The winning concert was proceeding as normal.
Down in the audience, Sakuraba Ryo watched Sunday Silence dance onstage, his expression conflicted.
When did I ever raise Sunday Silence's affection meter?
And how did my first kiss get stolen?
This isn't right!
Damn it!
No matter how he thought about it, he couldn't figure out what Sunday Silence had meant when she'd suddenly kissed him like that.
Was it really because she likes me?
Did I really do something?
But haven't I spent all my time trying to lose money? How did I still end up on her route...?
Sakuraba had always thought he was doing honest, serious work. He'd never once lusted after Umamusume, and as for raising their affection, he really shouldn't have done much of that at all.
But now that it had already happened, he couldn't just pretend it hadn't.
It was about time he seriously thought about what kind of relationship he had with Sunday Silence.
"..."
"I don't have any experience with this kind of thing..."
Sakuraba was troubled.
If the problem was how to lose money, he had all kinds of tricks up his sleeve.
But handling feelings? This was his first time.
He really had no experience.
"At a time like this, I need to find a strategist to help me think this through..."
"But who would I even ask?"
Oguri Cap?
Forget it.
Oguri was spacey. She'd probably never thought about this kind of thing in her life.
Kitahara?
No good either.
The guy was in his late thirties, pushing forty, and still single. Asking him would be pointless.
The next person he thought of probably wouldn't have any experience either.
No.
He needed someone who looked like they actually knew how to date.
After thinking it over, Sakuraba came up with two candidates.
Norn Ace.
Talking to her about this sounded pretty reliable.
A gyaru like her, always glued to her phone—you could tell at a glance she knew her way around romance.
Asking her about this kind of thing shouldn't be a problem at all.
The only issue was that Norn Ace wasn't in America right now. If he really wanted to find her, he'd have to go back to Japan...
But that was fine.
He still had another outside helper on the way from Nishikino Academy in Japan.
That would be Obey Your Master.
The reason Obey Your Master hadn't come in person to watch the Kentucky Derby this time was mainly because Tony Bianca's leg had mostly recovered, and she needed to accompany her to a hospital in Japan for a follow-up check. Once they confirmed everything was fine, she and Tony Bianca would fly over together to watch Sunday Silence race in the remaining two Triple Crown races.
The main reason Sakuraba wanted to talk to Obey Your Master about this was that he remembered how, just to win a race, she'd deliberately put on an entirely different persona.
If your grasp of other people's feelings wasn't precise, there was no way you could pull off something like that at Obey Your Master's level.
Perfect.
Obey was coming to America anyway, so he'd just talk to her about it then.
While Sakuraba was still thinking about how to bring it up with Obey Your Master, the song onstage gradually reached its peak.
Watching half the audience sway like a golden sea to Sunday Silence's singing, Sakuraba felt a little moved.
Because it was an enclosed venue, the only built-in lighting during the winning concert came from the stage.
And the sea of gold before his eyes came from the audience's light sticks.
Gold was the color for cheering Sunday Silence on, and he had a matching light stick in his own hand.
Sakuraba looked out across the crowd. Beneath the winning concert stage, aside from the gold, the only other color left was blue.
Those were probably Easy Goer's fans.
"Oh... looking closely, Easy Goer really does have a lot of fans..."
He studied the stands more carefully and was surprised to find that even though Sunday Silence was the winner, the blue light sticks actually seemed to outnumber the gold ones.
Sure enough, Easy Goer's popularity in America was no joke. Even after losing to Sunday Silence in the Kentucky Derby, the number of people cheering for her hadn't dropped.
Sakuraba was just marveling at how Sunday Silence and Easy Goer seemed nearly even in fan numbers when his gaze drifted to the phone in his hand. The moment the screen lit up, a weather alert jumped into view:
[Localized thunderstorms expected in parts of Kentucky in one hour. Please bring rain gear.]
He froze for a second, then looked up toward the ceiling of the enclosed venue. He couldn't see the sky, but it almost felt as though he could hear muffled thunder rolling somewhere beyond the clouds.
"Rain, huh..."
Sakuraba muttered under his breath, then turned his eyes back to the stage where all the light converged. Sunday Silence moved with the song, and the golden sea rose and fell with her, interweaving with that quieter blue in a wordless kind of excitement. He tightened his grip slightly on the light stick in his hand and thought to himself:
Please let the winning concert finish without any trouble.
Then he put his phone away and turned his gaze back toward the center of that light and song.
...
Onstage, Easy Goer sharply caught sight of the blue sea below.
Those lights belonged to her.
They surged harder than ever before, even faintly pressing back against Sunday Silence's golden tide.
In that instant, it felt as though fresh strength had been poured straight into her feet.
