comes to a stop at a red light — even umamusume must obey the laws of traffic — she takes a moment to stretch out her arms, revving her engine at a full stop. On her right, she sees a kid staring at her, face plastered against the inside of a car window in awe. Oh, he’s staring at me, the umamusume in the umamusume lane, she thinks. Of course Vodka has fans, she’s well aware, but she’ll never get used to interacting with them. She checks around her for any classmates that might see her, and then when she’s sure she’s alone, she gives the kid a full smile and wave. That’s totally not “cool”, but what the hell? Nobody’s here—

“Vodka, is that you?” There’s an eager voice from the sidewalk to her left, and Vodka jumps at hearing it. She turns around to see Tokai Teio and Mejiro McQueen on the sidewalk, shopping bags in hand.

“It is!” Tokai Teio says. She rushes to give Vodka a hug, “You’re back!”

Vodka fends her off expertly despite the flush in her cheeks. Hugs are so embarrassing. She steps out of the road and onto the sidewalk to chat. “Yes, yes, I’m back! It hasn’t even been an hour. I really can’t get time to myself, huh?”

“You’re just getting back into Japan?” Mejiro McQueen says, tilting her head.

Vodka nods. “Yeah, just on my way back to Tracen from the airport.”

“And you took the time to say hi to a fan?” Tokai Teio teases, “You’re so sweet!”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Vodka blushes.

“Since you're here, would you like to get lunch with us?” Mejiro McQueen offers, “Teio was going to take me to a new tea house.”

A tea house? That sounds…

“Oh my Goddesses, McQueen! You make it sound so fancy,” Tokai Teio turns to Vodka, “It’s a bubble tea place! It’s super popular, they’ve got all kinds of sweet flavors and mix-ins…” Mejiro McQueen winces as Tokei Teio goes on.

“Uh…” Vodka looks between the two of them, tail idly swishing to and fro. Mejiro McQueen is impossible to read, but Tokai Teio’s expectant face gives Vodka a better reason to take the offer. “Sure?”

Tokai Teio cheers. “Yay! C’mon, it’s this way! Just another block down, then to the left!” 

As if bowing to her whim specifically, the crosswalk light signals to walk, and she takes off across the street. Mejiro McQueen follows her without a problem, and suddenly Vodka, who was just in top gear, feels her clutch struggle just to keep up with them. As they race down the block and turn the corner, Vodka can pick out the store in a second by the crowd of other umamusume sitting in the outside seating area. 

“It’s surprising to see so many umamusume in one spot,” Mejiro McQueen comments, “I even see plenty I don’t recognize.”

Tokai Teio grimaces, “It’s so crowded…”

Vodka scans the crowd. Past Agnes Digital and… No, that way is blocked. What about that redhead? after that there’s a gap to the left of Daitaku Helios, then… Ah, the crowds too thick there too.

“Maybe we should come back another day?” Mejiro McQueen suggests.

Then she sees it. “Nope! This way,” Vodka bolts forward past Manhattan Cafe, pivots to the left to get around Super Creek, and then finally jukes to the right to avoid crashing into Twin Turbo and arrive right in front of the doors. It takes Tokai Teio and McQueen a bit longer to get through the same path, but they get there in the end. “Ta-da!” Vodka plants her hands on her hips, beaming at how cool she must have seemed.

“Woah, thanks, Vodka!” Tokai Teio giggles as Vodka holds open the door. Despite the interior having more people, the floor plan is organized enough that there's no need for any dramatic moves to get in line. That said, Vodka is faced with a new challenge: Whatever the hell all these menu options are.

“I think… I’ll have the honey toffee Tea! Oh, with honey pearls! And extra sugar!” Tokai Teio’s mouth is watering. She’s in heaven.

Mejiro McQueen is in hell. She fumes in silence, white-knuckle fists clenching and unclenching. “I’ll have a… Lemonade,” She decides after a long pause and a worried look from Tokai Teio.

“Oh, shoot, I’ll have, uhm…” Vodka glances over menu, scanning to find the least cutesy sounding drink. “An ice water!” It sounds so cool until she realizes that she’s getting a pair of odd looks, and then that it’s not a cool flavor, but just actual iced water. “I mean, I’ll go with the… Black Rider?” She says, eyes settling on a Daily Special box. When the words leave her mouth, she’s sure. “Yeah. A Black Rider.” Damn, if that’s not cool, I don’t know what is cool.

Tokai Teio snickers.

“What? Problem with my drink?” Vodka asks.

“No! No, just… You’ll see!”

Vodka gives her a weird look

They place their orders, and wait for their drinks. Mejiro McQueen decides to break the awkward silence. “So, how was your trip, Vodka?”

“Honestly? It was just okay.”

“Just okay?!” Teio argues.

“Yeah. I mean, I had fun, but…”

Mejiro smiles. “I understand.”

“Hey, just what do you think you understand?”

Tokai Teio starts to grin ear to ear, “That you missed all your friends?”

“N-No! I didn’t miss a single one of you!”

Just as quickly as she broke into a smile, Tokai Teio looks like she might cry, “Really? You didn’t miss us at all?”

Vodka stammers, but relents. “Well… Okay, I missed you guys. Just a little, though!”

“She missed us!” Tokai Teio tries to hug Vodka again, but this time, in such close quarters, Vodka fails to fend her off. “We all missed you too! It's really nice to see you again,” she says.

Tokai Teio makes it sound like there’s a surprise party planned for her arrival. Not that she wouldn’t mind some free food and a chance to see everyone again. Tokai Teio and Mejiro McQueen, of course, but Gold Ship, Special Week, Silence Suzuka, and… Right, her. Vodka is sure that when Tokai Teio said “We,” she wasn’t talking about Daiwa Scarlet. Of course she would be there, but did she really miss Vodka of all people?

She’s still struggling in Tokai Teio’s grasp when the barista calls their order out. Mejiro McQueen takes her cup of lemonade in hand before clearing her throat. “Teio, your tea.”

“Oh! That was fast!” Tokai Teio gives up on Vodka, and picks up her tea. She takes one sip of the creamy brown sugar-slurry inside and sighs. “Oh yeah, that’s great. McQueen, do you want some?”

Vodka sees the plastic cup crinkle as McQueen struggles to maintain her composure. She turns to get her own tea and— “Hey, what the hell?”

The only cup on the counter is a bright pink tea, topped with a purple cream and filled with a rainbow of tapioca pearls. She picks it up, examining to figure what exactly went wrong. “This isn’t what I ordered.”

“No, that’s a Black Rider!” Tokai Teio explains, “Uh, it gets its name from the blackberry whipped cream on top…” She trails off into a barely contained fit of giggling.

Vodka feels her face turn a darker shade of pink than her drink. She could ask for a paper sleeve or something, but… No, bothering a barista for her own mistake was definitely not cool. She would just have to own this one. “Right… Okay, yeah I knew that! I was just messing with you two.”

“I’m sure,” Mejiro McQueen comments. “Let’s get out of here. I’m sure it’ll be easier to talk without,” she waves a hand at the full cafe, “All this.”

She’s right. There’s no place to sit, and some have even resorted to leaning against the frames of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The three of them make their way to the exit, and brace to make it through the crowd outside. Surprisingly, people move out of their way this time, either not seeing them as competition anymore, not wanting Vodka to style on them again, or just because they can see them clearly this time. 

Outside the cafe, a few stores down from the crowded sidewalk, their conversation picks back up as they meander in the vague direction of Tracen academy. Her drink is fruity and sweet, a berry-licious take on bubble tea that she would never admit to being happy about ordering.

“Wow, so your trip overseas went well,” Tokai Teio says.

“Yeah… I didn’t win ‘em all, but my trainer has a few trophies being delivered for sure,” Vodka iterates. Not a perfect trip, but still pretty damn good. 

“What was it like? What kind of place did you stay in? Was the food good? Did you get souvenirs?” Tokai Teio bombards her out of nowhere.

“W-Woah, easy there. I got some stuff, yeah, but RB put us up in a kinda fancy hotel. We had a lot of room service and all that,” Vodka says. When I wasn’t training, which was most of the time.

“How fancy?”

Vodka thinks for a second. “Well… We had our own suite, with a small chandelier and everything. Oh! And a balcony.”

“Does your trainer have a side job or something?” Mejiro McQueen asks. If RB did, then Vodka didn't know about it. With her fierce knack for budgeting, though, Vodka wouldn’t be surprised if she’d lived off instant noodles for months to afford all of that.

“Scarlet would be jealous… Oh! Wait, does she know you’re back yet?” Tokai Teio asks.

Vodka’s step falters briefly. She remembers that sad look she wore when Vodka was heading out all too well. At this point it might as well be glued to the back of her eyelids. That funny feeling she’d shoved down with a berry-ful bubble tea comes bubbling back up. “No? Why would she care?”

“Really? She was so sad when you left, she was crying for h-hah!” Tokai Teio grunts as Mejiro McQueen elbows her in the side. Vodka isn’t stupid, of course, but she isn’t an idiot either. She’d much rather act like she didn’t hear Tokai Teio than entertain the thought of Daiwa Scarlet crying over her. That would just be sad. It makes her want to rush to Daiwa Scarlet’s side, suave and cool, to be the one that doesn’t flinch first. That would require Daiwa Scarlet seeing their rivalry as anything more than just that — a rivalry between Miss Perfect and the girl who showed her up once.

“How about we go see her now?” Mejiro McQueen offers instead.

“Really?” Vodka answers, maybe too eagerly. She tries to backpedal, “I mean, if that’s what you want to do, sure, I guess.” She’s positive that the nervous flicker of her ears doesn’t give her away. Give what away? Exactly.

Mejiro McQueen smirks in quiet smugness. Tokai Teio grins a little more conspicuously. “Alright!” Tokai Teio pumps her fist in the air, “Next stop, er… McQueen, where is Scarlet right now?”

“Probably in the direction we’re already going,” Mejiro McQueen responds, pointing to the tip of the horseshoe that sits atop Tracen Academy, barely visible from a break in the Tokyo skyline.

“Heading back to Tracen after some shopping?” Vodka asks.

Tokai Teio looks down at the bag in her hand, as if just remembering it’s there, “Oh! Yeah, we sure are. McQueen took me out to a bookstore, but I think she just didn’t want to carry all the books back herself.”

“It’s a win-win,” Mejiro McQueen remarks, “You get some strength training, and I don’t have to exhaust myself carrying all of this. Besides, I got some really good recommendations."

“Yeah, yeah. I think you just wanted to spend time with me,” Tokai Teio teases, sticking her tongue out. Mejiro doesn’t dignify her response with more than an eye roll. 

They round the corner of another block, and the buildings of downtown Fuchu start to give way to more residential, small-town infrastructure, and Vodka can already see the street that runs straight to Tracen at the other end of this one. With home so close, Vodka can almost feel her bedsheets enveloping her. Then she feels it again, and again. She looks up, and as expected, gets nailed in the face with a rain droplet. It’s just like she thought when she stepped outside the airport: Darker clouds have taken over, painting everything in drab greys. If they wanted to get in before it got worse…

“How about… Last one there owes us a carrot?” Vodka says. Without even waiting for a response, she takes off, slipping into the fast lane once more. Mejiro McQueen gets into gear next, leaving an off-footed Tokai Teio in the dust.

“What? H-Hey, wait! No fair!” Tokai Teio says. Tokai Teio isn’t a bad runner by any means, but it’s hard to compete against a headstart like that. 

Naturally, she’s the last one past the gates of Tracen. Vodka stretches, celebrating her impromptu victory. “Alright! Here we are!” Vodka says. 

“That was low, Vodka…” Tokai Teio complains, collapsing to her knees for just a moment before pulling herself back up “A race is a race, though… I’ll go fetch Scarlet while I get us some carrots…” 

“Wait, Teio, I was joking—” Vodka reaches out to stop her, but she’s already running toward the front entrance. 

“It’ll be fine,” Mejiro McQueen says. The air is quiet, only the steadily faster pitter patter of rain on the sidewalk breaks the silence. Mejiro McQueen speaks up again. “She really did miss you, you know.”

“Huh?” Vodka asks. She’s sure she misheard.

“Scarlet. She really missed you while you were gone.”

She hadn’t misheard. “Pfft, as if,” Vodka folds her arms, tossing her eyebrows up. Still, with that look on Daiwa Scarlet’s face when she left the dorm that day, it was believable…

Then three people walk out the front of Tracen Academy. Tokai Teio, Daiwa Scarlet, and a third umamusume. A tall stallion, with short, dark hair ending in a rattail. Her expression is sharp and collected, and a pair of stud piercings sit above her left eyebrow. She might be in just her Tracen uniform, but Vodka is almost positive this girl wears a leather jacket when racing. Vodka’s gut clenches, just barely too tired to figure out exactly if it’s in a bad or good way.

“Oh, it’s Air Shakur,” Mejiro McQueen says.

“Air Shakur…” Vodka says. The trio is halfway to them now. Daiwa scarlet perks up when she sees Vodka, ears standing straight up. Tokai Teio waves.

“Yeah, Scarlet’s been hanging out with her a lot recently.”

Hanging out a lot. With someone who looks just like her. Traded me in for a new model, is what comes to mind.

A hot wave of something flows up through Vodka’s gut, up into her chest and into her face. Like the rain breaking through the sky into a downpour, by the time Vodka realizes that it's not a good feeling, it’s too late. 

Vodka turns to Mejiro McQueen for all of a second, “I’ve gotta go, bye.” She turns the other way and runs off to the dorms before Mejiro McQueen can say anything. Her shoes splash down in newformed puddles as she crosses the street, but she doesn’t care about her feet getting wet, she needs to get away now. 

Vodka breaks into the treeline between the dorms and the academy, not caring to go around. Her shoes get muddy, and twigs land in her hair, but still she bolts past a tree, pivots left, and jukes to the right, breaking out of the pack and taking off towards her dorm building. She doesn’t stop at the front door, she doesn’t stop at the stairwell, her engine is firing on all cylinders and she’s not the one holding the handlebars. She doesn’t stop until her dorm room door slams shut behind her.

Vodka slinks down against the door, heavy breathing slowing as her flight response dies down. She sniffles, and doesn’t want to know if she’s crying or if she’s caught a cold. Both options suck and totally are not cool. She takes off her muddy shoes — Fuji Kiseki is going to kill her for tracking mud through the whole dorm later — and brushes the twigs out of her hair. She can feel her phone buzzing in her pocket, but she doesn’t care about that either. 

Instead, Vodka slides free from her duffel bag, not bothering to pick it up, and slinks into bed and under the cover, ruining her perfectly nice sheets. Her pillow is damp within moments and a single choked sob, muffled under her blanket, is all she allows herself to have.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she does remember being jolted awake when the doorknob clicks, and the duffel bag rustles and shifts, pushed back by the door. Vodka doesn’t dare move, of course. Her roommate definitely has a bunch of questions for her. How was your trip, How does it feel to be home, What the hell was that stunt you pulled at the front gate. It’s easier this way, if she just avoids a weird conversation altogether.

“What the?” Daiwa Scarlet says as she enters. The door clicks shut behind her, and then the light turns on. Vodka screws her eyes shut, but doesn’t move a muscle. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Daiwa Scarlet says. Vodka can hear her picking up the duffel bag and setting it down next to Vodka’s bed, along with her still-muddy shoes.

“Fuji is going to tear you a new one tomorrow, you know?” Daiwa Scarlet continues, talking to Vodka as if she’s awake. She waits for a response, and then she finally asks, “Vodka?”

Stay quiet, you don’t want to deal with this right now, Vodka tells herseld. Her chest twists itself into a knot thinking back on seeing herself already replaced by her rival. Or ever. Not dealing with this ever would be great.

Daiwa Scarlet sighs, “Of course she’s asleep already. Fine by me…”

Vodka doesn’t hear her get into bed, though. Or open the nightstand drawer, or the closet door, or anything that would let Vodka know she isn’t just standing there. Vodka’s phone buzzes once more, startling Daiwa Scarlet. 

Finally, Daiwa Scarlet seems content to leave her alone, but not before leaning down and saying, in a gentle, tone of voice Vodka rarely hears, if ever, “Welcome back, Vodka.”

Sleep doesn't come again so easily.

Chapter Text

Daiwa Scarlet wakes up to find Vodka’s bed empty once more. The faint glow of the early morning sun lights up her pillow from the window, almost rubbing it in. Even with her bag and shoes right next to the bed, Vodka seems even further away. According to Tokai Teio and Mejiro McQueen, Vodka was fine on their entire walk home. Nobody really knows why she snapped and ran off like that. Daiwa Scarlet wishes she stayed around long enough to at least say “Hi.” 

She knows that she and Vodka don’t always get along the best, but for her to run away like that… Does Vodka really hate being around her so much? The thought rests bitter in her head, that she does nothing for Vodka but drag her down. Then again, she probably got a stomach ache out of nowhere or some other stupid excuse. Maybe she just imagined the whole thing, and Vodka hadn’t actually gotten back yet.

Her eyes move up, toward the shrine to metal, oil, and internal combustion on two wheels that Vodka keeps on her half of the dorm. Among the posters and magazine posters lies a calendar, almost indistinguishable from the rest of her decor. It’s flipped to march, some scantily clad umamusume posing on a motorcycle. The sight of it alone makes Daiwa Scarlet tired. She remembers buying the damn thing while Vodka was out of the country, since she wasn’t home before new years. Not that Daiwa Scarlet likes Vodka, or anything. It’s just that the thought of having a wall calendar from last year made her skin crawl. It didn’t have to have such crass images, but… Vodka is more likely to notice if it didn’t. She remembers asking Agnes Tachyon how to order something online without the school administration or the student council learning too much about her purchases. Absolutely nobody could find out about it. 

