Chapter Text
Far away from the busy streets of Tokyo, nestled deep between trees and bushes from the eye of the public, is an abandoned racecourse—specifically, a racecourse for Umamusume. Yet, it hasn't seen use in over half a decade, forgotten by the sands of time. The metal stands, though small, that used to hold so many souls have long been reduced to rusted scraps. The track itself—a wide, circular path of green grass guarded by oxidized rails—was too a victim to the ever moving flow of time. The once flat grass has grown tremendously in length, now comparable to a thick green carpet, with patches of flowers darting the fields like distance markers. Even the white line used to mark the start and finish, their color having faded from countless downpours.
Sometimes, litter would drift by, like wandering ghosts trying to find their footing. Some stayed, some fled but ultimately, nobody ever remains in this place. The track hasn't served it's purpose for a long time now, left unkempt to the mercy of the world around it. It seems that would continue to be the status quo, a relic of the past, the library of memories one can't read from.
That's until one eccentric racer decided to claim the course for herself. There, crouched near the faded line, an Umamusume with short brown hair clad in a lab coat and red-and-white gym clothes is tinkering with her equipment. The machines beeped out, their screen displaying a series of complex graphs and equations only decipherable to the Umamusume herself. Her name is Agnes Tachyon, equal parts researcher and runner, known for her dominant quadruple win streak in all graded races before abruptly retiring. Even today, Agnes Tachyon can't escape her past. Her story is one of what-ifs and speculations, befitting of her nickname—Phantom Triple Crown—a racer so dominant that everyone was convinced it took a retirement for any other racers in her generation to stand a chance.
The media hypothesized, connected random dots and lines to find every possible reason for Tachyon's sudden retirement. When that didn't work, fans and media outlets alike would hound her for even a crumb of information—much to Tachyon's distaste. Whenever her name is brought up in a scientific paper or whenever she makes another scientific breakthrough, there would always be discussions about her racing career—even though it has been 8 years. Despite the constant media attention around Tachyon, ironically, she has no friends or close ones by her side. To another person, that might seem like such a horrible situation to be in. For Tachyon? That just meant "less distractions from my primary research objective." To her, people are just data points, variables that could be controlled and adjusted, sometimes unpredictable. Perhaps, back when her dream was only a tiny flame, she cared about people. She worried about others' well-being, their interests, their personalities and such. Now? She's cold and indifferent to everybody. The closest relationship Tachyon will ever hold with somebody is colleague to colleague, scientist to guinea pig. The apt distance to not get attached to people.
Tachyon lives not for herself, but her dream, her single purpose. She races not for an audience but for an impossible dream—to reach beyond the theorised speed limit of Umamusume. Today, it would be the same.
The track is silent, save for the faint honking of faraway cars and rustling of trees.
OPEN RACE
The stands are empty, nobody's watching save for the unblinking mechanical observer—a camera hooked up to a LiDAR. 'It feels strangely melancholic', Tachyon notes before dismissing it as simply the cool air having an effect on her nervous system. The temperature readings said that the current temperature is 25.5℃ after all. The monitor beeps, the screen shows a popup reading "Northerly winds at 2 km/h; negligible."
TOKYO TURF, 2000 METERS, RIGHT
The track's firm despite the week's earlier downpour though traces of mud are still present. The air felt unnaturally still today, as if the wind itself is holding back in favor of the researcher. How convenient.
CLOUDY WEATHER, FIRM
No one's racing with her today, that's fine. No need to account for competition.
ONE BRACKET
She crouches right behind the finish line, measuring her distance before changing into a standing start.
ONE RUNNER
The race has begun.
Tachyon detonated forward in a surge of color and motion, her cleats kicking up dirt and grass with every single hard step against the unkempt turf. Her reflexes carried her forward automatically, and by the time her mind finally caught up to her, she was already nearing the first corner of the course.
'A good start,' Tachyon notes, months of calculations and back-to-back practice guaranteeing her the most perfect start possible. Even something simple as her gait is fine-tuned to the max—Tachyon using the exact amount of force needed to hit the ground and achieve the highest possible speed whilst not injuring herself, again and again. The corner was nearing and Tachyon is forced to make a choice:
- Slow down so that she can keep hugging the rail
- Swing wide but having to run a longer distance.
If she slows down, she risks losing momentum but it would be easier on her body. But it can also possibly compromise her chance to speed past 70kmph so that leaves option 2. By swinging wide, she keeps her tremendous moment from her perfect-start though she would need to burn more stamina. Tachyon isn't really confident in either option, one makes her too slow to reach the limit and the other burns her out before she can reach it.
The corner is fast approaching. What does Tachyon do?
[ Corner Adept ○ ]
Tachyon broke into a manic grin.
She leans her body inwards, her leading foot turns inwards, the other retaining impetus. Turning sideways just enough to redirect but not immediately slip off the turf.
The turf tore apart underneath the soles of her shoes, kicking up dust and producing smoke. The friction is enough to cause faint sparks to flare up for half-seconds, the noise worse than chalk being grated against a blackboard. If a driver was watching this, they would say the motion was akin to that of a race car drifting on asphalt but instead of four rubber wheels, it's a pair of glass-legs.
