Chapter 68: Aftermath / Agnes Tachyon // Demon possessed/ Grass Wonder

Some time had passed since Apollo Rainbow’s Kikuka-shō (Japanese St. Leger) ended. To be precise, it was after her autumn racing schedule—"Kikuka-shō → Stayers Stakes → Arima Kinen"—had been announced that Agnes Tachyon locked herself in her laboratory, immersing herself in research.

"...Hmph."

Spread before her were the performance data of Apollo Rainbow and Silence Suzuka, along with footage of the Kikuka-shō and the Tennō Shō (Autumn). She rewatched them over and over, engraving every detail of their past races and data into her mind.

The two had reached an unknown realm. A race so far beyond conventional limits that it defied all previous logic—one that electrified Agnes Tachyon’s spirit.

("The limit"... huh?)

"My legs could give out at any moment." The words of the chestnut-haired girl flashed through her mind, making her shake her head several times.

Once, she had dreamed of pushing a horse girl’s limits—of reaching that unknown frontier—with her own legs. But Agnes Tachyon’s body was fragile. A machine with a magnificent engine but a frame as delicate as glass—that was how she was described, her legs wrapped in a fleeting light.

If she ran at full strength, they would break. To defy that reality, she had devised her "plans." Apollo Rainbow’s Kikuka-shō and Silence Suzuka’s Tennō Shō (Autumn) had, without her even willing it, fulfilled "Plan B"—her research into guiding other horse girls to the limit.

(Silence Suzuka and Apollo Rainbow have both achieved more than enough. Surely, they’ll continue to leave behind legendary, dazzling results.)

—Then, what was "Plan A"? The answer was simple: Agnes Tachyon herself challenging the limit. That was Plan A.

But she had given up on Plan A some time ago. The fragility of her own legs had cast a shadow over it. How could such a brittle, unreliable body ever reach the pinnacle of speed? Entrusting another horse girl with the task held far greater promise. Surprisingly, Agnes had let go of Plan A with little hesitation.

Yet now—now that Plan B was complete—she felt an indescribable throbbing in her chest.

"Ecstasy."

She muttered the word under her breath. Apollo Rainbow’s Kikuka-shō, Silence Suzuka’s Tennō Shō (Autumn)—both races had been filled with a feverish excitement that made her tremble. Everyone had lost themselves, screaming at the sight of the two pushing past the limits of what a horse girl could do. Tachyon herself had been swept up in that frenzy, so entranced that she nearly forgot her identity as a researcher.

"Passion."

Again, she spoke to herself. In the final corners of the Kikuka-shō and Tennō Shō (Autumn), there had been a passion that defied ruin. Even Tachyon, who had been there in person, had been overwhelmed by the unknown realm the two had created—breaking into a cold sweat, her skin prickling with inexplicable goosebumps.

Ecstasy and passion.

Agnes Tachyon had never been fond of things like emotion—the very antithesis of science. But the more she recalled the past, the harder it became to deny the power of feelings.

That day, in Kyoto and Tokyo, there had been a force beyond the absolute laws of science—the power of will. It wasn’t just about mental conditioning enhancing physical performance. No, it was raw, unfiltered fervor, and in response to that will, miracles had manifested in reality.

Everything influences a horse girl’s running—but only as an interference effect, never a decisive factor. That was what Agnes Tachyon had believed.

Yet, whether she looked at Apollo Rainbow or Silence Suzuka, one thing was clear: the countless blessings surrounding them had spurred them on, becoming a tailwind that pushed them forward. It was an answer unbefitting of her—someone who built her thoughts upon scientific theory.

(That they overcame the fear of injury and achieved results. That they could have withdrawn from the races entirely but chose not to. Perhaps all of it happened because of the push of emotion.)

For a moment, Agnes stopped moving and leaned back against the worn-out sofa.

—The plan had been executed. She had witnessed a glimpse of the pinnacle of a horse girl’s speed.

So… what now?

Would she simply watch over them? Continue her research as always, offering occasional support?

...No. That wasn’t it.

Emotion was defying fate.

"...I always thought emotion was the furthest thing from science. But surprise, surprise—they might be two sides of the same coin! ...Underestimation is dangerous."

Agnes Tachyon began a new experiment.

One to dissect and analyze emotion.

Beyond Plan B. To reach the limit with her own legs, Agnes Tachyon was stepping into uncharted research.

A mad scientist. A dangerous woman best avoided. Though labeled as such, Agnes Tachyon was, at her core, a horse girl through and through.

Enthralled by the potential of a horse girl’s body, she resolved to defy fate—charging forward, led by the very emotions she had once dismissed.

But the new fate that even she didn’t see coming… that was another story entirely.

—Japanese Derby, defeat.

Splash.

