Chapter 80: At the Winning Live

The moment I recognized the finish line, I went limp and slowed down. Dragging my mud-soaked shoes, I dropped to my knees. Once I stopped, I wasn’t sure I’d ever move again. That’s how violently exhaustion wracked my entire body.

Every inch of me screamed in protest. My pure white wedding dress was caked in mud—even with its water-resistant treatment, it was a wreck. I didn’t even have the energy to brush off the dirt. My hair was a tangled mess, plastered to my forehead, cheeks, and the corners of my mouth. I wiped the liquid dripping from my lips and gasped for air.

As I stood there, catching my breath, Grass Wonder caught up to me from behind. Just as I raised my hand to wipe the sweat from my brow—without even noticing her—her arm darted out like a snake. Her pale fingers closed around my wrist.

"Apollo-chan. You probably have mud in your right eye—don’t rub it. Let your tears wash it out."

"...Ah—"

She must’ve mistaken my movement as an attempt to rub my eye. My right eye did hurt, but I’d been too exhausted to remember why. Oh yeah, that’s right. I closed my right eyelid and blinked lightly.

During the high-speed race, mud had splattered straight into my eye. Injuries always hurt, but eye injuries felt uniquely awful. Probably because they were the organ that took in the most information.

As I let my tears wash away the blood and mud, I wiped the liquid trickling down my cheek with my fingertips. My pristine white gloves were now stained with blood, sweat, and dirt. I clenched the liquid pooling in my palm and squeezed tight.

Amid the pain, a throbbing, undeniable joy. —I’m happy. It had been an unexpected Grand Prix, but I’d still managed to win. Tomio’s prediction had been spot-on, and I’d landed a perfect strike on Glass Wonder.

Waving off the rushing medics, I turned my gaze—well, one eye—to the chestnut-haired girl beside me. Grass Wonder’s elegant hair was wildly disheveled, streaked with mud. Since she’d been in the thick of the pack, her racing outfit was just as filthy. Yet her face was lit with a bright, cheerful smile.

"Grass-chan… thanks for going all out against me."

"...Not at all. I lost, but I had so much fun."

"Me too. Never wanna do it again, though."

"Heh."

Grass Wonder giggled softly. On closer look, her legs were trembling. Not that I had room to talk—standing at all felt like my limit.

When I opened my mouth to point it out, she cut me off.

"Apollo-chan, we can’t afford to dawdle. Not to alarm you, but you should get that right eye treated as soon as possible."

"...Yeah. Don’t wanna go blind. I’ll head out soon."

"Okay. See you later."

"Mm."

Maybe she didn’t want to show weakness until the very end. After a final glance at Grass Wonder, I turned on my heel. Bowing briefly toward the stands, I followed the medics straight to the infirmary.

The year-end Grand Prix, the Arima Kinen. In chaos that would never repeat, the clock stopped at 2:31.9. The electric display showed the results: 1st - Apollo Rainbow. 2nd - Grass Wonder, two lengths behind. 3rd - Mejiro Bright, another three lengths back.

Even after I left, the cheers from the stands showed no sign of fading.

"APOLLO, YOU OKAY?!"

While getting emergency treatment for my right eye in the infirmary, Tomio burst in, frantic. For fighting through the crowds, he’d made it here impressively fast. I waved back at him breezily, but he just started pacing around me in circles.

Like Silence Suzuka, huh? The injury didn’t seem serious, so I almost laughed—but considering how worried he was, this wasn’t the time for jokes.

Fidgeting, Tomio called out to the doctor, who replied in a monotone:

"So, uh, Apollo’s eye—"

"Some mud got in and scratched the cornea. Risk of blindness is extremely low, but to be safe, she should go to the hospital."

"I-I see..."

The doctor finished up, kicked off the rolling chair, and vanished. In his place, a URA staff member hesitantly approached us.

"Um, about the Winning Live... what would you like to do?"

What would you like to do? Meaning, was I going to participate or not. My trainer’s cheek twitched at the question, but with this many fans gathered, canceling wasn’t ideal. Normally, he’d prioritize the hospital—but from a promotional standpoint, a Winning Live without today’s star would be a disaster. Tomio hesitated to answer immediately.

The staff probably felt guilty too. Anyone familiar with racing knew how crucial post-race treatment was. Under normal circumstances, they’d advise skipping the ceremony.

Under the watchful eyes of the staff, Tomio hesitated. But his answer had been decided from the start: "Take me to the hospital." The only reason the Arima Memorial had stretched his deliberation time at all was due to its historic spectator numbers and the overwhelming public attention.

He always put me first. Ruthless as a demon, yet deeply kind. Prioritizing his Umamusume over profits or appearances—that was the kind of trainer Momozawa Tomio was.

But I wasn’t like him. I raised a hand to stop Tomio as he began to speak, locking eyes with him. This Arima Memorial was special. My usually busy parents were here at Nakayama Racecourse, watching my race live—even witnessing the moment of my victory.

A moment like this would never come again. So without hesitation, I said:

"Tomio. I want to do the Winning Live. I want to sing and dance—for my parents, and for all the fans."

It wasn’t just my parents. How many people here were seeing the racecourse for the first time? How many had just watched me win live for the first time? How many had won the lottery to attend this very concert? This was the only moment these fans would ever be here.

I wanted to thank everyone here. And surely, if they could, every fan would want to see my Winning Live too.

I wouldn’t back down, even if he refused. For this Arima Memorial, I needed to be stubborn. Of course, the final decision rested with my trainer, Momozawa Tomio. Whether I could perform hinged entirely on how much my words could move him.

He agonized over my small wish, crossing and uncrossing his arms, furrowing his brow, pressing his lips into a thin line as he thought.

And yet, Tomio still said: "Let’s skip the Winning Live."

