Chapter 11

My cleats cut through the frozen turf of the local park, sending bits of dirt flying into the morning air.

I drove my knees upward, hit the final cone at a full sprint, and slowed down to a jog. 

My lungs were burning, but my legs stayed under me. I didn't collapse on the grass, and I didn't look for an excuse to quit.

Beside the goalpost, Shizuo clicked his digital stopwatch, giving a low grunt of approval. 

"Three seconds faster than last Sunday," Shizuo remarked, tucking the timer into his jacket. "Your recovery time is improving too. You aren't gasping like a stranded carp anymore."

"I never gasped like a carp," I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my glove.

Yuuki stood leaning against the metal crossbar with both hands on his hips, breathing heavily through his mouth. 

"This is madness," Yuuki groaned, shaking his bleached head. "The guy who used to fake ankle sprains to skip warmups is now finishing his sets ahead of me. Just what happened to you?"

"Just do what I gotta do," I replied, checking the digital clock on my wrist. 

The numbers read 14:45. 

I picked up my sports bag from the bench and unlaced my cleats without wasting a second. 

"Hey, where are you going?" Yuuki asked, blinking in surprise. "I have a fifty-percent coupon for the ramen shop near the shopping arcade. Two bowls for the price of one! My treat, technically!"

"I'm passing today," I said, slipping into my running shoes and pulling my windbreaker zipper to my chin. 

"Passing on discount ramen?!" Yuuki gasped, clutching his chest. "What in the hell?! Who are you, and what have you done with our Yama?!"

"There's a race broadcasting at fifteen-forty," I told them, slinging my duffel bag over one shoulder. "I need to shower and be in front of the television before post time."

Shizuo’s eyes flicked up with an understanding. 

"Then we're done for today," Shizuo stated, nodding once. "I'm going home too."

Yuuki stopped his theatrical protest, his expression shifting into quiet consideration. 

"Well then," Yuuki said flatly, already on his smartphone. "Maybe I should ask that cute kouhai from 2-C." 

I offered a quick wave, turned on my heel, and jogged toward the street.

---

Thirty minutes later, I walked into our living room with damp hair, wearing a clean hoodie and sweatpants. 

The room was warm, filled with the aroma of roasted green tea. 

Mom sat cross-legged on the carpet with her elbows on the kotatsu, both hands wrapped around a ceramic mug. Dad was settled into his usual armchair, his glasses perched on his nose, watching the pre-race analysis on the television screen.

"You made it with ten minutes to spare," Dad said, shifting his gaze toward me with a calm smile.

"Great," I replied, sliding my legs under the warm blanket of the kotatsu.

My phone buzzed against the wooden tabletop with rapid vibrations.

I picked it up. The family group chat was being flooded with dozens of all-caps messages from Yuri.

*YURI: TURN ON CHANNEL EIGHT RIGHT NOW!*

*YURI: IF ANYONE MISSES THE START I AM TRASHING THE LIVING ROOM NEXT WEEKEND!*

*YURI: TOP ROAD IS IN GATE FIVE! WATCH HER!*

"Your sister is already yelling," Mom chuckled, taking a slow sip from her mug. "Some things never change."

I set the phone face-up on the table, turning my attention to the television screen.

The broadcast fanfare chimed through the speakers, accompanied by the bold graphics of the race card: 

Kyoto Racecourse, Race Eleven: The 39th Running of the Kisaragi Sho. Grade 3, 1800m on turf.

Fifteen runners filed into the paddock under the pale winter sun.

The commentator's voice rose with professional excitement, breaking down the odds board.

"Leading the field as the overwhelming first choice is Number Ten, Eishin Cameron," the play-by-play commentator declared. "A graded stakes champion with an immaculate record, holding four starts without ever missing the top two."

The camera panned to the favorite. 

Eishin Cameron walked with commanding dignity, her dark tail swishing in sharp, confident snaps.

Then the camera shifted, zooming in on Number Five.

Narita Top Road. Second Favorite, 4.6 odds.

She wore black bib with similar colour shorts, walking with steady strides. 

Her golden hair caught the afternoon light, gleaming like polished brass beneath the pale sky. Her ears were tilted forward, upright and still.

Her posture was quiet, settled, and completely centered in her own skin.

"She looks wonderful," Mom murmured from beside me, her expert eyes tracking Top Road's stride on the monitor. "Her shoulders are loose, and her weight is sitting directly over her hips. She is ready."

"She is," I whispered, feeling a sudden warmth bloom behind my ribs.

The scene cut to the starting gate on the far turn. 

The field filed into their stalls with no issue. Number Ten stepped into the middle gate, followed immediately by Number Five taking her place in the fifth stall.

The track fell into a heavy hush. 

The red flag dropped on the starter's podium.

Clack.

The gates snapped open in a single instant.

"They're off!" the commentator roared. "A clean break for the entire field!"

A thunder of boots tore across the Kyoto turf. 

The front-runners surged forward to contest the early pace, but Top Road did not scramble for the rail. She glided into sixth position along the middle lane, tucking directly behind Eishin Cameron, who was stalking the pace in fifth.

"Smart positioning," Mom remarked, leaning forward to see closer. "She completely marks the favourite."

The field swept past the first thousand meters below fifty nine seconds flat. 