—Daily Hai Nippon Cup, defeat.

Splash.

—Argentina Republic Cup, defeat.

Splash.

In the dead of night, when all had fallen asleep, the chestnut monster—Grass Wonder—lay awake.

Lights-out had long passed, and the date had already changed. The heavy, dark hallway bore no signs of life. The dormitory was so deeply silent, one might wonder if even a single living soul remained.

"—Hah."

Grass Wonder lifted her head. Staring back at her from the mirror was the haggard face of a chestnut horse girl, worn down beyond mere exhaustion.

"...What a mess."

She turned off the faucet, muttering self-deprecatingly. True to her nature—one that despised emotional vulnerability—Grass Wonder carried an unbearable weight within.

It was the weight of repeated defeats and relentless pressure. Having risen to prominence early in the junior division, the expectations and scrutiny placed upon her were anything but ordinary.

Her Twinkle Series had peaked with an undefeated victory in the Asahi Hai Futurity Stakes—only to decline from there. A fracture discovered at the start of the new year, a return to racing, yet failing to claim the coveted Derby… and now, in the autumn races, not a single win to her name. Wracked with self-reproach, Grass Wonder was left smoldering in frustration.

The Daily Hai Nippon Cup and Argentina Republic Cup had been close—agonizingly so. But a loss was still a loss. No matter how narrow the margin, the one who crossed the finish line first was the victor.

She knew that. Even if her final three furlongs (600m) had been the fastest in those races, she had still lost. Her trainer had tried to console her, but it did nothing to lift the storm in her heart.

In Japan’s Twinkle Series, the final three furlongs—the last 600 meters—were paramount. Grass Wonder, like many other horse girls, had trained relentlessly with that stretch in mind.

Yet now, after repeated defeats and the rise of front-runners like Apollo Rainbow, her confidence had been stripped to the roots.

Grass Wonder’s closing speed was among the best of her generation. Her three-furlong times and the sharpness of her peak form proved it. But without results, all the numbers and praise were nothing more than hollow flattery.

Mentally, she was at her limit. Lately, her sleepless nights had left dark circles under her eyes—barely concealed by unfamiliar makeup. But even that was reaching its breaking point.

"…………"

Not a single G1 victory—not in the Classics, not even in the Tiara races. This was supposed to be her chance to prove herself the strongest among a gifted generation. And yet, she had lost. Lost again and again. She couldn’t blame her injuries. Durability was part of talent, after all.

Not long ago, she had spoken with King Halo, who, upon seeing Grass Wonder’s visible despair, had laughed brightly.

"I’m not my mother. I’ll carve out my own path to greatness. I lost the Triple Crown, but no one can take away my obsession with victory. No matter how deep the abyss, I’ll never stop believing in that hope. That’s what being first-class means to me!"

King Halo had competed in every Classic race, only to lose every time. Deep down, she knew she lacked the aptitude for middle-to-long distances—yet she kept challenging them, because her vision of "first-class" was a horse girl who conquered the Classics.

After the Kikuka-shō, tears had streamed down King Halo’s cheeks.

Had her challenge been a mistake? Would she have been better off following her mother’s path? Doubts that had flickered since her Derby loss now loomed large.

And yet—King Halo had chosen to keep running forward. She had encouraged Grass Wonder, herself crushed by defeat, and vowed to grow stronger by embracing even her losses.

No matter how bitter the frustration, no matter how many times she fell—even if she could never run a race that satisfied her mother—she would rise again. That was what she had declared. After the Kikuka-shō, King Halo had undeniably grown stronger.

Grass Wonder didn’t understand her.

No—she could understand, but she knew she could never be like that.

Before a race, of course, her fighting spirit burned fiercely. But in the raw aftermath of defeat? No, she wasn’t that mature. She knew losses were sometimes necessary, but at heart, she was a horse girl who thrived on victory.

"...What am I?"

Alone in the pitch-black washroom, Grass Wonder whispered to herself.

She had friends at Tracen Academy she could be proud of—especially Special Week, El Condor Pasa, and Apollo Rainbow, who were as much rivals as they were close companions. But in these past six months, they had all left her far behind.

Seiun Sky had won the Satsuki-shō. Special Week, the Japanese Derby. Apollo Rainbow dominated the Derby and then crushed the Kikuka-shō. El Condor Pasa took the NHK Mile Cup. Even King Halo, though without a G1 win, had claimed a major autumn stakes race.

And Grass Wonder? This year, her only victory was the Aoba-shō (G2). Four races, one win.

—Could the former junior champion really call herself their rival now? Could she stand as their equal?

Narrowing her eyes, the silence invaded her ears—a high-pitched, crystalline noise seeping into her eardrums, flooding her mind with discomfort. The room was devoid of light, save for the faint glow of her phone, which only made the darkness feel deeper.