She swings her legs out of bed, turning off the alarm on her phone that she woke up early for. There’s a notification on her screen from RB, thanking her. Right, She texted me about Vodka. Apparently, the idiot forgot to check in with her trainer when she arrived safely on campus. Mejiro McQueen and Tokai Teio also needed a text about Vodka, and it’s pretty hard to misremember three different conversations happening. That rules out the dream theory. She stands up to start getting ready for the day. Brushing her hair out alone takes up a not-insignificant part of her morning routine. She eyes the calendar on her own wall as she takes the brush to her hair. 

Today is a Thursday, which means classes and weight training. Tomorrow would be a few classes and more speed training, then Saturday would be endurance training for most of the day. Sunday is a rest day, but Daiwa Scarlet is sure she can talk her trainer into letting her study up instead; it's basically the same as resting, right? The Osaka Hai was still weeks away, but she knows just how easily weeks turn into days turn into hours, until she’s at the starting gate, ready for it to open. She wants every edge she can get to take that race as her own. Even if she was worried about Vodka’s weird behavior, which she isn’t, she can’t let it get in the way of her own racing career.

With her hair taken care of, slipping on the uniform and brushing her teeth seem trivial. When she steps out of her dorm, the first thing she sees is the girl she’s trying very hard not to worry about, Vodka. She’s on all fours with a bucket and sponge, cleaning up the trail of mud she tracked in the previous night. It looks like she’s close to done, if she started from the trail in the lobby and worked her way backwards.

“Oh… Vodka,” Daiwa Scarlet says, “Good morning.”

“Hey…” Vodka says, pointedly avoiding Daiwa Scarlet’s gaze. Something about her seems… Off.

“So… Fuji’s got you cleaning up this mess in the halls, huh?” Daiwa Scarlet asks.

“Yeah. ‘S my fault, so it makes sense,” Vodka says. She sounds defeated, hopeless, even.

Of course it’s your fault, stupid, you ran through the mud and didn’t take your shoes off, Daiwa scarlet’s brain screams. Then again, Daiwa Scarlet would also be in a foul mood if she had to wake up early and scrub the floorboards. What comes out of her mouth instead is, “Right…”

Silence settles between the two of them. Daiwa Scarlet feels like she should say something at all, but any words that come to mind just go there to die. She shuffles her weight, hoping that Vodka will break the silence between them, but she just sits there and stares at Daiwa Scarlet’s slippers. She isn’t going to be starting any conversation right now.

“Don’t you have a class to get to or something?” Daiwa Scarlet asks.

Vodka just gives a non-committal shrug. Daiwa Scarlet can’t figure out if she’s off the hook or playing hooky, but an answer is an answer.

“Right. Well, unlike…” she trails off for a second. Unlike some people, I have better things to do with my day. The insult sits on the tip of her tongue, loaded and ready to fire, but Daiwa Scarlet isn’t sure if she should pull the trigger. Vodka already looks miserable enough over something, and even though Daiwa Scarlet enjoys taking the wind out of her sails from time to time, she didn’t want to push her past her breaking point. If she even has a breaking point. “Well, I have a class to get to, so I’ll be going now.”

Vodka grunts, and goes back to scrubbing the floors, eager as Daiwa Scarlet to stop having this awkward conversation. Daiwa Scarlet shuffles to the side, around Vodka, and starts to walk down the hall. When she looks over her shoulder, expecting to see her rival glaring back at her for some perceived slight as usual, she just sees Vodka, shoulders slumped, being diligent in carrying out her punishment.

“So what the hell was that about?” Daiwa Scarlet says at the cafeteria table, “First she runs off, tracks mud into the dorms, and then when I see her this morning, she says…” Daiwa Scarlet stops to count on her fingers, one at a time, “Maybe, what, ten words total? Nine? Did somebody piss in her flask?”

Special week finishes chewing the food in her mouth and swallows. “That sounds…”

“Odd,” Silence Suzuka finishes.

“Yeah… She really was totally fine earlier, I swear!” Tokai Teio says, as if apologizing to Daiwa Scarlet.

“Maybe she was just overjoyed to see you,” Gold Ship teases.

“As if!” Daiwa Scarlet frowns, “A pie on a windowsill somewhere would be more believable.”

“Why? Oh! Does Vodka like pie?” Special Week asks.

“What? No. Well, maybe? Just a normal amount, I’m sure,” Daiwa Scarlet says.

Tokai Teio’s ears perk up, “I like pie! My favorite is probably… Boston cream.”

At those words, everybody at the table starts to respond.

“Of course you do.”

“That barely counts as pie!”

“What about key lime pie?”

“That’s more like cheesecake…”

“Does that make cheesecake a pie?”

“No, it’s a cake, obviously!”

“What’s your favorite cake?”

“Carrot cake, obviously.”

“Oh yeah,” Gold Ship says, “Mmm, carrot cake…” The whole table goes quiet as they imagine the taste of carrot cake on their tongues. Tokai Teio has to wipe away a bit of runaway drool.

“Wait, what were we talking about?” Special Week asks.

“Vodka!” Daiwa Scarlet says, “She’s acting… weird. I don’t like it.”

“Just give her some time, I’m sure she’ll work through it,” Mejiro McQueen says.

“She’s probably just stressed from her trip!” Tokai Teio adds.

“I guess so…” Daiwa Scarlet picks at her food. The uncomfortable fear in her gut settles and fades, soon to be buried by a delicious lunch. White rice and stir-fried beef and veggies, a classic savory meal that would keep Daiwa Scarlet going throughout the day. She went a little heavy on the beef today… But she totally needs it for her training this afternoon! And that besides, at least she’s not eating as much as Special Week. That poor girl… Daiwa Scarlet will never figure out how she keeps her figure intact while eating that much. She’s petite in a way that almost makes Daiwa Scarlet Jealous. Of course, she’s no Vodka; Lean, wiry, always showing off the sleek livery of her muscles in that racewear… 

“Scarlet, you dropped your beef,” Mejiro McQueen points out.

“H-Huh?!” Daiwa Scarlet scrambles to cover up her lapse of focus. Nobody could possibly know about the image of Vodka in her head, but she can almost feel the heat in her cheeks broadcasting her runaway train of thought. She shovels down the rest of her food in an effort to hide it, and soon a delicious lunch simply becomes just a lunch, and then it becomes formerly a lunch.

Daiwa Scarlet gets up to bus her tray, clearing her throat as she does. “Well then, I have some training to get to, so… I’ll see you all later?”

“Yeah! Can you let us know how Vodka is doing next time you see her?” Special Week asks.

Daiwa Scarlet freezes, then nods in the affirmative. 

Daiwa Scarlet is out of the cafeteria as soon as she takes care of her dishes, walking down the halls of Tracen toward the fitness center. Why did they have to bring up Vodka? The irony of her thought is lost on her, all her mental bandwidth taken up by that damn walking motorbike. She comes up on a hallway intersection, barely paying attention to the sound of footsteps coming from down the hall to her right, and collides with another umamusume. Thankfully, nobody is hurt.

A familiar hand on her shoulder steadies her, and leaves just as quickly. “Woah, My bad, I should’ve watched where— Oh, Daiwa Scarlet?” Air Shakur says.

“Air Shakur?”

Air Shakur checks the time on her phone. Daiwa Scarlet stands on the spot, expecting her to say something. She usually does given a moment to think, Daiwa Scarlet has figured that much out. 

“Heading to the fitness center?” Air Shakur finally says.

“Wow, how’d you guess?”

“It’s more of an observation, really. Based on the current time of day, and recalling parts of your training schedule, barring any sudden adjustments from your trainer, today is… I’m not sure about the specifics, yet.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re stalking me,” Daiwa Scarlet teases. 

Air Shakur flips her hair out of her face, expression plan as if she didn’t get the joke. “I have better things to do than stalk underclassmen.”

“R-Right,” Daiwa Scarlet falters, the words resonating a bit too well with her, even if Air Shakur might not mean them in the same way Daiwa Scarlet might when talking to someone.

“By the way, did you get that thing you wanted?”

“The thing?”

“That thing. Remember, that thing Agnes Tachyon put us in touch for?”

That stupid calendar. That’s why she even knows Air Shakur in the first place. Agnes Tachyon’s packages are all above board, so there’s no reason for her to get around faculty to order them. Air Shakur turned out to be the one that knows how to order discreet packages online. “Oh, haha, yeah!” Daiwa Scarlet nervously laughs, “Yes, I got a hold of it. Thank you again, for your help.”

“No problem. If you ever have any other problems I can solve, let me know.”

“Well, actually…”

“Hm?”

“My friend was acting really weird yesterday, you know, Vodka? The umamusume that ran off yester—”

“Hold it,” Air Shakur says, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Is this one of those “relationship advice” kind of questions?”

Daiwa Scarlet’s face turns red in an instant. “We are not in a relationship! Just rivals, nothing more!”

“Oh, for fu—” Air shakur catches herself, looking around as if a more uptight umamusume might catch her swearing. “Look, that’s not what I meant. Besides, I can’t help you with this kind of problem, sorry.”

“Oh… Thanks anyway, Air Shakur.”

“Mhm. You have fun with whatever training you have planned,” Air Shakur says, walking off in the direction Daiwa Scarlet came from.

Daiwa Scarlet stands at a loss. She’s so brilliant, but… Also kind of a jerk. Thank the Goddesses she’s not my rival. By comparison, Vodka was an amazing rival. She was kind of an idiot, sure — a pigheaded, arrogant, diesel-huffing idiot — but at least Daiwa Scarlet felt like her equal, if not greater than her. She slaps her face gently to get it together, and marches off towards the fitness center for her weight training.

When she opens the door, only a few umamusume are inside to train. Gentildonna, Super Creek, Oguri Cap, and Vodka. Daiwa Scarlet breathes a sigh of relief, and heads off toward the locker rooms to change into her gym clothes. Less people meant more freedom of choice with her weights. If it were more packed, she would be in a predicament. Obviously, she can’t pick up something too easy, because then she might as well not even be here. A little heavier, and she’s sure that the other umamusume will look down on her for choosing something not heavy enough, but too heavy, and she’ll hurt herself training, or worse, make a fool of herself. There’s an art to picking just the right weight for her reps to show off and improve without actually risking —

Wait, Vodka?

Daiwa Scarlet double-takes, confirming that, yes, that’s Vodka, back turned to Daiwa Scarlet as she shoulder presses a barbell loaded with one hundred and eighty kilograms. She’s not in her usual tracksuit, instead letting her shoulders breathe in a black tank top. A bead of sweat rolls down her neck, onto the barely-visible top of her shoulder blades. It takes Daiwa Scarlet a little bit too long to notice that she’s staring and get a move-on into the locker room.

The locker door slams shut with a clang, Daiwa Scarlet’s uniform folded neatly inside. Daiwa Scarlet herself, now sporting a red tracksuit, starts on her stretches. It wouldn’t do to injure herself because of something stupid like forgetting to stretch. She pushes her hands together up over her head, pulls them back behind her, stretches to either side, bends down to touch her toes, and pulls her feet up behind her one at a time, holding each pose for nearly half a minute. The gentle burn of her muscles waking up tickles her brain, a spicy snack that makes her want more. “More” is waiting for her in the fitness center, though, and if she wants to relish the burn, then she has to go put in the effort. She shakes herself loose, and turns on her heel.

Vodka is barring the way, having just finished up her sets. For the first time in months, they maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

“Vodka!” Daiwa Scarlet says, ears flicking in excitement before she can get them under control, “I mean, uhm, Vodka. I didn’t know you were here today. If I had, I would’ve scheduled my training for another day.” A bold faced lie.

Vodka grunts, glancing down at the floor. So much for seeing eye-to-eye, Daiwa Scarlet thinks. “Don’t worry, I’m just leaving.”

She doesn’t make toward her locker as if she’s going to leave. Daiwa Scarlet takes that as a good sign, at least. 

“You got back in yesterday, right?” Daiwa Scarlet asks. Don’t bring up how she ran away, Don’t bring up how she ran away — “I thought I saw you for a moment yesterday, but…” She kicks herself mentally, and then makes a mental note to physically kick herself later.

Vodka freezes. “Yeah.”

“Is it nice to be back?”

Vodka grunts, neither an affirmation nor a denial.

“Well… You sure don’t seem happy to be back.”

Vodka glares at her. “Maybe it’s because I have to put up with you again,” she snaps.

Daiwa’s mouth opens in shock. There’s nothing joking or playful in her tone, just raw venom. “Okay, wow. Sorry for ruining your day by…” What the hell did she even do? “Saying hi to you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Vodka says. She brushes past Daiwa Scarlet to get to her locker, putting a premature end to the conversation.

Daiwa Scarlet’s fists clench at her sides. She can feel the heat of indignation rising to her face, burning at the tips of her ears. Her trainer talked to her about this, she shouldn’t let this ruin her day, she can’t, and she won’t. With a deep breath and closed eyes, she forces her heart to slow down to a normal pace, and then, under her breath, lets herself have a muttered “Fucking weirdo…”

Vodka’s locker door squeaks open. “What was that?” Vodka says.

Daiwa Scarlet flicks a stay lock of auburn hair over her shoulder, locking eyes with a fuming Vodka. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, sticking out her tongue. Something is seriously up with Vodka, but maybe if she acts like it’s business as usual, then it won’t feel as awful. Without waiting for a response, she walks out of the locker room.

Daiwa Scarlet beelines for the free weights, determined to forget about the whole exchange. And it works, for a time. Her fingers dance over the dumbbells, the weight going up as she goes along. Starting at fifty kilograms — Tracen academy doesn’t even bother getting anything lighter; even the smallest umamusume can lift that easily, and as such, it’s usually used more for rehabilitation than exercise — and going up in increments of five. Fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five, seventy… Her fingers keep going until she stops at the hundred and ten dumbbells. She hefts one up. Oh, yeah, this is nice. This is going to be my warmup. She starts her routine, starting out with bicep curls and moving to shoulder curls (where she makes a point to herself to curl more than Vodka did, which she does successfully). When Vodka walks out of the fitness center, barely making an effort to hide the daggers she’s glaring at Daiwa Scarlet, Daiwa Scarlet is too absorbed in her training to care. She moves onto an easy set of dumbbell presses, and then finally ends her routine with barbell squats and leg presses.

By the time Daiwa Scarlet is done with her workout, the evening sun shines orange through the windows in the fitness center. Her phone goes off, her trainer reacting to her weight lifting records with a thumbs-up emoji. Her trainer isn’t very hands-on, but she does trust that Daiwa Scarlet is diligent enough to actually train when she is supposed to, and even when she’s not. Neither of them argue with the results of Daiwa Scarlet’s racing, though.

Daiwa Scarlet, exhausted in the best way, trudges off to the locker room. As she showers off, and the warm water on her skin slowly gives her back enough energy to think, that nagging feeling returns. Is it concern? Worry? Anxiety? Whatever it is, Daiwa Scarlet hates it. She hates that she feels this way, and she hates that she doesn’t want to admit to herself what is making her feel this way, why her gut twists a little when she thinks of how Vodka snapped at her. She’s spent too long in the shower, and turns the water off with a squeak of the valve before her bitter thoughts steep any longer. Daiwa Scarlet towels off, and changes back into her uniform to head back to the dorms before it’s too dark. Aside from everything to do with Vodka… Today was a completely normal day. Everything is going smoothly. Her training is progressing nicely, and her trainer is more than confident that she’ll be able to take the Osaka Hai when it comes around in the beginning of April.

So then why does Daiwa Scarlet feel like something is wrong? 

Chapter Text

Vodka sighs as she kicks a pebble down the street. It’s a shockingly empty street. Then again, maybe not. A side street without any major stores, at mid-day on a Wednesday? No shit it’s just me out here. She meanders without purpose, without drive. At the end of the street, at a T-intersection, is a railing overlooking the city below. Vodka sighs when she reaches it. The sun is high in the sky, and the weather is just right. Not too chilly, not too warm. A perfect day, perfect for dozing off in class, and perfect for training.

From here, she can see Tracen Academy. It’s not far, but in a city, you don’t often get views like this. She doesn’t know why she’s out here, just that she is. Anywhere is better than Tracen right now. Classes suck, because she sees Daiwa Scarlet in the halls. Training sucks, because she sees Daiwa Scarlet on the track. Staying at the dorms… That one just isn’t an option. If Fuji Kiseki found out she was cutting classes and training in the dorms? Vodka wanted to stay off of Fuji Kiseki’s radar for more than a week.

The can of barley tea in Vodka’s hand grows slick with condensation. Her stuff’s been unpacked, of course, but she simply misplaced her flask as she headed out this morning. She takes a swig, letting the bittersweet drink wet her throat. It’s mid-April already, just the season for it. How the time goes by. It feels like just the other day she was about to get on the plane to go back to Japan. She can’t believe she was excited to get back. She can’t believe she was ever excited to see Daiwa Scarlet again. Raising the can to her lips again, she drains the whole thing, trying to drown her bitter thoughts with something sweeter. To her chagrin, though, store-bought barley tea is always so much more bitter than her own stuff. And that aside, not even another bubble tea from Tokai Teio would sweeten her thoughts.