It was a demanding pace for early Classic runners. It was fast enough to test the stamina of any runner who had rushed their preparation. 

Then came the third corner. 

Ahead of the pack rose the infamous incline of Yodo hill. 

The outside runners began to make their moves early, angling outward to build momentum, bumping shoulders and trying to squeeze Top Road toward the chewed-up turf near the rail.

I leaned forward, my knuckles unknowingly digging into the fabric of the kotatsu blanket. 

Hold your line, I thought, my pulse thumping against my eardrums.

She did, in fact, hold on. 

Top Road absorbed the pressure, keeping her stride compact as she climbed the slope. She reached the crest without getting baited to run along the rushing field.

As the ground sloped downward toward the home bend, the early pacemakers began to falter, their legs heavy from the climb and the breakneck early pace.

Top Road stayed composed on the descent, letting gravity carry her speed without overextending her stride.

"Here they come into the straight!" the commentator shouted as fifty thousand voices erupted from the grandstand.

Rounding the final bend, the front runners drifted wide under heavy fatigue, leaving a chaotic scramble for running room.

Eishin Cameron launched an explosive move toward the outside, sweeping past the tiring leaders with terrifying power. 

The favorite had made her bid for glory, surging toward the front with clear grass ahead of her.

That was not the case for the second favourite, though. The gap in front of Top Road was closing rapidly as the faltering leaders threatening to drag her back along them.

"This is bad!" Mom gasped, gripping the rim of the kotatsu. 

But true to her fashion, she always found a way. And she didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second.

With one step to right, Top Road lowered her head, drove her spikes into the ground, and detonated into the tight opening between two runners like a flash of golden sunlight.

She burst through the gap with breathtaking form. 

Her golden hair whipped in the wind, her stride opening up with terrifying length as she hunted down the leader. 

"Narita Top Road is coming through the middle!" the commentator shrieked, his voice cracking with pure adrenaline. "Here goes Narita Top Road!"

At the two-hundred-meter pole, she drew level with Eishin Cameron.

What followed was a brutal, relentless duel.

Neither girl gave an inch of grass. 

They ran shoulder-to-shoulder, matching stride for stride, their breath tearing into the winter air in ragged white clouds. Eishin Cameron fought back with fierce stubbornness, refusing to yield the lead.

One hundred meters.

Top Road’s face was locked in intense determination. 

She dug deep into the reserve she had protected since the start, pouring every drop of her power into the frozen turf. 

Fifty meters.

"They're locked together! Cameron or Top Road! Top Road or Cameron!"

At the wire, Top Road thrust her body forward with one final, desperate push.

Both runners crossed the line in a blur of motion.

Flash.

The camera shutter popped, freezing the two figures against the gray background of the grandstand.

A breathless silence hung over our living room for two agonizing seconds as the television waited for the official photo review.

Then, the red numbers flashed on the screen:

1st: 5 — Narita Top Road

2nd: 10 — Eishin Cameron

Margin: Neck  

Time: 1:49.1

"She did it!" the commentator screamed into the microphone. "Narita Top Road takes the Kisaragi Sho! The rising challenger topples the favorite to claim her first graded crown!"

"YES!" 

Mom leaped straight up from the carpet, raising both fists into the air, cheering at the top of her lungs. "She won! Oh, that beautiful girl really won it!"

Dad let out a deep laugh, clapping his hands together with genuine delight. "That was a close match down to the final meter."

Across the screen, Top Road was slowing to a trot along the outer rail. 

She pressed both hands over her mouth, her chest heaving, tears spilling freely down her flushed cheeks as the realization hit her. Then, she looked up toward the cheering crowd, raising a single arm in triumph with a blinding, radiant smile.

Meanwhile, I stayed frozen on the carpet.

I leaned back against the sofa cushions, letting out a long, shuddering breath that felt like it had been trapped inside my chest for an eternity. 

The cold knot that had twisted in my stomach finally dissolved, replaced by a wave of relief so intense it made my eyes sting.

She had done it. 

"Yama," Mom said, turning around with a teasing grin. "Look at you. You look like you just ran the eighteen hundred meters yourself."

"I was just... paying attention a bit too much.." I muttered, looking away toward the window to hide the grin spreading across my face.

Dad chuckled quietly, shaking his head.

Half an hour later, the house had returned to its quiet rhythm. 

Mom was in the kitchen preparing dinner, humming a victory tune, while Dad read the evening sports columns on his tablet. Yuri was still sending stickers in the family chat, alternating between crying faces and dancing anime carrots.

I sat alone at my desk upstairs, the late afternoon sun casting long amber shadows across my room.

My phone rested flat on the wood.

Bzz.

A single vibration rattled against the desk.

I picked up the device and tapped the screen awake.

A new message sat in the notification tray.

*Top Road: I did it!*

Three simple words. 

Together forming a raw, breathless cry of triumph from a girl who had finally could touch her dream once again.

I stared at the screen for a long moment, feeling that familiar flutter thumping steadily behind my ribs, warmer and brighter than it had ever been.

I rested my thumbs over the glass and typed out my reply.

*Yama: I saw. You were incredible.*

I tapped send, leaned back into my chair, and looked out at the clear winter sky with a smile that refused to fade.