"..."
Easy Goer walked alone through the entrance tunnel at Churchill Downs.
Behind her came the cheers of the American crowd for Sunday Silence.
That blazing ovation should have belonged to her.
But now someone else was basking in it...
She had no objection to that.
The strength Sunday Silence had shown today truly was greater than her own.
If Sunday Silence was stronger than she was, then she deserved that reward...
But Easy Goer just could not accept it.
If only she had been a little stronger... then she would not have lost in front of that person!
Five lengths!
A full five lengths!
To be beaten by that kind of margin at Churchill Downs was more than enough to show everyone in the circuit that Easy Goer and Sunday Silence simply were not Umamusume of the same caliber.
Then again, it made sense.
Easy Goer had put thirteen lengths on her opponents in the G2 Gotham Stakes, while Sunday Silence had put thirteen lengths on hers in the G1 Santa Anita Derby.
The margin was the same, thirteen lengths—but the weight behind those thirteen lengths was completely different.
No wonder Easy Goer had lost.
You could already see the signs just from the numbers on paper.
"...Hhk..."
The blue-green-haired Umamusume's vision blurred. Her mouth trembled downward as warm liquid slid down her cheek.
Crystal tears soaked into the front of her outfit.
Only here, in this empty entrance tunnel, could this proud Umamusume finally let a little of what she was feeling spill out.
As third-generation Big Red, she could not show such a pathetic side of herself out on the track.
But...
Here in this deserted corner, far from everyone's eyes, just this once, she could allow herself to let out some of the frustration and sorrow in her heart.
"I... I lost..."
"Ugh... ngh...!"
"I'm so frustrated... ah..."
The girl pressed her forehead against the wall at the side of the tunnel, one hand clenched into a fist as she knocked it against the surface. All that came from her throat were trembling sobs.
The air in the tunnel seemed to freeze around those stifled cries. Easy Goer's forehead rested against the cold wall, her knuckles white from clenching too hard. Just as she thought this tiny corner of the world could bury her humiliation forever—
A set of footsteps stopped not far behind her. Very light, and yet unmistakably familiar.
Easy Goer's whole body went rigid, and her crying cut off at once. She could practically feel the weight of that gaze falling heavily on her trembling back.
"...Easy."
It was Secretariat's voice.
Easy Goer spun around at once, her back pressed to the wall as she hurriedly tried to wipe the tears from her face. But her reddened eyes and the damp front of her outfit had already given everything away.
She turned her face aside, her voice thick with tears and resistance.
"...Sis? Y-you... what are you doing here...? I-I'm fine, I just..."
She could not finish the sentence.
Because she saw it.
Standing in the dim light, Secretariat's always-calm, steadfast amber eyes were strangely misted over, and the corners of them were tinged red as well.
She looked as though she had rushed over in a hurry, her breathing not yet steady. Her usual perfectly straight posture looked faintly unsteady now, and she was even... leaning slightly against the wall.
Were her sister's... legs weak?
Secretariat's legs had gone weak because Easy Goer had lost?
That realization pierced straight through the shame and frustration churning inside Easy Goer like a fine needle.
"Sis... why are you crying...?"
Secretariat?
Crying?
How was that possible?
This was Secretariat, America's strongest Umamusume!
For as long as Easy Goer could remember, she had never once seen her sister cry...
The shock was so great that she forgot to hide her own sorry state and just stared blankly at the dampness at the corners of Secretariat's eyes.
"Hm?"
At Easy Goer's question, Secretariat stiffened slightly.
This is bad!
She had been in such a hurry to come see her little sister that she had shown up like this, in such a disgraceful state!
There was no way she could tell her little sister that those tears had been massaged out of her by someone, right?
If she did, her whole image as a dignified older sister would be ruined forever!
And while Secretariat was still trying to think of how to answer, Easy Goer, her own eyes still wet, asked softly,
"...Sis... are you crying because of me?"
Easy Goer did not quite dare believe it.
And yet in her eyes, there was only one possible explanation for her sister's tears.
She was crying... for me.
Left with no words, Secretariat could only nod.
The moment she saw Secretariat nod, Easy Goer felt even worse. Her nose stung.
The truth was, her feelings toward Secretariat had always been complicated.
The reason Easy Goer had kept her distance from Secretariat in the first place was because no matter what she did, everyone else treated it as only natural.
Of course you can do that—you have such an amazing sister.
She hated that way of thinking.
That was why she had stepped onto the Kentucky Derby track in the first place: to prove her own worth through racing.
That was why she had dyed her hair a different color—to show, right there on the track, the difference between herself and her sister.
But in truth, as Secretariat's younger sister, she had always been proud to be Secretariat's sister.
And now, not only had she failed to prove herself, she had even brought shame to Secretariat...
Her sister's tears were the clearest proof of all.
"...I'm sorry..."
"I disappointed you, Sis... I couldn't beat her..."
The girl lowered her head in guilt.
The low, dark emotion inside her turned into a whirlpool that dragged her down even further.
"And now I'm here crying like this even after losing... I'm pathetic."
Seeing her sister's head bowed so low, burdened by guilt heavy enough to crush her, the small embarrassment Secretariat had felt over the misunderstanding was quickly overtaken by something heavier—heartache.
She's driving herself into a dead end.
Looks like I really need to talk her out of this.
She drew a breath, suppressing the lingering dampness at the corners of her eyes and the discomfort that came with it, then stepped forward.