“My, my, what do we have here?” says a lilting, unhinged voice to her left

Vodka turns to meet Agnes Tachyon, grinning as though nothing were amiss. “It’s not often I see you looking so melancholy, Vodka!”

Vodka just sighs. “It’s not often you see me at all.”

“An astute observation. Tell me, what brings you out here?”

“Seriously? Aren’t we both playing hooky?”

Agnes Tachyon tilts her head in confusion. “Hooky? Ah, I suppose I might be missing a class right now… Although, my research is far more important!”

It’s Vodka’s turn to be confused. “Research? What “research” is all the way out here?”

Agnes Tachyon taps her finger to her chin, thinking carefully on her next words. “It’s hard to say. Announcing my research at this very moment could very well ruin it!”

“Don’t tell me I’m your test subject right now?”

Agnes Tachyon shrugs with a coy, cautious smile. “You could be. You could not be! I have to say, though, you are giving interesting results, either way!”

Vodka grunts in frustration. Why is everyone at Tracen so damn weird all the time? Can’t anybody just speak to her normally? 

Agnes Tachyon leans down, her face too close to Vodka’s hands for comfort. As if Vodka weren’t even there, she begins to note, “Hm… Your knuckles indicate a rather hard grip on the railing… I know I can be rather annoying, but I don’t feel like I’m the cause of this much frustration.”

Ah. Right. Vodka lets go of the railing, burying her hands deep in her pockets.

“Which brings me back to my first thought,” Agnes Tachyon continues, “What has you so troubled? Surely playing “hooky” is something to be enjoyed, no?”

“It’s… Complicated,” Vodka admits.

“As are many things.”

Vodka sighs in part frustration, part resignation. “It’s about Daiwa Scarlet, I guess,” she says. Just saying the name makes her chest ache.

“Ah, so the shoe is on the other foot, it seems. Usually, when she has a problem, it’s about you!” Agnes Tachyon chuckles.

Unamused, Vodka lifts an eyebrow. “She often complains about me?” she says, deadpan and scathing. Of course Daiwa Scarlet does. She’s treated Vodka like nothing but a pain in the neck since the Tulip Sho last year. A thorn in her side. A nuisance she would be glad to replace with a taller, better-looking umamusume. Who needs an enemy when you have a rival like Vodka?

“Yes! Quite often! Mostly about your taste in decor, your taste in fashion, your taste in body wash, shampoo, and conditioner,” Agnes Tachyon begins counting on her fingers rattling off superficial things that, truly, are a matter of taste and not much else. “Oh! Well, recently she came to me with a problem that wasn’t about you. I couldn’t help though, so I pointed her toward Air Shakur—”

Vodka crushes the empty can of barley tea in her hand. She drops it on the ground so she can grab Agnes Tachyon’s shirt with both hands. “You,” is all she says.

“Me?”

“You’re why she knows that, that…”

“Pig-headed, numbers obsessed fool?” Agnes Tachyon chuckles.

Vodka is quiet for a moment before the anger drains from her body as quickly as it came. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about her, honestly. All I know is that after I left, Scarlet started hanging out with her instead…”

“Ah? Daiwa Scarlet hangs out with many other umamusume, myself included,” Agnes Tachyon says.

“Yeah, but… This is different,” Vodka says.

“How so?”

“I, uhm…” Vodka’s engine falters. “Air Shakur is…” Taller than me. Cooler than me. More available than me. Better than me. All of these are thoughts that come to mind, but all of them sound equally ridiculous to say aloud.

“Having trouble putting words to your thoughts?” Agnes Tachyon says.

Vodka nods pathetically.

An ominous grin comes over Agnes Tachyon’s face. “I have just the thing for you, then!” She produces a strange vial filled with bright purple liquid from her pocket. She holds it out towards Vodka, extending the devil’s bargain.

“I think I’ll pass,” Vodka says, gently pushing her hand away. This particular concoction looks more likely to kill her outright or worse — it could make her throw her guts up for the better part of a day. 

“I’ll have to use my words to help, then,” Agnes Tachyon mumbles to herself, “Why does it bother you that Daiwa Scarlet hangs out with Air Shakur? Is it because you believe her to be dangerous to Daiwa Scarlet?”

“No,” Vodka says. If anything, it’s the opposite. Maybe Scarlet will realize she’s better off with another rival.

“Then… are you jealous?” Agnes Tachyon offers.

“Jealous? Of what?” Vodka scoffs, refusing to let Agnes Tachyon know she’s on the right path. 

What is there to even be jealous of? It’s not like it makes her engine roar when Daiwa Scarlet looks at her, even when it’s just to bicker and argue, because even then, she’s caught the attention of someone so resplendent. It’s not like the very idea of driving Daiwa Scarlet to race harder, to be better, to truly be number one is what fuels Vodka’s own fire, to show her what “number one” can really be. And it certainly doesn’t make everything worth it when she sees that bittersweet twisted look on Daiwa Scarlet’s face when Vodka achieves greatness, torn between admiration and surrepetition, of someone who can't let Vodka know how cool she is. How could Vodka ever be jealous of someone else taking this role from her?

Ever the bloodhound, though, Agnes Tachyon does not let up once she’s caught the trail that leads her to the answer. “It could be many things. Perhaps you’re jealous of Air Shakur’s good looks,” she says with a tone of mockery, implying she finds it incredulous that anyone could find Air Shakur attractive, “Or perhaps you’re jealous of the time and attention Daiwa Scarlet pays her?”

“Look, all I know is that I leave to go race out of the country, and when I come back, I find my roommate, rival, and friend hanging out with someone who looks like me,” Vodka says, hoping to throw Agnes Tachyon off the trail.

“Ah… So you’re worried you’ve been replaced!”

A sudden jolt of Vodka’s shoulders as she freezes up tells Agnes Tachyon that she’s right.

“No, that can’t be it,” Agnes Tachyon tuts. Vodka relaxes, and breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Agnes Tachyon is silent for a bit — a welcome change of pace for many, surely. Then, she sighs, clearly distracted. “Vodka, are you hungry? All this playing detective has left me feeling a bit peckish…”

In the time it takes for Vodka to calm down and admit she skipped out on breakfast, her stomach answers for her in a growl, the language of an engine running on fumes. Agnes Tachyon laughs. “Lunch it is then, my test subject! My treat, of course.”

“So this is really all on you?” Vodka asks, eyeballing the steakhouse’s menu. Often restrained to the cheaper portions of the menu, her guilt does a poor job of keeping her gaze off the more expensive items.

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes, get whatever you want,” Agnes Tachyon assures her, “You’ve helped quite a lot with my research today.”

“The hell do you mean?”

“If I must be honest… I spent a couple of hours trailing you, getting closer and closer!” Agnes Tachyon admits.

“You’ve been stalking me?” Vodka says, incredulous.

“Oh, please, you’re hardly the only umamusume. And besides, my intentions are completely benign! I’m simply running an experiment on the average perceptive senses of umamusume. I needed real world data to test my hypothesis, and that necessitates real world testing!”

Vodka stares at Agnes Tachyon. She followed me to see if I could notice her. If it were any other umamusume, Vodka wouldn’t believe her, but Agnes Tachyon is just unhinged enough that anything else would be less plausible. “How did I do, then?”

“You seemed shocked when I appeared next to you, so…”

“Poorly,” Vodka frowns.

“There is no such thing as “poor” or “good” in this case. Truthfully, you did a wonderful job as a test subject! If anything, I may have ruined my data by revealing myself, but you just looked so troubled,” Agnes Tachyon says.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess?” Vodka says.

“It’s really no problem. You helped me, I will help you, hence, lunch,” Agnes Tachyon waves around at the steakhouse around them, “What will you be getting? I’m thinking of the Surf & Turf Carrot Bowl, personally.”

Vodka blinks. Surf & Turf? That’s gotta be some funny name for a lunch special… Her stomach drops when she sees the price tag. The guilt of ordering something too pricey shrinks and vanishes in the face of seeing Agnes Tachyon spend that much on just lunch. Vodka herself is never so poor off that she can’t afford a meal out, but just what the hell does Agnes Tachyon do that she has that much pocket change lying around? Vodka clears her throat. “I guess I’m having the New York Steak Bowl, then?” Vodka says.

The man behind the counter, goddesses bless his patience, gives an affirmative nod and gets to work. Soon, Vodka and Agnes Tachyon both have large bowls piled high with meat and rice (and in Agnes Tachyon’s case, carrots) placed in front of them. The warm, rich, savory-sweet smell sets Vodka’s stomach at ease. They dig in without hesitation.

Agnes Tachyon starts to talk between mouthfuls of food, partly to Vodka, but mostly to herself. “So, “Roommates” isn’t the sticking point, it would take far too much hassle to try and switch dorm partners around just because you want to room with the other person… Especially with an upperclassman.”

Vodka’s chewing slows, but only slightly. She didn’t expect Agnes Tachyon to bring this up again, but she raises a good point. She swallows a heavy bite. “Don’t forget that Symboli Rudolf would’ve informed me,” Vodka adds.

“Ah, yes! Exactly! That rules out one avenue,” Agnes Tachyon says.

Vodka rolls her eyes. One Avenue, as if I’m a problem to be solved, she thinks, Maybe to Scarlet, I am. At least Tachyon is giving me free food for my troubles.

“As far as being a rival goes… Well, I'm sure that you’ll be glad to hear that Daiwa Scarlet and Air Shakur are completely incompatible in that regard!”

“Ah?” Vodka quirks an eyebrow up. She certainly is happy to hear the words “Daiwa Scarlet”, “Air Shakur”, and “Incompatible” in the same sentence, but that thought is buried by another mouthful of rice and mouth-watering steak.

“I’m sure you’re aware, but Air Shakur has been at the school longer than both you and Daiwa Scarlet,” Agnes Tachyon starts.

“Yeah… Wait, yeah, what’s up with that?” Vodka asks. She starts to think, gears turning and turning and turning, trying desperately to grab onto anything that made sense. She’s heard about Air Shakur in the Japanese Derby, certainly, but that was years ago. She remembers something about seven centimeters, but… Did Air Shakur win by that many, or lose by that many? Why can’t she remember? And what does Air Shakur even do at Tracen nowadays? Vodka swears she saw her on a team the other day, but what races is she competing in? She should check her phone —

Agnes Tachyon grabs her by the shoulder and shakes her from the spiral of madness. “Woah there, Vodka,” she teases, but in just a second her face turns deadly serious, “I know that look. Do not think about it. There is nothing there but madness. Trust me.”

Vodka gazes into Agnes Tachyon, and so too does she gaze back. There is no hint of humor in her eyes, just a genuine, stern warning. “Listen carefully, and repeat after me. She is from a generation before you and Daiwa Scarlet, and that is all you need to know.” 

“She is from a generation before you and Daiwa Scarlet, and that is all you need to know,” Vodka mumbles. The words toss and turn in her mind before eventually settling down. It’s true. There’s no point getting bogged down in the specifics, it’s simply a generational gap. “Right, but what does this have to do with being rivals?”

“It’s simple. Air Shakur is not competing in any of the races that Daiwa Scarlet does. She ran in the Triple Crown series years ago, and Daiwa Scarlet competed in the Triple Tiara series last year. There’s no reason for there to be any rivalry between them, because there is no competition between them!” Agnes Tachyon explains as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

Vodka’s head tilts side to side, chewing on Agnest Tachyon’s explanation as well as her food. She’s no Oguri Cap, but she’s proud to say she’s putting Agnes Tachyon’s money to good use. “I… Suppose that makes sense,” Vodka says after a loud gulp, “But we’re not competing in any races this year either,” she says.

“But you did compete last year, no?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with Daiwa Scarlet replacing me as a rival now?”

“Well…” Agnes Tachyon thinks, “Never assume the future is written in stone. You might very well race with her again someday, and when you do… It’s best to be prepared, no?”

Vodka scoffs. She’s been doing a lot of scoffing over the past two weeks. She knows for a fact that the only races she has planned are the Victoria Mile and the Yasuda Kinen, and after that… Well, she isn’t sure, but surely Daiwa Scarlet has better things to do than play around with her. She’s nothing to Daiwa Scarlet now.

Agnes Tachyon sets down her chopsticks, bowl empty. Vodka is amazed, unsure of when she had time to eat any of it between her long-winded dialogue. “As for being friends, Daiwa Scarlet has many of those, no? What’s one more?”

Vodka stammers, unsure of how to answer. She knew, of course, that compared to Special Week, Mejiro McQueen, Silence Suzuka, Gold Ship, Tokai Teio, hell, even Aston Machan, Vodka was still the “closest” to Daiwa Scarlet. Vodka was the one to bring Daiwa Scarlet down to earth after the Tulip Sho, Vodka was the one to make Daiwa Scarlet think about what being “number one” really meant to her, and Vodka was the one to keep on Daiwa Scarlet’s heels in the Shuka Sho and Queen Elizabeth II Cup alike. None of the others could have done that. So the thought of Air Shakur taking that spot… The idea of anybody taking that place. I don’t care one bit about Daiwa Scarlet, she tells herself, But I’ll be damned if I let someone else take the credit for all of my hard work.

“Ah, so that’s it,” Agnes Tachyon observes Vodka’s face, twisted into a fierce scowl, “I believe I understand now!”

“Understand what?” Vodka snaps.

“Do I have to spell your own emotions out for you?” Agnes Tachyon smirks, ever smug and insufferable. With her own bowl empty, Vodka’s patience is starting to wear thin. “You can’t stand the thought of not being the closest to her! Ah, to be young and in love…”

“Vodka chokes on her own spit. “L-Love? Fucking what?” There’s no way, there’s no way on earth, no way in hell, and no way on the track that she is in love with Daiwa Scarlet. She’s just sad about being replaced, by the thought of Daiwa Scarlet finding someone better to push her to number one. Anybody would feel like this, it isn’t love, it isn’t jealousy, it’s just a natural, normal feeling any umamusume would get.

“Haha, yes, like that!” Agnes Tachyon laughs, “You youngsters are all so touchy about the subject, it’s quite amusing!”

“Of course I’m touchy about it, it’s none of your business!”

“Ah, but it’s your business, and your business affects how you run, and how you run affects how Daiwa Scarlet feels, and when Daiwa Scarlet wants to complain about you, then she comes to me!” Agnes Tachyon’s index finger twirls around and around in a circle, before she brings her hands together, meshing her fingers together in a web, “Ergo, it’s my business, in a very roundabout way! Of course, I don’t mind when Daiwa Scarlet comes to complain, she’s always helpful with my research, after all. But for your own sake, and hers, I would give some more thought to your relationship!”

“You’re kidding me,” Vodka says, “You’re giving me relationship advice for a girl who wants nothing to do with me?”

Agnes Tachyon simply shrugs. “Emotions are quite a strong driving force for many umamusume. In fact…” Her teasing attitude once again turns on a dime, her eyes peering into Vodka as she takes her by the chin to examine her face properly. “Yes, cheeks flushed, pulse unsteady, and, oh my, you’re prone to nosebleeds?”

“What? My nose isn’t—”

“Three, two, one…”

On cue, Vodka can feel that pain deep in her sinuses, indicating a trickle of blood down her right nostril. Agnes Tachyon produces a handkerchief from her pocket and offers it to Vodka. She gladly takes it to stem the embarrassing tide.

“Okay, so what!” Vodka says, her voice taking an uncanny tone, “What do you want from me?”

“Oh? I would ask nothing of you, now,” Agnes Tachyon says, “But… I will be watching your performance closely, to see just how this affects your racing.”

Vodka takes away the handkerchief, and there is no new blood on it. Tentatively, she hands it back to Agnes Tachyon. “Ah, here you go, sorry about the blood.” She grabs a few spare napkins, just in case her nose decides to betray her again later.

“Thank you very much,” Agnes Tachyon says. Instead of placing it in her pocket, she produces a plastic bag to place it in, likely as a point of data for her research. “Well, it seems we’re done here, Vodka,” Agnes Tachyon stands up from her stool, straightening out her clothes. She leaves enough money on the counter for both of their meals, ensuring she could leave Vodka with the bill.

“We’re… Done here?”

“Yes. We’ve finished our food, and our conversation has borne fruit for both of us. Unless you’d like to sit here until the store closes, I suggest you get going! Maybe go shopping for a new calendar? I’m aware you were out of the country for the New Years holiday.”

The words go in one of her ears and out the other. “Right, of course. See you around, Tachyon,” she says.

The doorbell jingles as Agnes Tachyon leaves the store. When the server comes by with the bill, Vodka nearly has a heart attack just looking at it. Thankfully, Agnes Tachyon’s basic arithmetic is as strong as ever, and left Vodka with exact change.

Vodka stares at the empty bowl as the server takes it away. She could fill herself with all the food in this steakhouse right now, and she would still feel like that bowl as soon as it was over. All this nonsense about “Love” sounds exactly like that to her right about now; Nonsense. Agnes Tachyon did have a point about their races, though. They aren’t set to compete against each other in any races right now. Daiwa Scarlet is going on to race in the Osaka Hai, aiming for the Tenno Sho in spring, and then the Tenno Sho in autumn as well. Hell, at that point, why not take the Arima Kinen too? Vodka’s grip on the napkins in her hand tightens. She acts like she’s so much better than Vodka, and yet, it’s true. Scarlet is just better than me. One day, she’ll run out of races to compete against Daiwa Scarlet in, and when that happens, Daiwa Scarlet will have to find someone who can actually hold a candle to her. Not some umamusume that goes off around the world to race, only to come back home and mope around, cutting class to go eat steak.