The music grew fiercer, and Easy Goer's dancing turned more passionate, more infectious with it. The corners of her lips rose before she knew it, and a proud, unyielding light flashed in her eyes.
I lost the race... but I didn't lose in popularity!
She told herself that in silence, and every spin, every leap carried more force than before. The blue points of light swayed with her movements as if answering her dance.
The spotlight still favored Sunday Silence, the winner, but Easy Goer used her own way to reignite the sea that belonged to her on this stage.
Even if I'm not first, I'll still dance the brightest!
Sunday Silence, watch me!
Even on the winning concert stage, I don't plan on losing to you!
At that moment, Sunday Silence was immersed in her own melody and rhythm.
She didn't care about Easy Goer's increasingly flamboyant dancing beside her. She didn't care whether the blue sea below was surging harder. She didn't care whether Easy Goer's fans outnumbered hers.
She was the winner. The one standing at the center of the stage, bathed in the light, was her.
That was what mattered most.
Every movement Sunday Silence made was calm and steady. Her singing was clear as spring water, yet carried a powerful force with it—the ease of a victor.
And yet, now and then, her gaze drifted toward the blurred darkness below the stage.
She knew Sakuraba Ryo was somewhere down there, among those interwoven points of gold and blue.
But there was no lighting in the audience, only countless swaying light sticks outlining the mass of people. Trying to pick out one specific figure among them was like finding a needle in a haystack.
Her eyes swept lightly across a few possible directions, but all she caught were hazy halos of light and shifting silhouettes.
Her lips pressed together ever so slightly. Her dancing didn't falter in the slightest, but a faint restlessness—so faint she could barely notice it herself—brushed across her heart.
Where are you...?
The thought flashed through her mind, only for her to push it back down again.
She refocused on the performance itself, but the looks she cast toward the audience now held a little more searching than before.
No matter what, he was definitely watching her.
That was enough.
Sunday Silence's steps remained fluid, and her singing never stopped, but her thoughts slipped uncontrollably back to the scene backstage not long ago, when she'd forcibly kissed Sakuraba Ryo.
The warmth of that touch still seemed to linger on her lips, and the shocked, dazed look on Sakuraba's face rose vividly before her eyes.
A faint heat crept into her cheeks, tinting even the tips of her ears with a barely visible flush.
In the middle of a turn, her steps almost stalled for half a beat. A tingling, numbing sensation spread from deep inside her, making her heart race so hard she nearly couldn't stay standing.
...That was too impulsive.
She muttered it silently to herself, yet still couldn't help savoring the warmth of that moment all over again.
If I won another race... could I ask him for another reward...?
That thought made her heart pound even faster, and the fingers curled around her microphone tightened ever so slightly.
But right after that, another layer of unease quietly climbed into her heart.
I kissed him like that...
Will he think I'm too willful? Too unreasonable?
Joy and embarrassment, nervousness and a faint thread of worry... all of those feelings tangled together, leaving Sunday Silence's heart like a ball of yarn a cat had gotten into—hopelessly knotted and impossible to sort out.
She looked toward that blurred darkness below the stage once more. This time, beyond searching, there was also a careful, tentative kind of wondering in her eyes.
What will he think?
And how will he decide what we are to each other?
That question quietly echoed inside her as the music swelled.
More than anything else, what unsettled Sunday Silence was Sakuraba Ryo's attitude toward her...
If that impulsive decision of hers made him dislike her...
Then something deep inside her had already begun to ache.
And just as her heart twisted in conflict, her gaze wandering uncertainly through the dark sea of people—
CRAAAACK—!!!
A deafening peal of thunder exploded without warning, as if the heavens had been ripped open directly above the arena.
A split second later, a blinding white bolt of lightning lashed down like the strike of a giant god's whip and slammed into the edge of the stage.
Bzzzt—BANG!!
A burst of dazzling sparks flashed and vanished, carrying with it the acrid smell of equipment overloading and burning out.
Then everything before everyone's eyes vanished at once—the brilliant stage spotlights, the ambient lighting, even the giant screen. All of it died in the same instant.
Absolute darkness dropped like a heavy curtain.
For one heartbeat the audience was dead silent, and then terrified screams and chaos exploded everywhere.
The sudden disaster had frightened everyone out of their minds. In the panic, people flung away the light sticks they had been holding or dropped them outright.
Those gold and blue points of light that had symbolized support and affection scattered in an instant, rolling beneath seats and into the aisles like fireflies blown apart by a storm.
The gorgeous stage that had been filled with song and interwoven light only moments ago was now nothing but endless darkness and waves of panic echoing inside it.
Onstage, Easy Goer froze completely.
She stared blankly, eyes wide, at the darkness that had swallowed everything, and at the screams and shoving growing louder within it.