She did not try to explain the tears anymore. Her hand brushed Easy Goer's cheek, then settled on her shoulder and patted it once—not lightly, not heavily.
"Lift your head, Easy."
Secretariat's voice returned to its usual steadiness, but with a force that allowed no refusal.
"If you lost, then you lost."
Easy Goer's shoulders trembled slightly.
"But losing one race doesn't mean losing everything."
Secretariat's hand rested firmly on her sister's shoulder, as though trying to pass some of her own strength into her.
"What matters is not what you did wrong in that race just now. A post-race review can wait until later, when you've calmed down."
She bent slightly so that her eyes met Easy Goer's lowered ones, looking directly into those tear-filled eyes still full of unwillingness.
"What matters is this: after losing this race, what can you do next? What do you want to do next?"
Tears still clung to Easy Goer's lashes, but her gaze trembled at those words.
"The finish line of the Kentucky Derby is already behind you," Secretariat said, her tone certain, sharpened by a clear sense of what lay ahead.
"But this year's season is still a long one."
"There are still two Triple Crown races left unresolved."
"And the Breeders' Cup trophy is still waiting for someone to claim it..."
"There has never been only one road to the top, and there will never be only one chance to challenge an opponent."
"Sunday Silence is ahead of you right now."
Secretariat lowered her voice, and in doing so made it weigh even more.
"Then look clearly at the distance between you and her. Remember how unwilling you feel today, and then—"
"Figure out how to take that gap back, with interest, the next time you meet her."
From the far end of the tunnel came the faint, distant noise of the audience, a tribute to the winner of the moment.
But here, in this dim corner, Secretariat's words were like a small flame, trying to rekindle the light that had dimmed in Easy Goer's eyes.
"No more crying. No more blaming yourself."
With that, Secretariat pressed her sister's shoulder one last time, then straightened, looking at her with a gaze as calm as stone and filled with absolute trust.
"Instead of sinking into how embarrassing this feels, think about what kind of running style you'll use the next time you line up beside her."
Easy Goer stared blankly at her sister.
There was no blame on Secretariat's face, no disappointment—only a certainty as solid as bedrock, and a confidence in her that admitted no doubt.
The crushing guilt Easy Goer had felt, born from the thought that her sister had cried because of her, seemed to loosen under those words.
She sniffed hard, raised her sleeve, and scrubbed fiercely at her eyes. Her eyes were still red, but that near-collapsing fragility from before was gradually being replaced by a stubborn resolve.
"...Mm."
Easy Goer lifted her eyes to Secretariat, looked at her seriously, and nodded.
"Sis, you saw the race just now, didn't you? My duel with Sunday Silence."
"In your opinion... what does Sunday Silence have that I don't?"
"Ghk..."
The corner of Secretariat's mouth twitched.
To be honest... she had not really watched the race properly at all.
Under Sakuraba Ryo's hands—which seemed to carry some kind of magic—every bit of her attention had gone into resisting that bizarre stimulation. How could she possibly have had the focus left to watch the race?
"N-no rush. We can talk that through properly after we get back."
"For now, let's just walk around a little and relax. More than any race analysis, what you need first is to steady your state of mind."
"..."
Easy Goer looked at Secretariat.
For some reason, she felt as though the way her sister was speaking carried a strangely subtle lack of confidence.
Could it be that her sister had not watched her race seriously?
No way.
Her sister had cried watching her race—there was no way she had not been paying attention!
I must have heard that wrong.
While Easy Goer was reflecting on herself in silence, Secretariat was also muttering inwardly.
Thank goodness I managed to bluff my way through that.
If Easy found out I hadn't properly watched her race, I'd be completely finished.
"..."
Just thinking of that man's name made Secretariat's feelings turn complicated.
If she was going to blame anyone, the massage thing had been her own suggestion in the first place.
She could not exactly pin that on him.
But who could have guessed that his technique would be so strange? He had only pressed on her a couple of times, and yet that sensation had been almost impossible to resist.
I was too careless.
Next time.
Next time, if I'm properly prepared, I shouldn't make such a fool of myself.
"..."
Ordinarily, if someone made her show herself in public in a state like that, tying them up and throwing them into the Gulf of Mexico would hardly have been excessive.
But then again...
Secretariat glanced at her little sister walking beside her.
Her relationship with Easy Goer had eased quite a bit because of this bizarre misunderstanding.
If not for that misunderstanding, Easy Goer might well have pushed her away even more.
So in a way, by sheer accident, the right choice had been made.
From a certain point of view, Secretariat might actually have to thank Sakuraba Ryo.
The American Triple Crown would wrap up in a little over a month...
With such a short gap between races, Sakuraba Ryo would probably stay by Sunday Silence's side that whole time.
Which meant...
At least for this next month, finding him would not be difficult for Secretariat.
She could settle that score with him after her little sister had recovered.
The two girls walked on through the exit tunnel, each carrying her own thoughts.
Then suddenly, that strange sensation still lingering in Secretariat's lower body made her stumble mid-step, nearly losing her footing.
"Sis! Are you okay?!"
"I'm fine... My legs are just a little weak..."
Secretariat brushed Easy Goer off with that casual answer, but inside, resentment churned.
Sakuraba Ryo!
Next time we meet!
I am absolutely going to—!
Properly—!
...
...
...
Thank you!
---
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