Agnes Tachyon is going to be very disappointed to see my next race, Vodka thinks. When she gets up from her stool, ready to leave the steakhouse and head back to Tracen, another thought crosses her mind. Hell, if Daiwa Scarlet is just going to replace me anyway, what’s the point in my own career now?

Chapter Text

This is it. This is what Daiwa Scarlet has been training for since last year, before Vodka left the country and gave Daiwa Scarlet a dozen and a half things to worry about. All the blood, sweat, and tears that Daiwa Scarlet has shed will crystalize on this day, and she will find out if her work has borne fruit to a beautiful diamond or a brittle piece of glass.

Today is the day of the Osaka Hai.

Daiwa Scarlet paces around her dressing room, ears flickering to try and discharge her pre-race jitters to some avail. Her trainer, by contrast, is seated, calm and collected, reading through a file full of statistics and predictions. She’s a tall woman with short and dark hair, dressed for business, and it reflects her training style. She doesn’t micromanage, and takes a hands-off approach. As long as Daiwa Scarlet takes her assigned training and racing seriously, then she doesn’t have any reason to interfere with Daiwa Scarlet’s business. Daiwa Scarlet doesn’t even know her full name, only knowing her as “Ms. Trainer”. A little unusual, but Daiwa Scarlet finds that a small price to pay for her results.

Pre-race jitters aren’t the only thing on her mind, of course. Despite Vodka coming back to Tracen, Daiwa Scarlet could swear that she hears more from Vodka’s trainer than Vodka herself. The most she sees of her these days is when Vodka returns to the dorms late at night, only to say nothing and go straight to bed, or when Daiwa Scarlet comes back to the dorms to find her already fast asleep. She doesn’t see her in classes, at training, or in the cafeteria. Is she even taking care of herself? Clearly, or she would’ve dropped dead days ago, but the sentiment still lingers. Something is wrong with Vodka, and Daiwa Scarlet doesn’t know what it is.

 It’s infuriating.

“Scarlet,”

It’s upsetting.

“Scarlet,”

It’s worrying.

“Scarlet,”

It’s sickening.

“Daiwa Scarlet!” her trainer says. Daiwa Scarlet only realizes as she bumps into her, now standing.

“Oh, sorry. Is it time for the race?” Daiwa looks down at the floor.

“No. You look down. Are you worried about the race?”

“Not at all. I’m sure I can win,” Daiwa Scarlet says.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Daiwa Scarlet hesitates to say what’s on her mind. It has nothing to do with the race. But who else can she talk to about this? All of her friends just seem to chalk it up to Vodka being Vodka, or don’t know what to do about it. Her trainer has been helpful so far, so maybe, just this once.

“It’s… It’s Vodka,” Daiwa Scarlet says.

“Your rival, yes?”

“Yeah,” Daiwa Scarlet says. In front of anyone else except Vodka herself, she would deny such a claim. But there’s no point in denying it when her trainer managed to enter her in the Queen Elizabeth II Cup with such little warning, solely to race against Vodka. If anyone would understand how much Vodka means to her, it would be her trainer. “She took a trip overseas for the winter, but since she came back, she’s been acting weird…”

Her trainer doesn’t respond at first. Then, after a moment of thought, “Her trainer is RB, right? She’s been complaining about her trainee’s behavior as well…” She taps her documents against her arm in thought. “What if we worked out a race against her with RB?”

Daiwa Scarlet looks up, hopeful, but not expectant. The thought of racing against Vodka again… It makes her heart beat faster.

Her trainer takes her silence as shock. “Oh, come on. I saw how much harder you trained after you lost to her in the Tulip Sho,” she says, “And I’m sure she felt the same way after the Queen Elizabeth II Cup. Maybe she’s feeling a little… Directionless, is all.”

“Directionless…” Daiwa Scarlet mutters. That doesn’t sound right. Vodka has always gone above and beyond to just be “cool”, whatever the hell that means. Lacking a clear goal now couldn’t be it. But a selfish part of Daiwa Scarlet knows what she wants, and she wants to race against Vodka again. Anything to see her on a track again, anything to see that stupid, cocky grin on her face again, anything to get the Vodka she knows back. Just for the satisfaction of driving her into the ground, she tells herself. This has nothing to do with that pain Daiwa Scarlet gets in her stomach every night, or the ache in her chest that just won’t go away.

“After this race, I’ll make arrangements. We’ll see if Vodka is up to the spring Tenno Sho.”

Spring Tenno Sho. That would be soon. Within the next month, even. Daiwa Scarlet’s eyes light up, her ears stand up straight, and her tail swishes back and forth. Her trainer smiles, holding back a chuckle.

“What, what’s so funny?” Daiwa Scarlet says with a pout.

“Nothing, nothing. You just seem excited about this out of nowhere,” her trainer says.

“Well,” Daiwa Scarlet starts, “I, uhm… Listen, don’t you want to show RB who’s the better trainer? I-It’s like that!” she proclaims. 

It’s only half-true, of course. Yes, they beat Vodka in the Queen Elizabeth II cup, and after Vodka challenged her, no less. It would be exhilarating to leave her in the dust again, but it’s not the only reason Daiwa Scarlet wants to race against her again. There’s a Vodka-shaped hole in her heart, a septal defect that makes it hard to run. She’s had to redouble her efforts in training to make up for the deficiency of motivation, she outright feels like she’s in withdrawal. She would never admit this to anyone, though, not even her trainer, not even Vodka herself. If there was hope that this problem would work itself out… then Daiwa Scarlet would be remiss not to grab onto it and hang on for dear life.

Daiwa Scarlet isn’t aware of just how plainly her thoughts are written on her face. Her trainer doesn’t tell her, either. It’s one of the perks of being Daiwa Scarlet’s trainer — No matter what she says or how she acts, her true intention is worn plainly on her sleeve for those who know where to look.

“Yes, yes, I suppose it wouldn’t do to let her get a big ego, would it?” her trainer says,

A knock at the door draws both of their attention as a URA aide opens the door a crack.

“Miss Daiwa Scarlet, it’s time to line up at the starting gate now,” they say.

Daiwa Scarlet turns to her trainer, who grips her by the shoulders to look her dead in the eyes. “Knock them dead, Scarlet. Show them how far you’ve come. Show Vodka how far you’ve come.”

“You’ve got it,” Daiwa Scarlet says with renewed vigor, “I will be number one today. Nobody will take that from me.”

Her trainer lets out a sigh as she leaves the dressing room. “I swear, that girl is obsessed with Vodka,” she says to herself, “She’d jump off a fucking bridge if Vodka dared her to…” All the same, she starts to type out a text to RB as she makes her way to the stands.

Hey, RB, is Vodka up for a race next month?

Vodka sits down at the far end of the bar, pulling her hood over her head. The owner is one of her dad’s old pal’s; He won’t kick her out, so long as she doesn’t cause any trouble. She doesn’t plan on it, of course. Vodka knows fully well what day it is. She can’t afford to get kicked out, not when there’s a race to watch, not when there’s Daiwa Scarlet to watch, in all the glory of a shitty twenty-four inch CRT television hanging from the ceiling. The glass in front of her starts to sweat. She got a bit of a look from the owner when she ordered it — whiskey on the rocks. It sounds cool. It tastes like pure poison. But Vodka made this bed, and she’ll be damned if she won’t lie in it. And that aside, it makes her feel warm inside. A little dizzy, but warm.

“So… What brings you by today? I never thought I’d see you in here,” The owner says, cleaning a glass with a dishrag. Vodka stares in bewilderment. She’s always thought it was one of those things you just see on TV, but apparently not.

“I’m here to watch the race,” Vodka says, pointing up at the TV.

The owner grumbles, “You and half the crowd in here. Not that I mind the business, of course, ‘s just busy today!” He laughs for a bit, and then, “But uh, can’t you just, y’know, go watch it in person?”

He’s completely right. Unlike most patrons at the bar, if a Tracen Academy student wants to watch a race, they don’t typically have to worry about the price of tickets or transportation or even their daily schedule. Usually, if an umamusume doesn’t attend a race, especially one as prestigious as the Osaka Hai, it’s because… 

“Don’t feel like it,” Vodka says. It’s not even a lie.

On the fuzzy screen, Vodka can see the reporting crew covering the racers, showing statistics and predictions that must seem like gibberish to people not versed in the language of URA racing data. Vodka is not one of those people. She doesn’t need to be, though, because there she is. Daiwa Scarlet, in her signature Peak Blue racewear, projected as the number one favorite. Number one. Vodka grumbles to herself, torn between envying her for having the raw potential to get her to this point, and wishing she was there in person to see her. The only reason Vodka isn’t at the racetrack is because…

Vodka doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve to see Daiwa Scarlet in the flesh, to see her racing regalia in its full glory, to be able to make out the folds and wrinkles of the cloth, or to see the sun glint off of those bright golden accents. And so here she is, watching Daiwa Scarlet through a layer of thick glass and cable television.

The racers take their place at the starting gates, the sudden hush that falls over the crowd fills the bar as well. Vodka is sure she’s not the only one with her eyes on the screen. That moment before the gates open, the tension in the air, thick as tar and fragile as glass, makes Vodka’s heart beat and beat and beat in her ears. The muscles in her own legs tense, urging her to get up and run, but every other part of her keeps Vodka rooted in her seat.

The gates open. It’s Daiwa Scarlet who takes the lead right away, setting a blistering pace. Those crimson twintails stream behind her, a battle standard showing that she will not back down, and she will not yield. The crowd cheers, the bar cheers, but Vodka is silent. Her eyes are locked onto the leader of the pack. She’s magnificent, keeping her lead up into the final curve with quick, elegant strides. Her chaser challenges her, but only for a brief moment. Vodka knows damn well that whatever those umamusume are doing, it’s too little, too late. Her face is impossible to make out, but just from her posture, Vodka can tell that Daiwa Scarlet is far from pressed. She still has plenty of fuel in her tank going into the homestretch, and she puts it all to use in a blazing, resplendent spurt.

Vodka releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding when Daiwa Scarlet crosses the finish line by several lengths, and the whole bar erupts in a raucous cheer. Even if the race’s winner was decided when Daiwa Scarlet lined up at the starting gate, her races are always breathtaking to watch, and Vodka feels exhausted just sitting here already. Vodka knows what’s next though, and she knows what she’s in for. 

The winner’s concert. Daiwa Scarlet doesn’t slack. If she’s a first-rate racer, then she’s an even better umadol. She’s dazzling, electrifying, with a voice that threatens to lure all who hear it to fall for her. Vodka doesn’t have that far to fall in the first place, an embarrassing realization as Agnes Tachyon’s absurd declarations echoed in her head. Flawless move after flawless move steals Vodka’s gaze and heart alike. Daiwa Scarlet is truly a master of everything there is to being an umamusume. There is no other umamusume that gets her heart firing on all cylinders the way Daiwa Scarlet does, in every sense of the phrase. And it’s why she can’t bear to call herself Daiwa Scarlet’s equal, let alone her rival. Vodka should be the only one who isn’t so captivated by her, the only silver bullet that Daiwa Scarlet sees as a challenge.

With a longing sigh, Vodka downs the rest of her drink and makes to leave, standing up from her stool before she catches sight of the interview. It’s Daiwa Scarlet, of course. Thankfully, everyone is just quiet enough that she can make out the words.

“And what are your plans for your next race?” the reporter asks. Vodka already knows. It’s —

“The spring Tenno Sho, of course!” Daiwa Scarlet says, hands placed firmly on her hips, carrying herself with pride and power.

“Are you aiming to take the autumn Tenno Sho as well?”

Daiwa Scarlet throws her head back with a playful laugh. “Of course! And the Arima Kinen. Nobody will stop me, just watch!”

“But what about your rival, Vodka?”

Vodka freezes. She should’ve seen this coming, of course the press would ask about her. She left Japan, won a few races overseas, and then came back without a single race against Daiwa Scarlet scheduled. There’s no way the press wouldn’t be all over that. 

Daiwa Scarlet scoffs, smirking at the camera, as if looking through the lens, through the cables, through the television screen, and straight into Vodka’s soul. She takes the microphone from the reporter, a move eliciting a widespread gasp from the crowd nearby. The feedback screeches before settling down. 

“Vodka? I know she’s watching me right now,” she says Vodka’s face flushes, busted. “And I mean to crush her in the spring Tenno Sho! That’s right, Vodka! I’m challenging you!”

She hands the microphone back to the reporter, and walks off the stage, prematurely ending her own interview. The bar is abuzz with conversation, and clearly the press has fallen into an uproar as well.

The spring Tenno Sho? But she’s not…

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. It’s a text from her trainer, RB.

Hey, I know it’s short notice, but how do you feel about the spring Tenno Sho? I know it’s short notice with the Victoria Mile right after, but I think you should give it a go.

Vodka stares at the message. This isn’t a coincidence, there’s no way in hell. The real question is just who orchestrated this. Her thumbs go to type a message, but she deletes it soon after. She wants so badly to run with Daiwa Scarlet again, to chase those twintails like prey and catch her with her own two legs. But does she deserve that? Hell, she feels guilty just for having her name come out of Daiwa Scarlet’s mouth. But then again… Daiwa Scarlet herself is the one that called her out. She looked so smug about it, too. Vodka knows that Daiwa Scarlet probably enjoyed getting to be a diva for those scant few seconds. Maybe it would be okay, just this once, to indulge in that part of her that aches and aches, despite how chained down she feels by her own self-disgust. Agnes Tachyon was onto something with emotions. Is this what a rival is supposed to do? Or is it because she feels something else for Daiwa Scarlet? Sliding her phone into her pocket, she decides that she can answer that text later, when — no, if she can sort out these feelings. Daiwa Scarlet deserves better than that.

Vodka leaves her money on the bartop, and turns to leave when the owner calls out to her.

“Oi, Vodka,” he says, “That Vodka that the winner’s talking about up there… That’s not a funny little coinky-dink, is it? Isn’t that you?”

Vodka doesn’t say anything.

He sighs. “You got some stiff competition out there, huh? I know your folks would be real proud… So what’re you doin’ here? I mean, I run a nice joint, but it’s no Hanshin Racecourse.”

“I…” Vodka says. She doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. She can’t exactly tell the owner of one of her dad’s old watering holes exactly how she feels, hell, she can’t even tell herself how she feels. “I didn’t feel like going all the way out to Takarazuka today, ‘s all,” she lies. It would’ve been easy to drag herself onto the train. Nobody would’ve batted an eye seeing her at the racecourse. She could’ve received Daiwa Scarlet’s challenge in person. She should have been there to accept it in person. Would’ve been damn funny to make such a fuss on live TV when I was right there in the stands, huh? 

“Okay, I get it,” the owner says, “None of my business, I’m sure it’s hard being an umamusume. But a word of advice, if you will.”

Vodka shrugs, slumping her shoulders and acquiescing to the older man.

“It’s something your old man used to tell me all the time, you know? You’ve got more people cheering you on than yourself, and you’ve got more people cheering you on that you realize.”

Vodka shudders. She’s heard that advice from her dad plenty of times. From the times she felt like she was mocked and bullied as a child, to all the times she thought she wouldn’t be able to cut it as a racer. The worst part is that every single time, he was right.

“Thanks, mister,” Vodka says, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the drink, it tasted awful.”

He just laughs, “Good! Don’t pick up the habit, it’s expensive. I hope I don’t see you in here again, capiche?”

“You got it boss,” Vodka throws him a thumbs up, and strolls out of the bar as if nothing happened.

“Later” turns into “Tomorrow”, and “Tomorrow” turns into “Her next training session a week later”, which she feels compelled to attend. The first one she’s been to in over a month. RB is going to be pissed to see her… But there’s no avoiding that. If she even wants to have a chance of competing against Daiwa Scarlet, then she needs to try. At least a little. 

Her trainer, RB, is sitting down in the stands facing the Tracen practice fields when Vodka arrives, checking her watch.

“Yo,” Vodka says.

RB jumps in her seat, throwing her energy drink several feet into the air, where it lands perfectly without spilling a drop. “H-Holy shit, Vodka? You’re here?”

“Yeah? I’m scheduled for training, aren’t I?” she says, hoping her nonchalance glosses over every missed class and session.

“Yeah, you are. Forgive my surprise, I was just wondering if I would have to file paperwork with the Trainer’s Academy for my “gross negligence” in my duties as a trainer.”

Mission failed. “Look, I’m sorry,” Vodka says, kicking the ground while her trainer glares at her, “I’m just…” she trails off, unable to find the words. 

Thankfully, her trainer relents, expression softening. “I know, you’re going through a lot, huh?”

“I guess so,” Vodka admits.

“But you’re here now. And you went to classes today?”

“I did. The teacher was shocked too.”

“As they should be. Can I count on you to start attending your training sessions and classes regularly?”

Vodka mumbles something noncommittal, but RB isn’t having it.

“What was that?” she says, staring daggers into Vodka.

“I said,” Vodka clears her throat, “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

A moment of tense silence passes between them. “That’s the best I’m going to get out of you, huh?”

Vodka shrugs. RB sighs. “Alright, well what made you come out here today in the first place, then?”

Vodka looks left, then right, making sure that the devil isn’t in earshot before uttering her name. “Daiwa Scarlet,” she says.

Vodka isn’t sure if RB is about to cheer or punch someone. “I swear…” she says, under her breath, “I can’t believe she was right.”

“Who was right?”