"I have to win."

Grass Wonder’s next race was the Arima Kinen. Though fan votes played a role, she was unlikely to be denied entry.

King Halo’s post-Kikuka-shō schedule was uncertain. Even if she entered the Arima, Grass Wonder doubted she’d lose to her over that distance… but mentally, the gap between them had undeniably widened. If they clashed again on a shorter stage, King Halo would surely stand in her way.

Special Week, she’d heard, was heading to the Japan Cup after the Kikuka-shō. Grass Wonder’s own schedule made the Japan Cup unlikely, so their next showdown would probably be the Osaka Hai.

El Condor Pasa’s plans after the Japan Cup were unclear. Rumors swirled—Hong Kong? A rest until next year? Either way, she’d likely skip the Arima to prepare for her European campaign.

And Seiun Sky? No word since the Kikuka-shō. But knowing her, if the fan votes piled up, she’d casually show up at the Grand Prix to hunt big game.

Silence Suzuka would spend the year-end resting while heading to America, acclimating her body to the turf and racing style over there. The 2500-meter distance was likely a bit beyond her optimal range, and she wasn’t expected to appear in the year-end Grand Prix.

Air Groove and Machikane Fukukitaru would probably run in the Arima. But the most formidable obstacle standing in the way—

“...Apollo Rainbow.”

Glass Wonder’s sharp gaze pierced the darkness. In her lapis lazuli eyes, a pitch-black flame ignited. The face reflected in the mirror wore an overwhelming expression—one of the most intimidating she had seen on herself lately.

Apollo Rainbow.

Back in the Japanese Derby—or more precisely, before the Satsuki Sho—she had issued a direct challenge. But in that Derby, she hadn’t even made it to the starting line, suffering a crushing defeat. Hidden in the shadow of the fierce duel between Special Week and Apollo Rainbow, her loss had come quietly and without fanfare.

It wasn’t that her injury had no effect, but even those physical conditions—including injuries—are part of what make up talent and discipline. The Derby had left behind bitter regret.

...Maybe fate was calling out to her. Telling her to settle the score from the Derby. To redeem herself in the Arima Kinen...

“—!”

Glass Wonder’s ideal racing distance was somewhere between 1400 and 2600 meters. The 2500-meter Arima Kinen was well within range. She was also comfortable with the right-turning course at Nakayama Racecourse.

Glass Wonder felt her withered spirit flip inside out. She couldn’t help but smile a little, remembering the words of her close friend, King Halo: The more rivals you have, the stronger you become.

That’s right. A big stage is the only place she truly ignites. It was because she had fallen so low that she could see it clearly now. This was what she had been craving all along. A blood-pumping death match. A fierce, no-holds-barred clash against a rival giving it their all.

In Japan’s pride and joy—the great year-end Grand Prix—she wanted to go head-to-head with her rivals, each of them giving everything they had, and emerge victorious.

Ah, yes. That’s it. How could she have forgotten? The overlapping pain of injury and defeat had made her lose sight of herself. What a waste—Glass Wonder should never be anything else.

“I remember now… why I run.”

Something heavy and dull—neither anger nor resolve, nor even calm—settled deep in her chest.

Apollo Rainbow. Undoubtedly the greatest threat of the century. A monster who shattered the world record at the Kikuka Sho. But still, there’s only room for one monster. And that monster is me—Glass Wonder.

“Hehe.”

There’s no way I’m going down without a fight, she whispered internally. With a turn of her heel, Glass Wonder began walking through the darkness.

There are things she refuses to yield. Decisions she has no intention of changing.

The Arima Kinen will belong to her. That’s what she decided just now. But this resolve was unshakable. Could she finally vent all the frustration of having lost her way for so long? How exactly would she bring down that unstoppable runaway?

She had rewatched the Kikuka Sho countless times, but it was clear—there is simply no way to counter Apollo Rainbow’s runaway strategy. And that’s exactly what makes it so exhilarating. Isn’t this—the chance to face such an invincible style and go all out to defeat it—the greatest joy one could ever hope for as a racer?

Glass Wonder smiled faintly.

She mouthed an old saying: “When you see it as your own burden, even the snow on your hat feels light.” It meant that hardships don’t feel like a burden when they’re for your own sake.

No amount of hard training or harsh reality could weigh her down—because it was all for her own growth. With that ancient wisdom deepening her conviction, Glass Wonder continued walking the corridor, a new clarity blooming within her.

—So that’s what King Halo meant all along.

An aura began to radiate from the chestnut-colored monster.

Whether that intensity was real or an illusion—

It would all be revealed at the year-end Grand Prix.

Glass Wonder powered off her mobile device and murmured softly:

“Let’s face each other at full strength—and then, I’ll win.”