At the corner’s exit, she snaps her hips forward and shaves off seconds of time she would've lost if she took either option. Then, she presses her foot down, enough to leave an indent on the ground, and launches forward. Utilizing the conserved energy during the glide, she propels herself even further ahead—akin to that of a spear being thrusted forwards.
She bulldozes through the track, continuing her rampage against the turf as the world bends around Tachyon...
Suddenly, the stands erupted in cheers and shouts, excitement and anticipation buzzing throughout the entire track. Surrounding Agnes Tachyon are ghostly apparitions of faceless horse girls, boxing her in completely. Then, a radio-like voice shouted inside Tachyon's head...
"Can the favorite, Agnes Tachyon make it? She's completely boxed in!" 'Ah, hallucinations,' Tachyon casually noted.
Agnes Tachyon tries pushing forward but something inside her keeps holding her back. She tries to speed through but her legs are confined to a constant pace and Tachyon can only watch as she's forced to ride the wave of the pack through the second and third corner. Tachyon growls in frustration, unable to hide the frustration on her face as she wonders why what's holding herself back.
"WE'RE APPROACHING THE FINAL CORNER HERE, FOLKS! EACH OF THESE HORSE GIRLS ARE PULLING OUT ALL THE STOPS NOW! EVERYTHING'S ON THE LINE HERE!" 'Of course. How insightful of me.'
"To race is to put yourself on the line. To win is to abandon all self-preservation, all regards for others, for oneself, is it not?"
"These pairs of legs have served their purpose, they're disposable resources. Are they not?"
The air suddenly crackled and spat sparks all around Tachyon.
[ - # # # ]
An Umamusume's running. The possibility it holds.
We, Umamusume, are organisms of yet unsolvable mystery, filled to the brim with curiosities.
Then, a sudden cheer erupts from the fabricated crowd.
[ - - # # ]
Legs capable of reaching 70kmph.
The cardiovascular structure to support them. Powerful musculature.
The ghostly cheers got louder, their words morphing into terrific screeches and shrieks.
[ - - - # ]
It is as if... we were born to run.
This final run... will be a demonstration of what lies beyond the boundary of speed.
The apparitions falter, an opening leading straight through the pack appeared, so miniscule in size anyone would've missed it.
But, Tachyon clocked it.
[ - - - -]
!
[ A Lifelong Dream. A Moment's Flight ]
[ Come What May ]
Yes, yes!
The apparitions dissipate, the boundless crowd vanishes from sight, the ghostly announcer seeping back into Tachyon's adrenaline-crazed mind.
Tachyon's legs screamed against the pressure as steam poured off her arms and legs, bulldozing down the final straight like a bullet. The world splits into two as the colors of rainbow spill out into the shattering reality, like a wave crashing against the shore. For every step Tachyon takes, a new equation appears, matching the indents Tachyon leaves behind the turf. In that moment, Tachyon can't stop herself—letting out a breathy laugh as she bathes in the ecstasy of the moment. Everything felt magical in those moments, the line between reality and fiction blurring to one—as every possibility reveals themselves.
A faint golden mirage of Tachyon herself manifests in front of her but close to being overtaken.
This is it!
"I'm so close.. just a little bit faster..." Tachyon clung onto the air around her mirage, her hands clenched tightly, not willing to let her hypothetical self out of her grasp.
[ ⓘ Spot Struggle ]
They're side-to-side now, matching each other stride by stride as they push towards the finish line.
"Just... a little more!" Tachyon tries putting more force into her legs but no matter how hard she tries, she can't find any fuel left to go further.
Tachyon's stride faltered for a half-second and that was all it took for everything to come crashing down.
[ Princess of Superluminal Speed! ]
The mirage bolted forwards, leaving Tachyon behind as she watched it cross the finish line, a half-second faster than her.
Tachyon's crafted reality shatters to pieces as the colors fizzle out, morphing back to dull and grey. The euphoria Tachyon felt from before is now gone and in its place, a hollow pit opens up on itself at her heart. It took a while before Tachyon realised that she's lying on the ground, her legs destroyed after such a monstrous race.
The radar reads: 70.0 km/h, sharp. Tachyon has grazed the limit yet she's unable to break through it.
Unable to stomach all of the swirling feelings inside her stomach, she lets out a guttural cry, wild and incoherent. Her throat felt dry, only able to let out breathy hics as the lump inside her throat grew bigger. Her chest felt tight and painful, unable to keep the rapidly beating heart from spilling out all its sorrows. She can only lie on the ground, looking up into the sky as she wonders what all those years were for. She know she's chasing a hopeless endeavor but she can't find it in herself to stop, not until she burns out completely from exertion.
She looks up at the evening sky, noting how the heavy clouds have dispersed, letting the sun bask the whole world in its golden hue. The sky—an assortment of greys and blacks—now a bright orange. She didn't feel better despite the beautiful scenery in front of her eyes but her heart felt a little less heavy than before. The tears have dried up by now, her cheeks still damped from her breakdown. Fatigue weighs heavy on her mind and Tachyon can't help but let her eyelids fall as she too, basks in the sun's radiant glow.
Far away from the stands, an observer stands far away, closely approaching the turf.