“Ah… Nobody! Well, somebody that I owe money to now, I guess.”

“You bet on this?” Vodka says, dumbfounded.

RB scoffs. “I was so unsure about whether or not Daiwa Scarlet’s challenge would get you to snap out of whatever funk you’ve been in since we got back to Japan, I may have jokingly put a bit of money on the line.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Hey, look,” RB says, “The important thing is, you’re here. That’s great, I’m seriously really glad to see you again, Vodka. And…” she looks down sheepishly, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t paying enough attention to whatever was troubling you.”

A bolt of guilt strikes Vodka down through her core. She hadn’t considered how RB would feel about this. She worked so hard to get Vodka to where she is now, and Vodka was ready to throw all of that away? There are more people in my corner than I realize.

“Don’t worry about it,” Vodka says. She clamps a hand on RB’s shoulder, trying to cheer her up with the coolest thing she can think to say right now, “Let’s just get to training. I’ve got a race to win, don’t I?”

RB looks up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Does that mean… The spring Tenno Sho?”

Vodka gulps. She’s been putting off actually making that decision for days already, but staring down the barrel of such an endearing face… It’s hard not to pull that trigger —

“M-Maybe! No promises, okay? If I don’t want to race in it, then I don’t want to!” 

Even if half-heartedly.

With fresh wind in her sails, RB cuts the chatter short and gets Vodka right to training. Nothing major, just some basic warmups and cardio. Laps around the training track, mostly. Vodka thinks it should be a piece of cake. She’s run faster before, and she’s run longer before. But the truth hits her hard about thirty minutes in when she finds herself more winded than usual, and an observant RB calls for a short break. Vodka, dejected, collapses onto the grass with a groan.

“What, you don’t want break time?” RB says.

“No, I don’t,” Vodka says, “I should be better than this.”

“You’ve been out of practice for over a month, Vodka, this happens.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Vodka sulks. It’s my fault, Vodka thinks, It’s my own damn fault that I’m not ready for this.

“Okay, I’m not going to sugarcoat this,” RB says, taking a seat next to Vodka, “It is your fault. But it’s not the end of the world. If you don’t start training again, you won’t be able to train like you used to. And if you can’t train like you used to, there’s no way you’ll be able to have a good showing against Daiwa Scarlet, let alone beat her.”

Vodka grumbles. She’s right. She’s completely right. And that’s what makes her words sting.

“Tell you what, Vodka,” RB keeps going, “If you don’t get back up in five and keep training, then I’m going to—” She’s interrupted by her own phone going off. “Hold that thought, I should take this.”

RB steps away for a second, leaving Vodka to gather her own thoughts. Can I ever be worthy of being Daiwa Scarlet’s rival again? It’s not like I’m anything special like her, she thinks. The doubt and self-sabotaging thoughts creep around her heart, vines that coil and constrict. It’s painful, knowing you’re nothing special but yearning to be something more than you are. Vodka hasn’t felt this pain since before she came to Tracen Academy, when she was just a naive filly. The way that people would tell her that she would never be able to win the Japanese Derby… It pissed her off, but it stung, because some part of her, deep down, believed they were right. She pulls herself off the ground, her clenched fist taking a fistful of grass with it as she comes up. But I won the Japanese Derby, didn’t I? Maybe… Maybe it’s okay to have a ridiculous goal. Even if that goal is to be the “Number One Umamusume”, or to be the “Coolest Umamusume”, or hell, even if it’s just to beat Daiwa Scarlet in her race. At this pace, maybe “Attending another training session” was crazy enough of a goal. But Vodka would shoot for it, even if—

“Shit,” RB says, loud enough to catch Vodka’s attention. She’s holding her phone at her side, just having finished her phone call. “Damnit, fuck…” she trails off into a string of expletives, some of which Vodka has never even heard before. She’s never seen RB bent out of shape like this.

“RB, everything okay?”

RB looks at her with a look that says "No", and Vodka feels her gut sink. “Grab your bag, we’ve gotta get to the hospital.”

Chapter Text

The ride to the hospital is mostly silent. RB doesn’t say anything between her glances between the road and Vodka, and Vodka says nothing as she stares at her phone, her sports bag on her lap. The only two notifications on the screen stare back, mocking her.

Seven Missed Calls

One New Voice Message

Vodka drags a shaky thumb across the screen to unlock her phone. The look on RB’s face tells her it could only be one person at the hospital. A shred of hope remains as she checks her call history. If something awful had happened to Daiwa Scarlet, how could all seven missed calls be from her? Surely it wasn’t her, and it was someone else. Maybe it was Special Week, or her trainer. For a second, Vodka doesn’t even feel guilt over hoping it’s anybody else that got hurt, just not her. That shred is dashed when she opens her voice mailbox and holds her phone to her ear.

The message starts with shuffling and panting, and muffled, stressed conversation. “Hey, Vodka? It’s Air Shakur.” Vodka’s gut coils. “Daiwa Scarlet told me to call you first, but it looks like you’re not near your phone?” It’s annoying that she’s right. It was in her sports bag. The one time she shows up for training. “She hurt her leg really badly just now on one of the leg press machines. I’m taking her to the hospital right now, and… I guess she wanted to let you know? Hey, Daiwa Scarlet, why did you want Vodka to know?” Vodka can hear Daiwa Scarlet yelling in the background noise, likely in a lot of pain. She had to be if she was dropping her goody-two-shoes act in front of someone other than herself or her close friends. “Oh. Oh, okay. She wants to see you at the hospital, I think? Anyway, I’m going to make a few more calls for her, I guess. Bye!”

“To repeat this message, please press—” Vodka ends the playback.

If Daiwa Scarlet “hurt her leg pretty badly” can mean a lot of things. It could mean she’s fine in a week, and they can race together in the spring Tenno Sho. It could mean she would miss the race. It could mean she… Well she would bounce back, wouldn’t she? She bounced back when she had that cold right before the Japanese Oaks, this would be just like that. Right?

“Vodka?” RB asks.

“Hm?”

“Oh, thought I lost you there for a second,” RB says. Vodka realizes that she’s been trying to get her attention for a while now. How long has she just been staring at her phone? “Are you okay?”

How could Vodka be okay? Daiwa Scarlet might never race again. She might have to retire, she might never be the number one umamusume. Vodka is anything but okay. “Yeah,” she says.

“Okay… we’re coming up on the hospital here. I’ll drop you off at the front while I park, sound good?”

They haven’t even turned into the parking lot and Vodka is unbuckling her seat belt. “Yeah. 'S fine.

RB’s car has barely begun to slow when Vodka opens the door and hops out. Her legs move on their own, a pair of runaway wheels. The front doors slide open for her, and Vodka has to keep herself from running straight to the elevator.

“Oh, hello! How may I help you?” The receptionist says.

“Vodka. Wait, no, um, visitor?” Vodka says, her brain still in RB’s car. “Daiwa Scarlet,” it catches up, “I’m here to see Daiwa Scarlet! I’m her…” Roommate? Best friend? Rival? Something else?

“Ah, here you are,” the receptionist says, processing Vodka’s request before Vodka herself can and handing her a visitor's pass. “Room three-oh-five, please keep in mind that our visitor hours end at nine p.m.” the receptionist bows.

“Thanks,” Vodka says. She’s been walking in place this whole time, and continues to half-run, half-walk to the elevator. She has to get to Daiwa Scarlet. After working up the nerve to accept her challenge in spite of the dreadful, sickening tangle of feelings that make it hard to breathe at night, Daiwa Scarlet has to be, she has to. Vodka presses the call button. A second passes. It’s a second too long. She makes a sharp turn to the stairwell and races up, taking them harder than the Tokyo racecourse’s hill.

Vodka doesn’t stop for a break at the third floor landing, and bursts through the door into the hallway. Before she can read two numbers and figure out which way Daiwa Scarlet is, she sees Air Shakur standing against a wall. Vodka’s chest tightens, seeing her, but she approaches nonetheless. 

“Oh, Vodka,” Air Shakur looks up at the sound of Vodka’s sneakers on the linoleum, “I didn’t think you got my—”

“Where’s Scarlet?” Vodka asks. It must have come out harsher than intended, because Air Shakur doesn’t even try to repeat herself, and just points to the door next to her.

Vodka doesn’t waste anymore time on anything else. She slams open the door. What she sees breaks her heart. Daiwa Scarlet, laid up in a hospital bed, with a plaster cast running from her foot to her knee, hands folded calmly in her lap as if resigned to her fate.

“Geez, were you ever taught manners?” Daiwa Scarlet winces. Even as her expression softens, it’s clear from the droop on her ears that the jab is just for show.

Vodka’s next step takes her to the edge of Daiwa Scarlet’s bed, hands gripping the rail with white knuckles. “The hell happened to you?”

“I, uh… I was doing some leg presses, and I guess I was going too light, haha,” Daiwa Scarlet laughs, anxious and afraid, “When I pushed the plate back, it went further than I thought, and I wasn’t ready when it came back down…”

Vodka gulps. “How bad is it?”

Daiwa Scarlet doesn’t meet her eyes. “The doctor said it’s a stress fracture in my shin. Not a complete break—”

“So you’ll be able to race again?” Vodka asks the question that’s been weighing on her since RB told her to go to the hospital with her.

“But. If you’d let me finish talking. I won’t be racing for a while…”

“But you will be racing again?” Vodka asks again.

“Yes, didn’t you listen?”

Vodka nearly collapses on top of Daiwa Scarlet, her bottled up self-loathing and latent feelings for her be damned.

“H-Hey, what are you doing?! Get off of me, you’re going to break my other leg!” Daiwa Scarlet protests, trying to push Vodka away.

“Sorry, sorry, I just thought… When I got the voicemail… I thought that you… You scared me!” Vodka fumbles through sentence after sentence.

“You thought I what?” Daiwaa Scarlet asks.

Vodka can’t say the words, just taking deep, shaky breaths. She tries to get herself under control, to keep herself from spiraling again over the thought of Daiwa Scarlet having to retire so soon, or worse.

Daiwa Scarlet understands the panicking before Vodka can articulate her thoughts. “Oh… Vodka. It’s nothing major, really—”

“Nothing major? When does the doctor even think you’ll be able to put weight on it again?”

Daiwa Scarlet grimaces in a way that says “Not for a while.” She looks toward her feet, and manages to barely wiggle a single toe. “At least someone called you? If it was that bad… Getting a hold of you would’ve been the least of my troubles.”

Right, the phone call. The seven missed phone calls. If Daiwa Scarlet had time to make Air Shakur make all of them, then it couldn’t be that serious. Daiwa Scarlet wears a sly, but smug grin as Vodka comes to this conclusion. An errant thought comes crashing through her head, though. “Why did Air Shakur call me first? What about your trainer, or, I dunno…” Why wasn’t it anyone else? Why do you have to hold me in such high regard, Scarlet?

Daiwa Scarlet’s eyebrows go up in panic. “U-uhm, it’s obviously because you’re my…” Rival? Best friend? Roommate? Something Else? Each label hangs off of her tongue to Vodka. Any if them would be fine, just so long as one was picked. “You know,” Daiwa Scarlet says.

Vodka doesn’t know what she is to Daiwa Scarlet. That’s why Vodka spent countless nights curled up in bed, miserable and sleepless no matter how long she waited. “No, I don’t,” she mumbles through gritted teeth.

“What?” Daiwa Scarlet asks, not hearing.

“I said “Why was Air Shakur there?” Dummy,” Vodka lies. 

Daiwa Scarlet opens her mouth to protest, “That’s not what you said,” she says, wearing the expression of a kicked dog.

Vodka sighs. If Vodka said what was really on her mind, then she would just be rubbing salt in the wound of a girl who already just went through a lot. But Daiwa Scarlet doesn’t seem content with dropping it. “You…” Her voice comes out tired at first, but soon the bottled vitriol starts to leak between her words. “You really piss me off, Scarlet,” she admits. 

“What the h—”

“You get on my nerves all the time. You always act like you’re better than me. When I came back from my trip, you had just replaced me with some other umamusume with short hair and a mean look.”

“Vodka,”

“And for some reason, I still want to race you. I still want to watch you race. And you still want it too, or you wouldn’t have challenged me to the spring Tenno Sho on national television. So when you say I’m your “You know”, forgive me for being a little damn confused, because I don’t know what you want from me of all umamusume, when I’m like this.” Each word that leaves her mouth is more and more strained.

Daiwa Scarlet stays quiet, staring down into her own lap. There’s no witty retort from her this time, just a sad and painful silence. As the nose length between Vodka’s tirade and Daiwa Scarlet’s response grows into several lengths, Vodka starts to feel a cold, guilt-ridden burn in her chest.

A third voice in the room interrupts them. “I take it by the soap opera talk that I can leave now?” Air Shakur says. Vodka’s shoulder tense at her poorly-timed joke.

Daiwa Scarlet’s voice is low, and barely audible. “Yes, Air Shakur, you can leave now. Thank you for getting me here.”

“Nice. No problem. Get better soon,” Air Shakur says over her shoulder, ducking out of sight.

Before the tension in the room can return to a boil, another familiar face enters the room. “Daiwa Scarlet, We left as soon as Air Shakur called me,” RB says, “We would’ve been here sooner, but Vodka was training.”

Daiwa Scarlet’s ears flick upwards for all of a second until she lays eyes on a quietly fuming Vodka.

“Oh,” RB glances between the two of them, “Did something happen?”

Neither of them answer, both waiting for the other to say some quick-witted barb and refusing to twist the knife themself. Finally, Daiwa Scarlet sighs. “No, I was just telling Vodka that I can’t race in the spring Tenno Sho,” she says. Her words scrape at Vodka’s heart. Whatever she had to say to Vodka, or whatever Vodka could say to apologize, the moment was gone.

RB lets out a deep, stressed breath. “Right. I’m so sorry, Daiwa Scarlet. Have you told your trainer?”

“Yes,” Daiwa Scarlet says, “I had Air Shakur call her after you…”

“You called me before your own trainer?”

“W-Well, I,” Daiwa Scarlet stammers, looking towards Vodka. Her voice turns small and meek, “I was trying to get a hold of Vodka…”

A tall woman, sharply dressed, enters the hospital room; Daiwa Scarler’s trainer.

“Tomoki,” RB says, “Took you long enough.”

“What did I say about using my name in front of the trainees?” Tomoki says, exasperated, “And Scarlet, what happened?”

“I broke it,” Daiwa Scarlet says sheepishly.

“That much is obvious… How?”

Daiwa Scarlet repeats the story about the leg press machine, earning a furrowed brow and a sigh from Tomoki. 

“Scarlet… Agh, there’s no point in reprimanding you about this, since you’re already,” Tomoki waves at her cast.

Daiwa Scarlet looks down at her lap. “I’m sorry, Miss Trainer,”

Vodka feels like she shouldn’t be watching this. It’s like watching your friend get chewed out by their mother.

Tomoki is quiet, arms folded with a finger curled on her lip in thought before she speaks. “We’ll just have to shift your schedule around. And obviously, the spring Tenno Sho is out of the question now… I’ll have to inform the URA… Do you know how long you’ll be laid up in the hospital?”

RB chimes in. “If it’s just a broken bone… The doctor might let her go tonight.”

“That’s good… Daiwa Scarlet, I know you’re in a lot of pain, but can I trust you to study while you’re down and out?” Daiwa Scarlet nods.

“She can come watch our training sessions, if you think it would help,” RB offers.

Vodka’s head turns. Daiwa Scarlet at her training is the last thing she needs. It was one thing to eat crow and show up to training after weeks of truancy… It’s another entirely to let Daiwa Scarlet see her struggle to get back up to speed. “Wait a minute—”

“Yes… yes, okay, that’s good. I’ll wait for the doctor to establish a recovery timeline.”

“I have a book on umamusume physical therapy, if you’d like. I know injury and recovery was one of your weaker subjects,” RB says.

Tomoki shoots her a look, but softens up just as quickly. “That would be appreciated, RB.”

The two of them continue to talk about what to do with Daiwa Scarlet, as if unaware that she is just a few feet away.

“Vodka,” Daiwa Scarlet whispers to get her attention.

Vodka turns back to her, but avoids her gaze. She knows that look on Daiwa Scarlet’s face, and she knows she wouldn’t be able to take it right now.

“I’m sorry,” Daiwa Scarlet continues, “I didn’t know you—”

“It’s okay,” Vodka whispers back. It’s not, but she’s not quite ready to dig into the can of worms she opened, “I know this was an accident.”

“That’s not…” Daiwa Scarlet says with a scoff, “That’s not what I mean, you idiot. I mean about the Tenno Sho, the calling you, the—”

Everyone goes quiet as the doctor enters.

The ride back to the dorm is as quiet as the ride to the hospital, and the tension is just as stifling and unbearable, the weight of the past two years bearing down on everyone. The occasional streetlight illuminates the interior of the vehicle in a doppler flash. By the time the doctor finished talking about what Daiwa Scarlet can and can't do, estimated time for recovery, and a timeline for physical therapy, the sun had long set. Vodka is seated in the backseat of Tomoki’s SUV, next to Daiwa Scarlet. It’s the practical choice, after all. RB’s car didn’t have the room to comfortably seat Daiwa Scarlet and her new pair of crutches. She would also need help adjusting to her injury in the meantime, and who would be better than Vodka? 

