The recording of the Takarazuka Memorial played over and over on the screen, but Contrail seemed lost in thought. Her attention wasn't on the video, and she didn't know how long she'd been staring blankly until her alarm rang, snapping her back to reality.
"Sigh..." Contrail silenced the alarm and held it in her hands, staring at it motionlessly.
Ever since her loss to Almond Eye in the Osaka Cup, something had felt off. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Her physical exams were fine, and her training was going well. Contrail couldn't figure out what was wrong with her.
Her performance in the highly anticipated Osaka Cup had been exceptionally poor. Afterward, she received a scathing letter from the Committee. She knew her performance had been subpar, so she could only endure their criticism in silence.
Contrail glanced at the recording again. The Takarazuka Memorial, a gift from the Veteran Horse Front, had become a fig leaf to cover the shame of her Osaka Cup defeat.
The Rookie Class was just around the corner, and Contrail worried whether she could deliver a performance that surpassed Palmer and Dai Yusaku.
The thought startled her. When did I start worrying about things like this?
"This is ridiculous! I'm the Undefeated Triple Crown Winner! Why am I even worrying about this?"
Agitated, Contrail carelessly raised her hand and knocked over a water glass, which shattered on the floor with a sharp crash. Staring at the broken pieces, a nameless rage welled up inside her.
Just as she was about to lash out, the lounge door suddenly opened. T entered and immediately saw the shards on the floor. He glanced at Contrail. "Knocked over your glass? How careless."
T's presence calmed Contrail down. She nodded. "I'm sorry, Mr. T."
T pursed his lips but said nothing more. He had explained to Contrail before that he was now her dedicated trainer, but she stubbornly insisted on calling him "Mr. T," believing that he would always belong to Kousei.
As T cleaned up the mess, he discreetly observed Contrail. Although he had claimed in the meeting that she was in good condition, he could sense that something was off.
Her journey so far had been remarkably smooth. As the saying goes, "Failure is the fruit of evolution." Every superstar currently dominating the Umamusume world had experienced defeat.
This was true for the legendary Hall of Fame-Class Umamusume who had left their glorious marks at Central, as well as the current strongest active racer, Mejiro McQueen.
For them, failure wasn't an obstacle but a catalyst, driving them forward with even greater resolve. Without overcoming failure, true greatness could never be achieved.
The principle was simple, but how many could truly live by it?
The underlying issue T had overlooked—Contrail's fragile mental state—now surged forth like a bursting dam. It was a hidden landmine, its fuse now lit, ready to detonate at any moment.
"Watching the last Takarazuka Memorial?" T asked casually, noticing the recording.
"Everyone's been talking about it lately, so I thought I should watch it too." Contrail's reply seemed perfectly normal.
But T, who spent the most time with her, knew she only ever watched Kousei's race recordings. She never studied other races.
Contrail's brow was furrowed, and she was unconsciously biting her nails. She was clearly agitated.
"By the way, Contrail," T said, "Kousei is apparently heading back to the Shopping District tomorrow. It's a rare chance. Want to go with her?"
"Really?" Contrail's eyes lit up, only to dim again immediately. "But what about training? The Committee is watching us so closely. If they find out I'm with Kousei-senpai..."
T cut her off. "Don't worry. Just go. I'll handle the rest."
With T's assurance, Contrail's face instantly lit up.
"Awesome! I have to go get ready right away!" Contrail beamed like a child. "I'm off, Mr. T!"
Slam! The door shut heavily. T sighed helplessly, shaking his head as he started to tidy up. Soon after, an opened letter on the desk caught his eye.
He picked it up, glanced at it, then scoffed and tossed it into the trash.
-
The next day.
Kousei was preparing to leave early in the morning. The moment she opened her gate, she found an eager Contrail already crouching outside. As soon as Contrail saw her, she leaped forward, catching Kousei off guard. But then Kousei realized—her old man must have arranged this.
Well, she must be feeling down after losing the Osaka Cup, Kousei thought. Everyone else is busy anyway, so it's nice to have someone come back with me.
As Kousei was lost in thought, Contrail interrupted her. "Kousei-senpai! Shouldn't we be leaving now?"
Seeing her excitement, Kousei asked curiously, "Why are you so worked up?"
"Of course I am! I'm about to see the place where Kousei-senpai grew up! And I might even meet your mother—she must be an amazing woman, a legendary racer!" Contrail became lost in her own world, completely absorbed.
Kousei smiled wryly, thinking to herself, I have the best record in this branch, after all.
Still, since Contrail was so enthusiastic, how could she spoil her fun? Besides, it was a good way to distract her.
"The station isn't far from here," Kousei said. "Contrail, how about a race? Let's see who gets there first."
Contrail panicked at the suggestion. "Race against you, Senpai? No way!"
"That's why it's called a race—because you don't know who will win."
"But..."
"Don't tell me you're scared?"
"Uh..."
Caught between Kousei's soft and hard tactics, Contrail hesitated.
"Alright, fine!" Having made up her mind, Contrail's demeanor shifted, and she playfully challenged Kousei. "But if you lose, Senpai, don't blame me for not holding back!"
"Such an arrogant junior," Kousei replied, not at all annoyed. She pointed to a flock of birds flying in the distance. "We start when the birds cross that oak tree."
"Deal!"
Though Contrail had been reluctant at first, the prospect of actually racing Kousei filled her with excitement. The feeling was just like the eve of the Osaka Cup. After all, who at Central ever got the chance to race Kousei so casually?
Hmph-hmph~
The morning air was crisp and fresh. The old man hummed a little tune, savoring the rare tranquility. Paired with a steaming cup of hot tea, retirement life was truly blissful.
"It's only in old age that you finally learn how to enjoy life," he mused.
He reached for his teacup, watching the sun slowly rise. He felt a dozen years younger.
"Such a beautiful scene, such a perfect moment... it makes one want to compose a poem. Ah—my..."
Suddenly, something flashed past. The old man thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He looked left, then right, but saw no one.
"Huh? Did something just flash by?" Unconvinced, he looked down and saw a flurry of fresh footprints on the ground.
"Oh no, am I seeing ghosts this early in the morning?" The old man shivered. "I'm already in my eighties. Could my time be up? Was that a soul-reaping imp?"
He tried to stay calm, but his hand trembled as he lifted his teacup. "Bah, it's just superstition. Who believes in that stuff anymore? Stop scaring yourself. Just eat and drink as you please."
As if to convince himself, the old man's voice grew firmer. After a sip of hot tea warmed his stomach, he smiled blissfully. The moment he opened his eyes...
A black, unidentified mass drifted in the distant rice paddies. The old man squinted, and it looked just like a ghost. He shouldn't have looked—the moment he did, their eyes met.
The twisted spirit's blood-red eyes stared straight at him.
"AHHH!!!"
The old man was terrified. He bolted, not even daring to grab his favorite wooden fan. After a piercing scream echoed through the air, the rice paddies fell silent once more.
"This morning's coffee is delicious," Manhattan Cafe remarked casually.
-
A few days later, the "Rice Paddy Ghost Story" became the hottest topic of morning conversation.