The blue sea that had just been surging for her had vanished without a trace.
"...?"
A tiny breath of confusion slipped from her lips.
Why?
I was just giving it everything I had. It felt like my popularity was about to overtake hers...
So why did it suddenly turn into this?
Was it because of that lightning?
Did the equipment... all break?
Her mind was a mess. Every trace of fighting spirit, competitiveness, even the exhilaration of performing, had been washed away by the sudden turn of events.
She stood there blankly, hands and feet ice-cold, with no idea what she should do now—or what she even could do.
Not far away, Sunday Silence stood just as still.
The darkness wrapped around her too, but unlike Easy Goer's confusion, something colder, something far more familiar, was slowly crawling up her spine.
In the dark, her pupils trembled faintly beyond her control. No light reflected in those golden eyes—only unfathomable shadow.
Again...?
Is it happening like this all over again?
Misfortune... really does follow me like a shadow.
Even after winning the race, even after standing at the center of the winning concert stage, I still can't escape it?
What... should I do?
The question echoed through her like cold iron.
Should she calm the audience first?
Should she find some way to contact the staff?
Or...
Chaotic thoughts tangled with that ominous premonition clinging to her like a bone-deep curse, and her body began to stiffen.
All around her was panic spiraling out of control. Beneath her feet was cold darkness. And the warmth that had just been born from victory and that kiss was now rapidly freezing over.
Just as cold despair was about to swallow Sunday Silence whole, just as chaotic thoughts and ill omen churned inside her—
A single point of golden light suddenly pierced the heavy darkness.
It wasn't bright. If anything, it was weak, like a candle flame struggling in the wind.
But it waved there steadily, again and again, rhythmically, amid the chaos and panic below.
It was a light stick.
It was her color.
Sunday Silence's pupils contracted sharply, and her gaze was seized by that tiny point of light in an instant.
Through the blurred figures and spreading panic, she recognized the source of that light almost by instinct.
It was Sakuraba Ryo.
"Ah... wonder if she'll even notice."
Watching the panicked crowd around him, Sakuraba felt conflicted.
For something as important as the winning concert to end with an accident this serious—it was a disaster.
Sunday Silence was probably panicking now that something had gone wrong...
Sakuraba looked at the light stick he was holding up, not at all sure of himself.
Could something this dim really let Sunday Silence see him?
...Still.
If she could see her investor standing here, maybe she'd feel just a little more at ease.
Sakuraba wasn't expecting the girl to do anything in a situation this chaotic. The best decision she could make over there was to do nothing and protect her own safety.
Please don't let anything happen to you, Sunday Silence.
You're practically one of my investments by now, aren't you? (?) If something happens to you here, then I'd be a complete failure of an investor!
So Sakuraba simply stood there, in the middle of that restless crowd, holding up that tiny light stick which seemed brighter than anything else in that moment, waving it firmly toward the stage again, and again.
In an instant, something scalding and surging broke through the ice inside Sunday Silence's heart. Like a spring that had been suppressed for far too long, it burst upward, flooding her chest and stinging the corners of her eyes.
Her frozen thoughts began to move again. The stiffness in her limbs seemed to melt away, replaced by strength.
He was still watching her. Even in darkness like this. Even amid chaos like this.
That realization burned hotter than any spotlight.
The moment that warm point of light entered her vision, something heavy slipped from Sunday Silence's shoulders.
The cold and rigidity retreated like a falling tide, replaced by a sense of strength unlike anything she had ever felt before, filling her whole body.
The breath in her chest that had nearly frozen solid turned into a hot, unwavering current and flowed through every limb.
Once again... just when I thought misfortune was about to swallow me, you were the one who reached out your hand to me.
The cold shadows vanished completely from her golden eyes, replaced by a warmth so bright it seemed ready to overflow.
That flutter she had always kept hidden deep in her heart—the one that brought her both joy and unease—finally found a definite answer in that instant, becoming a conviction as solid as bedrock.
So it really is you... the one fate meant for me.
The thought branded itself into her heart with perfect clarity, making her entire soul tremble.
If that person still hadn't looked away even in the darkness, if he was still supporting her with unwavering certainty...
Then she had to answer that light.
Under Easy Goer's disbelieving, almost vacant stare, Sunday Silence drew a deep breath and stepped forward without hesitation.
She didn't head backstage. She didn't look for the staff.
Instead, she walked straight to the very front edge of the stage, the part swallowed by darkness, yet somehow the place where she could most clearly feel that golden light below.
Then she opened her mouth.
There was no accompaniment, no lighting, and traces of panic still lingered beneath the stage.
But her song rose anyway—clear and powerful, piercing the darkness and cutting through the noise with it.