Is it out of obligation or concern that Vodka agreed to be there for Daiwa Scarlet? As much as Vodka hates the idea of Daiwa Scarlet watching her struggle during training and potentially having to wait on her hand and foot like a princess… It doesn’t feel like a hassle at the moment. Not if it’s someone like Daiwa Scarlet. Especially not if it’s her. It’s just something that she feels like she should do. After all… Vodka can hardly imagine having the triple tiara ripped away from her from a cold, only to lose her shot at the spring Tenno Sho as well. And Vodka went and snapped at her in the hospital too. What was she thinking?

Something pokes at her hand. It’s Daiwa Scarlet.

“Hey, Vodka,” she says. Now that Vodka thinks about it, Daiwa Scarlet’s voice has felt tiny this whole time. Vodka misses the loud, boisterous barking that Daiwa Scarlet could dish out. This is just unnatural.

“Yeah?” 

Daiwa Scarlet eyes wander toward the driver’s seat. She’s behind the empty passenger seat to accommodate her cast. If Tomoki can hear them, she doesn’t show it.

“I’m really glad you came to see me,” Daiwa Scarlet finally mutters.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Daiwa Scarlet bites her lip, fingers curling against the plush upholstery. “A tiny part of me did, I think.”

Vodka sets her jaw. Why is this so complicated? It hurts both of them when Vodka tries to distance herself. It hurts both of them when Vodka is around. At least, it hurts Vodka.

“But Vodka did show up,” Tomoki says from the driver’s seat. So she could hear.

“M-Miss Trainer?!”

“Sorry, I’ll be quiet.”

Daiwa Scarlet follows her lead, apparently, all the way up to the front gates of Tracen Academy.

“This is your stop,” Tomoki says. Vodka gets out of the vehicle and walks around to the other side to half-help, half-pull Daiwa Scarlet out of her seat.

“Thank you for the ride, er…”

“You may call me Miss Reiner,” Tomoki finishes, and it’s not a problem. Please take good care of Daiwa Scarlet for me.”

Vodka mouths the words Tomoki Reiner to herself for a moment. “Tomoki… Reiner…” Oh my Goddesses, her name is—

“Not another word,” Tomoki says. With a name like that, you’d probably have to have a sixth sense for people figuring out that your name is T. Reiner.

“Okay, er, have a safe drive, Miss Reiner,” Vodka says.

“And Scarlet. I’ll be in touch with your training plans regarding this,” Tomoki continues.

“Yes ma’am,” Daiwa Scarlet says.

Geez, she really is like Scarlet’s mom.

With that, Tomoki shifts the SUV into gear and drives off, presumably heading home.

“So…” Daiwa Scarlet says, balancing herself between two crutches. She’s not used to them at all, even after the doctor gave her instructions.

“So… I’ll see you when you get to the dorms?”

“Yeah… W-Wait!”

“Hm?”

“You’re heading in, right? To the dorms?”

“Yeah.”

Daiwa Scarlet taps her good foot on the ground, humming in a rising tone, a sure sign of her growing frustration.

“Then walk with me! You’re not just going to leave me out here, are you?”

Vodka blinks. “Uhm… Sure, I guess. It’s just over there, though.”

Daiwa Scarlet sighs. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Vodka tilts her head. I guess it’s that bad if she wants help walking to the dorms?

“Let’s just walk,” Daiwa Scarlet barks. Her attitude seems to be back, at least.

It’s not a long walk, especially for umamusume, but Daiwa Scarlet’s lagging pace certainly makes Vodka drag her feet. It’s not late enough in April for cicadas to fill the air with screeching, so they have to settle for the clack of Daiwa Scarlet’s crutches in the pathway. With Daiwa Scarlet next to her, this almost feels natural. That awful feeling in Vodka’s chest is a mere check engine light to be safely ignored for now.

“This… This is nice,” Daiwa Scarlet says.

“Having a busted leg?” 

“No! Jerk… I meant… Ah, forget it.”

“No, what is it?” Vodka presses.

Daiwa Scarlet stops. Her eyes flit back and forth, working up the nerve to say something. Finally, she opens up. “I was just thinking… This is the first time we’ve really been together since you got back… Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Vodka says. It’s true. Since she got back, it’s been a bit of a cold war, aside from the few times Vodka has lashed out at her, which hardly counts. “I get it. Hey, Scarlet, I’m really sorry.”

“What for?”

“You’re really going to make me spell it out, huh?” Vodka sighs.

“Yep.”

“Alright… I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting, and the things I said at the hospital.” Vodka says. It’s not every issue that’s pressing on Vodka’s mind… But it’s a start.

“Apology accepted. And… I’m sorry too. I didn’t realize you felt that way…”

“‘S fine.”

“Don’t give me that, I know when you’re lying, Vodka.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Mhm.”

“Tch… That sucks.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Did I hear that right? You want to talk about my feelings?”

“I’m serious. When you act like that, it really sucks…”

It sucks for Vodka too, but what is there to talk about? How Vodka thinks she might want Daiwa Scarlet all to herself? And how much it would hurt if she didn’t feel the same?

“It’s fine, really. I’m not going to skip classes or training or anything, so don’t worry.”

Daiwa Scarlet looks at her, examining her intentions, before finally relenting. “Fine… But Vodka, look at me, because I’m only going to say this once so it doesn’t go to your head.”

Vodka’s ears pan forwards.

“Vodka, you’re…”

“I’m?”

“Hush! You’re annoying, and you’re pig-headed, and you’re a pain in my butt…”

“Wow, my ego feels so big now…”

“I’m getting there,” Daiwa Scarlet’s ears flatten against her head out of either frustration or anxiety. Vodka isn’t sure which. “I don’t know a good way to put it either, but you’re also… Very important to me, Vodka. So don’t forget that.”

Vodka feels funny. Her heart gets dangerously close to redlining for a brief moment before settling down to a manageable, but still high pace. Once again, her sinuses start to ache. “Um. Okay,” is all she knows how to say.

“That’s all you have to say? “Okay”? Are you serious?” Daiwa Scarlet’s voice rises, but her outrage subsides when she sees a small, red droplet fall from Vodka’s nose.

“U-Uhm, yeah, I mean, like…” Vodka stutters, trying not to look like an idiot and failing.

Daiwa Scarlet hobbles over to her, struggling to put her crutches to the side and hold herself up as she pulls Vodka into an awkward, one-armed hug. She smells nice, at least, what Vodka can smell through the sharp tang dripping down her nostril. She smells like roses, Vodka thinks. Literally. It’s over before Vodka can even comprehend she’s being hugged, thankfully, or she might’ve bled all over Daiwa Scarlet. 

“Let’s just get inside, okay?” Daiwa Scarlet says.

“Y-Yeah… You need help up the stairs, right?”

“Oh Goddesses… Yeah, I suppose I do. C’mon, let’s get a move-on before it’s tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Left, then right, then left, then right. Vodka plants one foot in front of the other in a lengthy  gallop. The turf beneath her races past in a green blur, but her eyes are locked firmly ahead at her goal: RB, standing at the side of the track with a stopwatch at the ready. Her chest burns, the engine in her chest desperately using any air she can get as soon as she gets it. There’s only so long that fuel can burn without a steady air supply, and Vodka can feel herself hitting that limit. Her legs scream at her to stop, but it’s too late, she’s too close to her goal, her trainer getting nearer with each step she forces out of herself.

Beep

Vodka finally lets herself come to a rolling stop, doubling over to catch her breath. 

“Three seconds better than the last,” RB says, staring at her stopwatch, “Good work.”

The fiery umamusume next to her, however, is not nearly as encouraging.

“C’mon, Vodka, is that the best you’ve got?” Daiwa Scarlet taunts from the side of the track.

Vodka shouts back, “Like hell it is!” She slaps her hands to her knees, forcing herself back up. “RB, another set!” Thumping her chest with a closed fist, she braces herself to force her way through another lap.

“Hold it,” RB says, “You’ve really been going at it today, Vodka. You’re getting a bit ahead of the curve, even.”

RB said stuff like that often. Ahead of the curve, behind schedule, on pace, and so on. It makes sense to Vodka, in a way, but not entirely. Ahead of what curve? Behind what schedule? And so on. Still… RB hasn’t led her remotely astray yet. If she says that Vodka doesn’t need to overwork her legs today, then she doesn’t need to overwork them. She can easily work on something else with the rest of the afternoon.

“Then what’s next? Weights? Swimming?” Vodka grins with gritted teeth.

“How about “nothing”, you’ve earned a break. Take the weekend off, Vodka.”

“Huh? The whole weekend?”

RB sighs. “Are you complaining?”

Vodka scoffs. “No, but…” She already feels so far behind. There’s no getting back the time she wasted feeling sorry for herself, so the best she can do is work harder to catch up to every umamusume that was just training like normal this whole time. No matter how well RB says she’s doing, the Victoria Mile feels further and further away the closer it gets. At this rate, there’s no way she’ll get back to where she was in time, let alone be better.

“Your legs are already going to feel like jelly tomorrow. If you don’t take a break now, you’re not even going to want to get out of bed tomorrow, and training is going to be even harder.”

Vodka stamps her foot on the ground with a groan. Her trainer is right. She knows she’s right, but it sucks.

“Also, you need to take Daiwa Scarlet out tomorrow, and you can’t do that if your legs don’t want to work right because you pushed yourself too hard.”

“T-Take her out?” Vodka stammers. Like on a date? This suddenly? Would she even want to?

“Yeah, she needs to spend some time outside, move around. If she doesn’t, physical therapy will be harder, and Tomoki will kill me.”

“Am I some kind of dog to you, suddenly?” Daiwa Scarlet protests.

RB stares at her for a moment. “You know? Now that you mention it, you kind of remind me of a feisty Cocker Spaniel…”

Vodka bursts out into laughter before it devolves into a coughing fit, her chest still aching.

“I-I am not a Cocker Spaniel! O-Or any kind of dog, for that matter!” Daiwa Scarlet barks.

“But you totally are!” Vodka says, still barely able to contain her coughing and laughing. “Does Scarlet need her walkies?” she teases.

Daiwa Scarlet grumbles, “What I need is someone who can keep up with me even while I’m on crutches!”

“You wanna race, right now?”

RB steps between them, “Woah, woah, break it up you two. How about you two call it for the day? Daiwa Scarlet, it’s good to keep moving even if you can’t run. Vodka, you’ve been training nonstop, and you need a break. Do both of you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Daiwa Scarlet and Vodka say at the same time.

“Excellent. Have a good weekend, then, I’ll see you both on Monday.”

The Saturday morning sun beats down on the sidewalk. Vodka and Daiwa Scarlet make their way toward a small plaza in town at a leisurely pace, partly because Daiwa Scarlet can’t move that fast, and partly because it’s supposed to be a relaxing day. A casual day for a casual schedule and casual outfits, with just one problem.

“Hurry up!” Daiwa Scarlet says, rushing ahead as fast as she can.

“Sure, sure,” Vodka says. She trails only a few feet behind Daiwa Scarlet. Both of them are well aware that Vodka isn’t the slowest common denominator, and neither of them want to mention it. The reason for the rush, in this case, is a new pop-up food stall that Daiwa Scarlet heard about only last night. “So what kind of place is this again?”

“It’s a limited edition curry bun stall!”

“And what makes them limited edition?”

“They’re only available while supplies last, duh,” Daiwa Scarlet scoffs, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Sure,” Vodka says. It’s not so obvious to her, of course, since there’s no reason they can’t get a curry bun from somewhere else, but if it’s important to Daiwa Scarlet, then there’s no use arguing.

When they arrive at the stand, though, Vodka realizes the hype that the term “limited edition” entails. A line of people wraps around the stall in a spiral, herded in place by hastily-erected stanchions and a few volunteers. It’s the same kind of barely-contained chaos that the bubble tea shop had, the same feverish excitement in the air.

“Oh no… Are we too late?” Daiwa Scarlet stops in place, staring at the line in disbelief.

“They’re still open, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but what if they run out of buns?”

Vodka watches as somebody else joins the queue as Daiwa Scarlet continues to just stand there, stuck in her own head, then another person, and then yet another. “We aren’t getting any unless we get in line.”

“Ugh, you’re right… Come on, then, let’s get in line.”

They get in the back of the long line, and it only gets bigger behind them. Even though the line moves quickly, it doesn’t seem to be moving fast enough, to Daiwa Scarlet’s visible frustration. All the same, she doesn’t express it in a way that’s apparent to anybody but Vodka. The slight pinning of her ears against her head, the way she taps her fingers against the handle of her crutches faster than she normally might, the growing, high pitched groan in her throat. All of it points to a royally ticked-off Daiwa Scarlet.

“So… Why are these limited edition, again?” Vodka asks, trying to change the subject as they trudge through the line, “Do they have like a cool stamp on them, or are they a special flavor, or?”

“They just are!” Daiwa Scarlet says, maybe a bit too sharply.

Vodka is taken aback for a moment. “Hey, what’s up?” Vodka asks, cautious.

“Huh?”

“You look like something’s bugging you,” Vodka blurts out before she realizes. Is it really any of her business if something is upsetting Daiwa Scarlet? And is it a good idea to bring it up out of nowhere like this? “Uh, forget I said it, actually.”

“No…” Daiwa Scarlet says, her ears drooping just a bit, “I’m sorry, I’ve just been really wanting these…”

“For all of half a day?”

“No! Not the buns in particular, I mean,” Daiwa Scarlet says.

“So, then what were you wanting?”

“I…” Daiwa Scarlet looks down at her feet, “I wanted to get something like this.”

“A snack?”

“No!” Daiwa Scarlet groans, “You’re not getting it, huh? You’re so dense…” Her voice straddles the line between teasing and genuine frustration.

Vodka really isn’t getting it. Before either of them can continue their  conversation, though, the line takes them up to the front counter of the stall, where they meet face to face with the proprietor of the pop-up. A familiar head of stark-white hair and a wide, proud grin stands in front of them.

“Gold Ship?” Vodka and Daiwa Scarlet say together, both realizing that they’ve been a victim of one of Gold Ship’s hare-brained schemes to turn a quick buck. What’s worse is that clearly, it’s worked, judging by the turn-out that the stand has garnered.

“Vodka! Scarlet! So nice to see both of you! What can I getcha? Fair warning, though, we only have one bun left!”

“So… Make more?” Vodka says, cocking an eyebrow up at her.

“Can’t! We’re out of supplies!” Gold Ship says with a grin. The person behind Vodka in line groans, calling out behind them that they’re all out of curry buns for the day. The result is a domino effect of discontented noise behind them as the crowd slowly disperses. Soon, it's just Vodka, Daiwa Scarlet, Gold Ship, and a singular curry bun in the hot-case. 

“This is the last one, then?” Daiwa Scarlet asks.

“Yep!”

Daiwa Scarlet grumbles to herself, staring at the bun as if she were about to make a life or death decision. The moment seems to go on for a while, a battle of wills happening between Daiwa Scarlet and the curry bun, Gold Ship silently judging the outcome of their duel. Sometimes, Vodka wonders why she hangs out with Gold Ship. Things get weird like this more often than not.

Finally, though, Daiwa Scarlet seems to win a decisive victory over the curry bun. “Vodka, you can have it,” she says.

“You sure?” Vodka says, “You seemed like you really wanted this.”

“Yes, really! Just… Take it, before I change my mind! I’m going to go find a place to sit down for a bit…” Daiwa Scarlet says, hobbling away on her crutches.

“So… How’s she been?” Gold Ship asks as she wraps up the bun.

“Huh? Scarlet? She’s been… Okay, I think.” Vodka answers. Has she been okay? Vodka can’t really say that Daiwa Scarlet has been particularly sad about the whole broken leg. At least, not in a way that Vodka can see. What if she’s hiding something from me, though? Hell, it’s Scarlet, there’s definitely something she’s not telling me…

“Are you sure?” Gold Ship asks, as if reading her thoughts.

“Gah, don’t do that! It’s creepy!”

Gold Ship laughs for all of a second before her face turns serious as stone again, “But really, are you sure she’s doing okay? She seems kinda… Down.

Vodka looks over her shoulder at Daiwa Scarlet, sitting alone on a metal bench on the edge of the plaza. Gold Ship continues to speak. “I mean, think about it, y’know? If an umamusume can’t run… She might be taking care of herself, but is she really alright with this?”

Vodka looks back down at the curry bun that Gold Ship had pushed into her hand at some point. The curry bun that Daiwa Scarlet wanted to hurry up and get so badly, that she wanted to win with her own two legs.

“Yeah… You’re right. Thanks Golshi, I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Awesome! And thanks for stopping by, we’ll have more buns tomorrow!”

“But not today?”

“Nope!” Gold Ship says with a shit-eating grin. Vodka sighs.

Vodka makes her way over to where Daiwa Scarlet sat on the bench, plopping herself down next to her.

“So, how was the curry bun?” Daiwa Scarlet asks.

Vodka pulls it out of her jacket’s front pocket, staring at the packaging. Seriously, how does Golshi manage to pull these things off? This thing looks like it came from a legitimate business and not… Whatever the hell Gold Ship does on her weekends.

“I dunno, I didn’t try it,” Vodka says.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Vodka looks for anything to say other than “I felt sorry for you”, because there was no better way to get beaten half to death with a pair of crutches. “It’s mild. I wanted a spicy one.. Here,” she says, holding it out to Daiwa Scarlet.

Daiwa Scarlet looks at her for a moment that stretches uncomfortably long. She does end up taking it, though. “You’re an awful liar, you know?” Daiwa Scarlet says.