"...Apollo, I’m sorry, but I can’t allow it. With that right eye, forget singing—you can’t dance."

The emergency treatment had removed the dirt and blood from my eye, but my right vision was still tinted red. Depth perception was shaky, making dancing risky—that was Tomio’s reasoning.

But there was room to argue. The Arima Memorial’s traditional song, NEXT FRONTIER, didn’t require as intense a dance as Honnou Speed or Umappyoi Legend. It had turns and side steps, but no rapid formation changes or sprinting across the stage. In a way, it was a song I could focus on singing.

If anything, the bigger issue wasn’t the dance but the stage effects. NEXT FRONTIER’s live performance featured towering pillars of fire—so excessive they bordered on absurd. Combined with the relentless lighting, the stage grew so hot Umamusume would finish drenched in sweat. The heat worsening my injury was far scarier.

I pushed back, refusing to yield. Tomio held his ground.

"I could dance blindfolded!"

"That’s not the point. What if your eye gets worse?"

"It’s not that bad!"

"But what if it is?"

"...Even if it is, I still want to do this. For my family, who sent me to Tracen Academy. For every fan here today. I need to give them my song. So... please?"

"............"

Even so. When I clutched his hand and begged from the bottom of my heart, Tomio swallowed the refusal rising in his throat. He closed his eyes.

A flicker of hesitation. He was searching for a way to make the live possible. If he couldn’t find one... then I’d have to give up.

I squeezed his hand, waiting. The force in his grip betrayed how much he was struggling.

I felt terrible. But some things couldn’t be compromised.

Tomio lifted his head. I braced for his words. They came quickly.

"...Fine. We’ll do the Winning Live. This Arima Memorial won’t come again. But we simplify the choreography and tone down the usual flashy effects."

"...! Th-thank you!"

Tomio exhaled heavily, unclenching his fists. After gently touching my right cheek to check the injury, he dashed off to the staff waiting outside the infirmary.

I could hear him making demands: reduce the fire effects, simplify the center choreography. The staff, understanding the situation, seemed willing to relay his requests upstairs.

"Apollo, you’ve got quite the trainer," the doctor remarked.

"He’s my proud partner," I replied, and his wrinkled face softened into a smile.

"Here’s some eye drops. Use them before the performance."

"Thank you!"

Accepting the drops, I thanked him and left. Outside, Tomio was seeing off the staff, exhaustion plain on his face. The matter was settled—preparations for the live venue would now proceed at full speed.

"Think they’ll manage it?"

“Yeah… Looks like they’ll do.”

“Thank goodness.”

“…It’s a bit late, but—congrats on first place. When I saw blood from your eye, I thought my heart would stop.”

“That was thanks to your strategy, Tomio.”

“Sure was.”

“Hearing you admit it makes it kinda funny, though.”

“Why’s that…? Ugh.”

“………Really, sorry for pushing this on you.”

“Well… It’ll all work out.”

Tomio sighed again, likely already thinking ahead—post-Winning Live logistics, rushing me to the hospital, the inevitable fallout. Guilt prickled at me.

But my insistence wasn’t just for me. If I’d refused the live, fans would’ve booed—and I couldn’t let that anger turn toward Tomio. Most were reasonable, so maybe this was just paranoia…

…Either way. Now that it’s happening, all I can do is perform cleanly and avoid worsening my injury. If everything goes smoothly, no one needs to worry.

After makeup and cleaning my racing uniform, I stood backstage. Grass Wonder and Mejiro Bright—aware of my condition—approached with polite concern. Their formal tones felt oddly comforting.

“My right eye’s still blurry, so cover for me if I mess up, okay?”

“Oh dear…”

“Understood~!”

Though slightly red, the eye drops made it passable from a distance. My stamina had recovered during the break—now, it all hinged on dancing well.

Rumor had it Special Week once froze mid-performance during her debut Winning Live… Maybe I’d do the same if things got rough.

As staff scurried in my peripheral vision, dim lights illuminated the stage. Through the walls, murmurs reached me: “Will Apollo Rainbow really do the live?” “Is her injury okay?”

I glanced at Grass Wonder and Mejiro Bright flanking me. They nodded slowly, offering their hands. Clasping them gently, we stepped onto the path leading to the stage.

The melancholic intro of NEXT FRONTIER began.

The rising platform. Surging cheers engulfing the venue. Then—gasps as the crowd spotted me.

No time to dwell. I poured my voice into the mic as we launched into the song. Grass Wonder and Mejiro Bright danced gracefully at my sides, while I moved carefully but fiercely.

Singing while dancing was harder than sprinting full-tilt. Focus too much on dance, and pitch wavers; prioritize vocals, and movement suffers. Both demand perfection in delicate balance.

And the audience noticed immediately—my balance was off.

Frankly, my dancing was a mess. Stumbles, tangled legs—each time, Grass Wonder and Mejiro Bright steadied me—zero dynamism. My right eye’s vision was worse than I’d thought; just staying upright took everything.

But my voice? The raw power tearing from my chest rivaled anyone’s.

—I refused to regret this now, this once-in-a-lifetime moment.

My vibrant, forceful vocals soared. Beads of sweat rolled as I wove each lyric.

The Winning Live was our gratitude to the fans who cheered us in the race. To the 170,000 here, I’d pour feelings only this moment could convey.

Thank you for your support. Thank you for coming.

—This chosen path, I’ll race down relentlessly.
I’ll stand at the summit—I swear it.

Nakayama’s twilight, skies clear. For the fans, my family, and Tomio, I sang with all my gratitude.

Now and always—forward, with everything I have.

The live ended triumphantly. In the finale, I clung to Grass Wonder and Mejiro Bright, tears streaming. As NEXT FRONTIER’s outro faded, we waved wildly to the crowd.