Her voice wasn't especially grand, yet somehow it carried a strange power that soothed the heart, like moonlight spilling across a storm-tossed sea and calming its waves in an instant.
At first, only a few people stopped and stared blankly toward the stage.
Then, little by little, more and more were drawn in by that voice. The commotion weakened. The shoving stopped.
Pairs of frightened eyes strained to focus in the darkness, until one after another they all settled on that figure standing proudly at the very front of the stage, singing and dancing alone.
There were no dazzling stage effects. No thunderous sound system.
There was only a girl who, in the face of sudden misfortune, used her song and her dance to reignite an unyielding light.
On the stage, only she was singing.
Below the stage, all eyes were fixed on her.
The audience's initial shock slowly settled into something deeper.
They were astonished by the voice itself, by its clarity and strength—but even more than that, they were astonished by the singer.
This winner, who had just faced lightning, darkness, and chaos, had actually stepped forward in a situation like this and continued her performance in the purest possible way.
No complaints. No retreat. Only the song.
That song was like a pair of gentle, powerful hands, lightly brushing across every panicked heart.
Before anyone realized it, the agitation had eased. The fear had dispersed. In its place rose a natural swell of emotion, along with sincere admiration for the figure at the center of the stage.
No one knew who was first to bend down in the dimness and grope around for the light stick they'd dropped in the panic.
Then, as if answering some silent call, more and more people did the same.
They brushed them off and pressed the switches.
And this time, what lit up wasn't a jumble of colors.
One patch after another, points of gold began to shine across the audience like stars waking one by one.
At first there were only a few. Then they quickly linked together into lines, and those lines became a sea. In perfect unspoken harmony, people raised their light sticks high overhead and began to wave them slowly, rhythmically, like a tide, in time with the voice that had pierced the darkness.
The golden sea surged up again within the absolute dark—this time even more overwhelming than before.
It was purer now. More passionate. As though every unfinished cheer and every unspoken word of support had been gathered into this silent swaying.
At the front edge of the stage, Sunday Silence never stopped singing.
She looked at that golden sea relit for her, surging once more for her, and countless stars reflected in her golden eyes. A faint curve rose at the corner of her lips on its own—small, yet impossibly bright.
A short distance behind her, Easy Goer stood there blankly, her mouth hanging slightly open.
She looked at Sunday Silence's back, standing so straight in that dim golden glow she almost seemed to be glowing herself, then looked out at the unprecedented golden tide below, filled with respect and emotion.
A crystal-clear premonition washed over her like ice water.
I lost...
Not just the race. Not just the stage...
After tonight, the name Sunday Silence will probably truly become an unshakable legend, carved into this era... and into these people's hearts.
The realization sent a complicated shiver through her. There was bitterness in it, and confusion—but in the end, even she was moved by that song and that light, and it melted into a faint thread of acceptance and admiration she didn't even notice herself.
And when that tiny flicker of admiration in her finally made her step forward, wanting to go up and dance beside that solitary shining figure—wanting, at the very least, to answer this miraculous stage in her own way...
"...You're seriously cool, you know that?"
Her movement stopped.
She saw it clearly.
Sunday Silence's gaze wasn't fully immersed in the golden sea surging for her.
Those star-filled golden eyes held an indescribable focus and tenderness, fixed steadily on one specific point in the audience, as though that was the source of all her courage and all her light.
Easy Goer instinctively followed that gaze.
Through the swaying golden points, she searched with difficulty.
At last, her eyes locked onto one unremarkable spot—a man standing among the crowd, holding a golden light stick high, watching the stage intently.
Who was he?
Her trainer?
...?
A staff member?
A string of questions flashed through Easy Goer's mind.
She didn't know him.
But Sunday Silence's eyes didn't lie.
That was a look that went beyond gratitude, beyond even dependence.
Gentle. Steady. Calm, as though she had found the place she belonged. And somehow, it fused perfectly with the resilience and strength she had shown onstage.
A thought struck Easy Goer like lightning.
Could it be... that the source of every miracle tonight—the courage that let Sunday Silence stand back up from despair, the song that lit up the darkness—was him?
The thought shook her.
She looked back at Sunday Silence, then down at that indistinct yet upright figure in the crowd, and suddenly, she felt as though she understood something.
That sense of admiration quietly mixed with another flavor—something more complicated, something she couldn't quite put into words.
But now wasn't the time to think about that.
Easy Goer stepped forward and moved in behind Sunday Silence, joining her dance.
If even her rival had erupted into this kind of miracle onstage, then how could she possibly retreat?
On the winning concert stage, the Umamusume danced.
And beneath the winning concert stage, the fans' hopes wrapped around them.
---
T/N: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT IS ENDGAME SUNDAY SILENCE AND SAKURABA???????
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