“Yeah, I guess I am, huh?” Vodka admits, rubbing the back of her neck. Sincere words fizz up at the back of her throat, ones she wouldn’t be caught dead saying to Daiwa Scarlet, much less in public. But when she makes eye contact with Gold Ship across the plaza, something ends up coming out of her mouth anyway. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get here sooner,” she says, “If I had known how much you wanted this, I could’ve gotten ready faster.”

Daiwa Scarlet sighs, holding the curry bun in hand. “I’m sorry, Vodka, you shouldn’t be having to put up with this. You shouldn’t be having to put up with me, not when you have a race coming up soon…”

“Are you kidding me? Tomoki and RB both would put me through the wringer if I didn’t help you out,” Vodka says. Not to mention, I wouldn’t stop beating myself up about it if I just let you suffer through this by yourself. I tortured myself into not running, and you’re just about to lie down and take it? That isn’t fair, not even a little bit.

“I can have a word with my trainer about this,” Daiwa Scarlet says.

“Like hell you will!” Vodka finds herself nearly yelling.

“Vodka?”

“I didn’t start showing up to training for you just so you could skip out on it too, y’know,” Vodka says, “If you’re going to call me your rival, then don’t half-ass it.”

“But I can’t run, Vodka!” Daiwa Scarlet says, pointing down at her leg, “Do you think I wouldn’t be training for the spring Tenno Sho if I could be?”

“I’m not telling you to limp out onto the racecourse with a broken leg, I’m telling you to keep pushing through this with me!” As Vodka’s mouth closes, she realizes just what she’s asking of Daiwa Scarlet. Her face starts to turn a faint shade of pink, hoping that it flies over Daiwa Scarlet’s head.

No such luck. “So… What was that you said about training for me, hm?” Daiwa Scarlet says.

“You challenged me to a race!”

“You could’ve turned it down!”

How could I ever turn down a direct invitation from you, of all umamusume, Scarlet? How the hell am I supposed to look you in the eye and say I want nothing to do with you?

“And look like a poser?” Vodka says, “I don’t think so!”

“So you’re just doing all this to look cool?”

“I’m doing all this because I can’t get you out of my head!”

The two of them go deathly quiet. Vodka’s words hang in the air between them, more words that should have been said, more words than Vodka should ever say. Usually, it’s easy to tell what Daiwa Scarlet is thinking, but this time? Vodka can’t tell if Daiwa Scarlet is about to punch her in the face or start crying. Maybe it’s both, or maybe it's some other thing. Vodka is alone on the highway, without a single road sign and a storm on the horizon.

“Uh, Scarlet, I mean…” Vodka stammers, refusing to make eye contact.

Daiwa Scarlet doesn’t say anything, though. She just quietly unwraps her curry bun and gives it a sniff. Clearly, it’s to her liking. She takes a bite before making a face. “S-Spicy! Oh my Goddesses, this is spicy spicy! H-Here!” She tries to shove it into Vodka’s hands, but Vodka refuses.

“H-Hey, don’t try to get me to eat that! I can’t handle spicy food!”

“You just said you-” Daiwa Scarlet begins to cough, still trying to shove the curry bun into Vodka’s mouth, “You wanted the spicy one, right? Here!” She just barely succeeds in pushing a corner of it past Vodka’s lips as she tries to to speak, making her bite down on it.

Fire floods Vodka’s mouth. “Ah, ah!” she cries, tears pricking the corners of her eyes almost immediately. 

“See? How is it?” Daiwa Scarlet presses before Vodka deflects and forces more into her own mouth. “Ahhhhh!”

Between the tears, red faces, and sniffly noses, Gold Ship might think that the pair of them just had a fruitful heart-to-heart conversation. Really, though, they’re just trying to finish off the last of her limited edition curry buns.

Chapter Text

Daiwa Scarlet looks at herself in the wide mirror of one of the Tokyo Racecourse bathrooms. Her hair has seen better days, but it was presentable enough to go out after fighting with a hairbrush this morning. Today was not a day she could afford to stay in because of a bad hair day. She runs a freshly washed hand through one of her twin-tails. It’s coarse to the touch and frayed. When was the last time she had it cut? Whenever that was, it was far too long ago. It isn’t impossible to make it to a stylist with her leg like this… But she’s hesitant to have Vodka insist on coming with, and then complain about how “unnecessary” every product and tool in the salon is. It’s not like everyone can get away with using a five-in-one shampoo slash conditioner slash body wash slash face wash slash deodorizer and still have nice hair the way Vodka does.

It’s been a few weeks since Daiwa Scarlet broke her leg. She hasn’t been able to do much at all, except study, watch Vodka train, or go hang out with Vodka. Even her hair is falling apart because of that damn cast on her leg, while Vodka’s in perfect shape, even after pulling a disappearing act for over a month. She just swoops back in, and everything is back on track for her. It’s infuriating how easily it all comes to her sometimes, when Daiwa Scarlet works her ass off to get where she is, and where she happens to be is leaning against the bathroom counter to give her poor single good leg a break.

The frustration builds in her chest. How does Vodka do it? How does Vodka keep herself looking so damn cool without even trying? Daiwa Scarlet knows it’s not that she tries hard to make it look effortless, Vodka is too dumb for that. She’s too dumb for a lot of things. Daiwa Scarlet would know, she’s been attached at the hip to that idiot since the accident, and she knows Vodka would forget to eat properly if she wasn’t reminded. She’s painfully aware of just how little work Vodka puts into her looks, of how she can’t help but find her eyes lingering on Vodka’s shoulders as she comes out of the shower, the way that she stops thinking for a moment when Vodka shakes her hair dry like some kind of adorable mutt, of how—

A gaggle of giggling fillies entering the bathroom derails Daiwa Scarlet’s runaway train of thought. They approach the counter, fixing their makeup as they gossip. 

“So, who do you have your eye on?”

“I really like the look of Jolly Dance… She’s just so cute!”

“Really? You could aim a little higher, you know!”

“Like who? Kawakami Princess?”

“Yeah! She’s so pretty!”

“Neither of them are really my kind of umamusume…”

“And who are you looking out for?”

“Vodka.”

“No way! I know she’s good, but isn’t she a bit…”

“A bit of a tomboy?”

“Is that your type or something?”

“Maybe it is!”

Daiwa Scarlet finds herself white-knuckling the edge of the countertop. She needs to leave, she needs to head back out into the stands with RB and Tomoki before the race starts, she needs to not be here. 

“Do you girls think she’s like… y’know?”

“What?”

“Do you think she would go for a girl like me?”

“Pfft! In your dreams, maybe.”

“Hey!”

“She’s a world class uma! She’s up there with Dream Journey, or Daiwa Scarlet! You don’t stand a chance.”

“Do you think she and Daiwa Scarlet are—”

“I-I don’t want to think about that! Let me have my fantasies about Vodka, please?”

“Oh yeah, did you hear? I heard Daiwa Scarlet broke her leg…”

Daiwa Scarlet could clear her throat, or say something, but instead she lets the clack of her crutches against the bathroom tile announce her presence for her as she hobbles her way toward the door. The girls go quiet as they look at her first in confusion, then in horror as they lay eyes on her fuzzy blue hair ties and the red ribbon on the left side. She’s done this song and dance before, and she knows she shouldn’t say anything, especially not when she looks like the mess she does right now. But hearing another girl talk about her Vodka-fueled fantasies… Maybe she understands now why Vodka acted the way she did. 

The thought of Vodka dating around burns in Daiwa Scarlet’s chest, scorching a hole clean through her perfect facade. How could she be a number one umamusume if she can’t even be number one to her rival? Her roommate? Her closest friend? She doesn’t have any claim over Vodka, but if Vodka was going to be anybody’s it wouldn’t be this filly. 

“You should consider Vodka off-limits,” Daiwa Scarlet says, making eye contact with the most flushed girl in the group, “She’s got a lot of partner training to do, you know?” She doesn’t wait to see the look on their faces.

Nobody would believe them, so where’s the harm in a little teasing? It feels good. For a moment, the worry of Vodka abandoning her for an umamusume with both of her legs working, no matter how unfounded, is something distant.

Daiwa Scarlet makes her way down to the front of the stands, right in front of the home stretch. There, she would get to see Vodka cross the finish line in all her glory. After all, today is the day of the Victoria Mile. If Vodka can’t take first place here…

She will take first place here, she has to, Daiwa Scarlet tells herself.

“Daiwa Scarlet, there you are,” Tomoki’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts.

RB stands next to her, eyes glued to the track in front of them. “You were about to miss the race,” she says.

Tomoki clicks her tongue  "Don't mind her, she always gets like this before a race. It isn’t beginning for a bit. Look, the first racer is just heading out to the starting gate.”

Sure enough, the announcer began to call out the horses in order of their post as they left the west gate to head to the other side of the track. Shonan La Noiva, Bravo Daisy, Meine Ratsel, Bouquet Fragrance, Zarema, and then…

Vodka. She marches out without an ounce of the hesitation she would have shown months ago, waving over her shoulder at the crowd. Her leather jacket and shorts fit closely to her toned, slender frame. Daiwa Scarlet wishes she could get a closer look, that she could try to find some crack in Vodka’s shell if only so she had an excuse to stare, but from here? Nothing. Vodka just gets further and further away. When did she get so confident? She still gets nosebleeds when Daiwa Scarlet tells her anything nice, or when she shares something too private. It’s amazing she didn’t have to be hospitalized after what she said that weekend with the curry buns…

Can’t get me out of her head, huh? Daiwa Scarlet thinks. Is it really because she has to spend so much time with her now? Vodka went from avoiding her like the plague to being practically forced to wait on her hand and foot, and yet, Vodka doesn’t seem to mind it at all. Daiwa Scarlet doesn’t dare entertain the idea that all the attention is from anything other than obligation or pity, no matter how deep-rooted and disguised. All the same she longs for that pity because it's something. It’s something in a calendar with nothing to fill its dates.

The crowd around Daiwa Scarlet erupts into noise as the starting gates open. From the other side of the track it’s hard to see the racers, so all eyes turn to the big screen. Daiwa Scarlet scans through the pack to find Vodka, like picking a friend out of a crowd. She’s looking for her hair, her shirt, the cuff of her boots, her stupid rat tail, anything.

RB and Tomoki mutter to themselves, likely just as anxious to see Vodka’s running. Everyone around them is cheering, but the world between the three of them is still as death.

Daiwa Scarlet can see her in the pack, but only just barely. That late-surge strategy has always stressed Daiwa Scarlet out like nothing else. How does Vodka do it? How does she handle all the pressure of not only overtaking the lead umamusume, but breaking free from behind the pack? Her nails dig into the grips of her crutches. She feels like can’t take her eyes off what she sees of Vodka for even a second, like she’s the only thing keeping the cylinders firing in Daiwa Scarlet’s heart, and she fears she’ll lose her if she looks away.

Then comes the Zelkova tree. The front-runner disappears behind it, swallowed up by the leaves and followed by the rest of the pack. Anything could happen in those nerve-wracking seconds that they would spend behind the tree.

Out burst the runners, with Vodka weaving through the pack to overtake the front runner. She’s not unnoticed by the crowd, though. A roar builds in the crowd with every nose, neck, head, and length she takes. She goes from sixth, to fifth, to fourth, to third, and then to second without a problem. Even as every other umamusume starts their final sprint as if in retaliation, Vodka is only a few strides away from snatching victory away as if it were nothing.

“What?” Tomoki is stunned, “How did she get so fast?” 

Daiwa Scarlet isn’t listening, she just watches with her mouth open. Vodka doesn’t falter. She doesn’t slow her pace or run out of breath. She just runs like an umamusume is born to do, like Daiwa wishes she could right now. It makes her wish she could just shed her cast and run with her.

“It’s because she’s motivated,” RB answers.

“By what? What race is she aiming for?”

RB smirks. “Well… You said it would be about five or six months before Daiwa Scarlet recovered, no?”

Daiwa Scarlet hears her. Her ears perk up slightly at the mention of her name, but her attention doesn’t waver from Vodka for a second. She moves into first place and makes it look annoyingly easy.

“You don’t mean the autumn Tenno Sho, do you?” Tomoki asks, incredulous.

“I do. Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“Very well, then,” Tomoki’s shock turns into a sly smirk at RB’s plan.

The announcer proudly rambles as the race seems to end as quickly as it began. One moment, it was anybody’s race, and the very next, it's over, and Vodka is the winner of this year’s Victoria Mile. RB is ecstatic. Tomoki looks pleased. Daiwa Scarlet can’t help but feel some twisted sense of relief seeing Vodka secure such an uncontested victory. And yet, as the runners slow to a stop and look to the placing board as if the outcome would be any different, Daiwa Scarlet sees that Vodka is expressionless.

Vodka takes her sweatshirt off and tosses it onto her bed without a care. Daiwa Scarlet crutches into the dorm room behind her, sighing at the sight of her shoulders bared in a tank-top. She shamelessly stares as she complains.

“You could at least wait until the door is closed, you know?”

Vodka grumbles, and then collapses on top of her sweatshirt.

“Hey, at least shower before you get into bed! I already have to deal with you leaving your dirty laundry everywhere as is, and you’re going to start getting your bed filthy too?”

“Geez, alright, alright, princess!” Vodka whines. She drags herself back to her feet and begins to collect her things for a shower, which are admittedly, not as many as Daiwa Scarlet thinks she should have. 

“And remember to not track water all over the floor!” Daiwa Scarlet continues, watching as Vodka makes her way into the Dorm’s bathroom. After the door clicks shut, Daiwa Scarlet breathes a sigh of relief. She makes her way to her dresser and pulls her own sundries out before sitting on the corner of her bed. The thought of having to take a shower too weighs down on her. Even that is made more difficult with a broken leg. The fall of water from the showerhead hisses through the wall, weirdly soothing for the moment. Daiwa Scarlet lies back against her bed. As long as nobody knows, she’s not a hypocrite for it. There’s something wrong with Vodka again, and Daiwa Scarlet still doesn’t know what it is… But at least Vodka is still here. Maybe her broken leg is a blessing in disguise for that alone.

The door to their shared bathroom opens, and out comes Vodka, wrapped in a towel, hair still wet with beads of water that drip and race down her shoulders. Daiwa Scarlet angles her head up. “Shower’s all yours,” Vodka says.

Daiwa Scarlet doesn’t move, still watching Vodka. Then Vodka turns around.

“Hello? Earth to Scarlet?”

“Huh?”

“Shower. Yours. Understand?”

Daiwa Scarlet’s face turns a shade deeper when she realizes she’s been caught. “O-Oh! Uh, right! Thanks,” she says. She makes her way as Vodka takes a turn to roll her eyes.

When the door closes, Vodka breathes a sigh of exasperation, and begins to change. “She’s so weird sometimes…” she mutters.

As Daiwa Scarlet showers, letting the warm water wash over her and wash away both the filth of her day and all the things jumbling her thoughts, she stares at the bathroom ceiling. There isn’t much to her showers as of right now. No time for proper introspection, no time to really bask in the steam. It was putting on a bag for her cast, limping into the shower, cleaning herself off, giving herself just enough relaxation to keep from going mad, and then hauling herself back out to start the awkward process of drying herself off. At least this much she can do for herself right now, even if it’s inconvenient. Vodka is outside, making the whole process look so easy, while Daiwa Scarlet struggles. Vodka made winning the derby look so easy, while Daiwa Scarlet missed her chance at becoming a Triple Tiara umamusume. Vodka made the Victoria Mile look so easy, while Daiwa Scarlet went and shattered her opportunity to become a Senior Spring Triple Crown umamusume. Vodka had no problem reaching her goals, and Daiwa Scarlet is forced to watch from the sidelines. The indignity burns in her chest. She would wipe that stupid, smug, expressionless, handsome look off of Vodka’s face if it was that last thing she did. She would force Vodka to acknowledge that Daiwa Scarlet is truly number one. Until then, she has to make sure Vodka stays in top condition.

Daiwa Scarlet leaves the bathroom to find Vodka, wearing a pair of comically uncool flame-patterned pajamas, sprawled out on her bed on her phone.

“Oh, hey, you’re done,” Vodka says.

“Yeah…” Daiwa Scarlet says. She turns off the dorm’s lights before making her way to her bed under lamplight and sliding underneath her covers for the night. The day puts its weight down on Daiwa Scarlet’s mind, but when the wave of relief of her bedding washes over her, it’s lifted for just long enough for the day's exhaustion to offer a reprieve. “Hey, Vodka,” she says.

“What’s up?” Vodka asks.

“You’d tell me if something was really wrong, right? Like last time?”

Vodka is silent for a little bit too long before she answers. The seconds drag on painfully for Daiwa Scarlet. “Yeah, I would. Why?”

“It’s just… You seemed off, today. You didn’t seem very happy to win your race,” Daiwa Scarlet says.

“Oh, that…”

Vodka doesn’t say anything, but there’s a shift in her breathing that Daiwa Scarlet knows means she’s thinking of what to say next. Daiwa Scarlet’s phone buzzes on her nightstand. As she reaches for it, Vodka finally speaks up.

“I… I don’t really know if you would understand.”

“Ah… That’s okay, I think,” Daiwa Scarlet says.

“Really?”

No. “Yeah. Only so long as it doesn’t affect your racing.”

“Why do you care about that?”

“Because…” Because I can’t stand the thought of watching you languish like that again. Because I need to race you at your best. Because I can’t get this feeling out of my chest and it hurts so badly. “Because I want to make sure I’m not a distraction during your training! It’s not right to sabotage you like that.”

“Pfft, as if you could keep me from being so damn cool!”

As if anything could keep Vodka from being so damn cool.

The conversation ends just like that. Daiwa Scarlet unlocks her phone, and opens a message from her trainer. The message contains a hyperlink from a racing news website, and a note. The note from her trainer reads “Here, this might motivate you to get better soon.” Nothing from the page itself is embedded, and Scarlet clicks through to be bombarded with an article from an interview with Vodka after her race. Daiwa Scarlet remembers that there was practically no room near the winners circle to get close to Vodka. It took even RB a moment to get Vodka away from the reporters. Inside the article is just one question that sticks out to Daiwa Scarlet.

Did you do any kind of special training to get such a huge lead in this race specifically? The interviewer asked.

Oh, that? Nah, not for this race. Vodka replied.

Then surely you must’ve been worried about the competition?

Not really.

Eh? Not at all?

Daiwa Scarlet’s eyes scan over the next line of text, Vodka’s reply, before double-taking to make sure she read it correctly.

The only umamusume that I worry about racing against… Is Daiwa Scarlet. I just can’t get hyped up if she’s not there.

Daiwa Scarlet locks her phone. Then, she opens it back up, and takes a screenshot of the article, cropping it to that single snippet Vodka said about her. As long as she buries it in her phone, and nobody ever sees it, then nobody has to know that it’s exactly what she needs to hear. Maybe she would understand how Vodka feels after all.

Chapter Text

Vodka glances up at the clock as her teacher prattles on about mathematics. The teacher insists that what he’s teaching will help them to run better, and sure, some of the other umamusume are paying rapt attention to his words, but Vodka doesn’t care nearly as much. Of course, RB is also adamant that Vodka keep up on her studies, and as such, she keeps her grades up high enough to not draw her trainer’s ire. But with every tick of the second hand on the clock, every thump of her heartbeat as she loses focus, urges her to get up and run. The Yasuda Kinen would be next week, and the lead-up to it has been agonizing as the high from her victory at the Victory Mile quickly faded. Vodka tries not to think about how quickly this one will come and go too. At least she can run away from her thoughts as soon as this class is over. After that, she’d be moving on to Tracen’s racecourse for her day’s training. At least Daiwa Scarlet would be there to watch her run, even if she couldn’t be running by her side just yet.

Daiwa Scarlet… Vodka’s grip around her pencil. Why does Daiwa Scarlet have to be such a brilliant star in the night sky, shining just out of reach? Why couldn’t it have been any other umamusume? If it was someone like Dream Journey or Aston Machan, Vodka could at least see them only as another competitor to overtake or a friend to urge her forward. No, it has to be Daiwa Scarlet when Vodka thinks about it like that. Who else could light such a fire under her? Who else could get so deep under her skin that it forced Vodka to run better just to prove her wrong? 

It’s a twisted joke that Daiwa Scarlet can’t run alongside Vodka, one that nobody seems to be laughing at. 

Finally, the second hand turns the minute hand, which in turn nudges the hour hand, and the bell tolls for the class’s time. Vodka wastes next to no time gathering her things and heading out toward the racecourse.

“Yo,” Vodka says, jogging up to RB at the edge of the track after changing into her tracksuit. Both her trainer and Daiwa Scarlet are already there. “You two are early,” she notes. RB is her trainer, so it makes sense, but in Daiwa Scarlet’s case…

“What’s your excuse?” Vodka asks with a smirk, “Having a good hair day?” She mentally kicks herself. That was a weak insult by anybody’s standard. Why not just ask if she knows how pretty she is? Vodka thinks.

“For your information,” Daiwa Scarlet is unruffled by a borderline compliment, naturally, “We were going over your results at the Victoria Mile.”

“Yeah? What about it? I won, didn’t I?” Vodka plants her hands on her hips.

“Y-Yes, but,” Daiwa Scarlet stammers.

“We’ll be working on the finer points of your form. Physically, you’re in amazing shape, especially after skipping so much training,” RB says without looking up from her clipboard, “We could keep working on your stamina, power, and speed, of course, but we should be getting some technique training in as well, maybe even making sure you have the guts to really dig deep.”

“Somethin’ wrong with my form?”

RB sighs, “You’re not going to like this, but it’s good.”

“Why is that a bad thing?” Vodka asks.

“It means,” Daiwa Scarlet pipes up. Is she also Vodka’s trainer now? Not that Vodka necessarily hates the idea of Daiwa Scarlet barking orders at her, mind you, but that’s unrelated. “That the only way to improve your form is to break habits that are keeping you from improving, and to form new ones in their place.”

Vodka raises an eyebrow.

“For example,” Daiwa Scarlet continues, “when you’re about to enter your last spurt, you straighten up your back before leaning forward.”

“I do that?”

RB clears her throat. “Yes, and it can cost you centimeters due to the slight shift in drag coefficient.”

Vodka really should’ve paid more attention in class. “How? Isn’t drag racing, like, really cool?”

RB stares at her, while Daiwa Scarlet is torn between utter despair and hysterics, resulting in a borderline psychotic, mocking laugh.

“Drag coefficient, as in aerodynamics,” RB explains. “Let me put it this way. Motorcycles, right? The fastest ones have a sort of sloped front.”

Vodka nods along.

“This lets them literally cut through the air, fighting against it less. When you straighten up like that, you’re choosing to put a big parachute on your ride instead. It drags you behind, and eats into your gas tank.”

“I see…”

“Hold up, you actually get it?” Daiwa Scarlet asks, incredulous.

“Well, when RB puts it in those terms, it’s easier to understand. If I’m a little slower, for even a second, that means I lose ground, right?” Vodka asks, “And in a race, I have to take every single inch I can get.”

“Exactly. Of course, this is just one habit that we’ll need to break.”

“Just one? How many are there?”

“Well,” Daiwa Scarlet starts.

“Don’t you start,” Vodka shoots her a look, “You’re going to start talking about how I do my laundry or something, aren’t you?”

“It’s not my fault that you don’t separate your whites and your colors?”

“You think I have time for that, little miss princess? One load is fine, they just have to get clean.”

“This is why your nice clothes always end up feeling not-so-nice.”

“See? I knew you were going to go on about some umacrap like this!”

“Me? You’re the one that brought up laundry, you zoo-escapee!”

RB claps her hands together, “Girls! That’s enough out of you two. Vodka, you get started on your warm-ups, we’ve got a lot to work on today.”

Vodka glares at Daiwa Scarlet for a few moments before ultimately deciding to listen to her trainer. She takes a few steps back to begin her stretches. Toe-touches, arm stretches, lunges, neck stretches, and more, all part of a rotely memorized warm-up routine. The slight burn of her muscles properly waking up jolts her out of neutral gear.

“What did Tomoki say about your leg?” RB asks Daiwa Scarlet as Vodka continues her warm-ups.

“Well, I had a checkup last week,” Daiwa Scarlet replies, “The cast should come off soon. If I’m lucky, then I’ll be able to get some training in before summer camp. If not…”

“Then the autumn Tenno Sho…” RB says. Vodka’s ears perk up. If Daiwa Scarlet wouldn’t be able to run in the Tenno Sho this fall, then Vodka would be running alone.

“It’s non-negotiable,” Daiwa Scarlet says, “I’m running in it.”

RB gives her a worried look. “Even if you’re not ready?”

“I’m going to be ready,” Daiwa Scarlet retorts.

That’s just like her, to make things go her way no matter what, Vodka thinks. It looks like RB was right about entering me in the autumn Tenno Sho after all. And here Vodka was, even the slightest bit worried about whether or not Daiwa Scarlet would be racing. Just the thought of one more race with her gets Vodka’s chest beating faster; it’s what’s been keeping her running just when she thinks she can’t anymore. Hell, it’s probably why she won the Victoria mile. Even in a race without Daiwa Scarlet, the race is about Daiwa Scarlet. The meeting with RB is still fresh in Vodka’s mind, when she got the good news.

It was right before the Victoria Mile when Vodka’s trainer asked her specifically to visit her trainer’s club room. In a different year, the makeshift closet-turned-office that’s part of an annex near the training course might have been the club room for a few different trainees, all under RB’s supervision. But right now, RB only has one trainee, and that’s Vodka. It’s a little overwhelming sometimes, how much attention she gets compared to some other umamusume, but it’s really helped her grow as a racer. 

Vodka slides the door open to find RB staring at her laptop’s monitor. Aside from the screenlight reflecting off her glasses, the room is lit by an errant ray of sunset through the side window, at least what meager light gets through the blinds. Even in the dim light, Vodka can see how much of a mess RB’s desk is. Papers and folders like in a few loose piles, capped off at the end with a hasty stack of books, not to mention what the drawers of her desk look like. Vodka snickers at the kind of conniptions Daiwa Scarlet would have if she had to train under RB.

“Working like this is bad for your eyes, you know,” Vodka says, turning on the light switch.

RB winces, but shakes her head clear. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t notice it was starting to get dark.”

Vodka enters properly, closing the door behind her. “You wanted to see me for something?” she asks.

“Yes, I did,” RB says. She doesn’t clarify just yet, just tapping away on her laptop furiously until she reaches a proper stopping point in her work. “You don’t have too many goals left that you want to accomplish, do you?”

Vodka looks down at her feet. It’s true. With Daiwa Scarlet out of picture for the time being… It’s hard to imagine any race that could really get Vodka’s blood pumping like the Queen Elizabeth II Cup did. The Japanese Derby was already hers, and while she had gone abroad for fame overseas, her results weren’t amazing. “A Warrior’s Pilgrimage”, she had called it. There was something missing, and that something happened to be named Daiwa Scarlet.

“I don’t. It’s just the Victoria Mile in a few days, and the Yasuda Kinen after that, I think.”

“Hmm…” RB puts her thumb and finger to her chin, thinking. An obvious thought is crossing both of their minds right now. Their time together as a trainer and trainee would be coming to an end sooner rather than later. Not this month. Probably not this year. But soon. And still, Vodka isn’t quite satisfied.

“How about one more?” RB offers.

“One more?” Vodka asks, “One more what?”

“One more race on your schedule. I know you want to move onto greener pastures soon, but… Something is eating at you, isn’t it?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You still seem like you’re about to stop showing up for practice altogether, you know?” RB says.

Vodka doesn’t look up from her feet. Her ears flatten against her head in embarrassment. It’s true, her motivation has tanked since Daiwa Scarlet broke her leg. She wants to run, to go out there and show everybody just how cool she really is. But she can only be at her coolest when she’s racing against Daiwa Scarlet. Nobody else feels quite the same to run against. That bitter determination and unrestrained speed, blazing forward in spite of anyone who dares to say they could outrun her… It makes Vodka want to chase her down like nothing else.

“The autumn Tenno Sho,” RB says after Vodka is too quiet for too long.

“Huh?”

“The autumn Tenno Sho. I’ll register you for it. I don’t know if I have to pay a late fee yet, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it…”

“Why?” Vodka asks.

“You’ll be up against strong opponents,” RB says, “And besides… Daiwa Scarlet is likely to be there.”

Vodka glances up. RB locks eyes with her, an implicit understanding between them. Then, a seedling of doubt. “What makes you think Scarlet is going to be there?”

RB starts to flip through the files on her desk, rearranging them into a pile of relevant spreadsheets and forms and schedules. “Well, Daiwa Scarlet didn’t retire. I mean, we were both there that day at the hospital, she’s raring to get back into shape as soon as possible. Tomoki also wanted me to let her sit in on our training, both for your sake and for hers, which leads me to believe that she also wants Daiwa Scarlet to bounce back fast. When I cross reference the severity of her injury and the doctor’s estimated time for recovery with some other trainers’ personal experience with injured trainees, the times line up in such a way that the soonest possible race Tomoki could enter Daiwa Scarlet in is the autumn Tenno Sho. It’s not a guarantee, of course, but it’s the soonest I could potentially get you another race against her” RB says, taking a deep breath after her runaway rambling is finished.

“The autumn Tenno Sho,” Vodka repeats to herself quietly. Daiwa Scarlet should be there. Her engine’s RPM spikes, and for a second, she can see that stupid blue cape flapping behind Daiwa Scarlet, just within reach. All Vodka has to do is reach out and take it herself. “It sounds good, RB. Go ahead and put me down for it,” she says with a smirk, “I’ll take that trophy home for you too, while I’m at it.”

Vodka wraps up her training with another set of stretches as the sun sets golden on the training course, her towel thrown over the back of her neck to keep it nearby. Right now, she sits on the ground, legs stretched out in front of her as she reaches out towards her feet. Her muscles scream at her, her lungs burn, and her blood pounds in her ears. A drop of sweat falls from her chin, landing on the grass below, just one of many others like it. She feels like dropping dead on the spot. Having to stop and start her running, constantly checking her posture, the way she swings her arms, her center of balance… It’s taken its toll on her for the day. If every flaw in her form was like deploying a sail on a bike, fixing those flaws is the same as trying to reel that sail back in while going full throttle down the highway.

“Good progress today,” RB says. “We still have a lot to improve, but I’m glad to see you’re taking this seriously.”

Vodka looks up at her. She doesn’t say anything in reply, too busy trying to get her breathing back under control. From the other side of her, Daiwa Scarlet approaches to offer a water bottle. The water practically glows in the sunlight, but Vodka’s attention is on Daiwa Scarlet herself, those eyes turning bright carnelian. For a moment, Vodka forgets the fatigue that seeps into her very bones.

“Yeah, you did well today. Of course, I won’t accept anything less than your very best in the Tenno Sho, understand?” Daiwa Scarlet says.

Vodka takes the water bottle with a smirk. “Don’t get cocky just because you have an excuse to be taking it easy,” she shoots back, “When that cast comes off, you’d better be working your ass off to catch up.”

Daiwa Scarlet scoffs, her annoying, coy grin turning to an annoyed pout in a moment. “I wouldn’t dream of losing to you. I’d just feel bad if you didn’t make it a contest, is all.”

Vodka takes a piggish drink from her bottle to try and slake her thirst. It’s cold. Where did Daiwa Scarlet get this? There’s no way she’s just had a cold water bottle on her for the hours they’ve been out here. Did she go and grab a cold bottle just for Vodka? Not that it matters, really, Vodka is too thirsty to care that much about it.

“Jeez, you’re gonna choke one day,” Daiwa Scarlet teases.

Vodka clambers to her feet, wobbling for a bit before finding her balance. She flashes Daiwa Scarlet a cheeky grin before turning to RB. RB scribbles down a few more things on her clipboard before finally turning to talk to Vodka properly.

“That about wraps up everything I wanted to cover today, and we’re a little bit ahead of the curve… But not so far ahead that we can get complacent, understand?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Vodka says, “We’re still on for training tomorrow too?”

RB nods.

“More of the same?”

RB nods.

Vodka throws her head back in an exhausted groan.

“Too much for you?” Daiwa Scarlet asks.

“As if!” Vodka says, “I’m just worried I’m cutting into your beauty sleep, princess.”

“Worried about my looks again?”

“I just know how bad you need it. Not everybody can look as good as I do all the time.”

Daiwa Scarlet’s face turns red. Another minor victory for Vodka. Turns out, a good run is just the thing she needed to get back into her groove. That’s how it’s always been, really. When she’s not running, it’s easy to overthink, to get in her own head. When she is running, though, that’s when everything that doesn’t matter fades away. There’s no worrying over what Daiwa Scarlet really thinks of her, no worrying about what comes after the autumn Tenno Sho, and no worrying about whether or not she’s good enough. It’s just her, the turf, and soon, Daiwa Scarlet.

RB sighs, “Are you two done? I’d like my trainee to get a nice dinner and a proper night’s rest.”

“What’s the problem?” Daiwa Scarlet and Vodka both say at the same time. They glare at each other for copying their lines.

“Fine, fine, I’ll get out of your hair,” Vodka says, finally.

“Oh, what’s the cafeteria serving tonight?” Daiwa Scarlet asks.

“I dunno,” Vodka says, “Shoot me a text when you find out?”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’ve gotta hit the showers,” Vodka points out, “Unless you want to eat dinner with me like this?”

“Hmph… Well, I’ll wait up on you, then.”

“What, do you need me to feed you or something? I know your leg is broken, but that seems a bit much.”

“No, you idiot! Ugh… Just forget it,” Daiwa Scarlet says before crutching away. Vodka notices that she’s down to one, now. Her cast really should be coming off soon, and after that, she’ll pick her training back up as well.

“W-Wait!” Vodka catches up to her. It’s not hard, Daiwa Scarlet doesn’t manage to put that much distance between them, “I, uh…”

“Yes?” Daiwa Scarlet looks at her, annoyed.

“You kept an eye on me while I was training today, right?”

Daiwa Scarlet raises an eyebrow at her, “What are you getting at?”

“Well… Could we go over my running today?”

“Right now?”

“Over dinner, I mean. If you still want to wait up on me, I mean.”

Daiwa Scarlet looks away. The shadow cast on her face hides a creeping blush. “Fine, but don’t expect me to coddle you or anything, okay?”

“You’d do that for me to help me beat you?” Vodka teases.

“Yeah, because I know I’ll be the one that comes out on top at the Tenno Sho!” Daiwa Scarlet puts her hand on her chest, elbow stuck out in a proud manner that Vodka is used to, but the sidelong glance Daiwa Scarlet gives her hints at something else, “Again, don’t even think about wimping out, okay?”

Vodka punches her own open palm. “You couldn’t get me to bow out of this race if you tried.”