The metallic latch of the starting gate smells like the period at the end of a sentence, one that she had been writing for weeks. Normcore’s gaze slowly stretches over the patch of vibrant green turf, the one that rustled like a lifeline. Her body trembles; her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Is she going to be alright?” Masaru, high up in the stands, squints her eyes at the starting gate. “She still looks pretty pale.”
“If I am being honest? Even with the extra work she’s put in, it’ll be a miracle if she finishes anything but last.” Goutarou, standing stiffly beside her, doesn’t turn. He, too, has his gaze on the gates.
“So…” Masaru’s ears slowly droop. “There’s… no chance?”
“Unless something drastic happens, no. The plan is to try and fish for a good spurt in the middle of the pack, but that would require her to get lucky.” Goutarou crosses his arms. “So, for the time being, we wait.”
Bzzzzzt… A loud buzzer noise echoes in the air, signalling the ready signal. In unison, every racer on the field lowers their stance. She knew the timing. She knew how many seconds were between the buzzer and the start. The city girls shoot each other a look. Normcore draws in a deep breath, anticipating the opening before-
BEEP! A blur of gray erupts outwards, her footsteps thundering against turf and leaving dust in her wake. In a split second she had rushed to the forefront, tearing away from the pack in the rear. The roar of the crowd fades into the background alongside every thought she has in her head; replaced by a single, white-hot point of focus:
Run.
“Wha-? She’s so fast!” The city girls had expected to round her up with a quick spurt at the start, yet she had blown across the first half of the straight like a bolt of lightning. “What the hell?!”
“Dear me! It looks like we’ve got quite the surprise on our hands!” The announcer roars loudly. “Normcore comes out of the gate strong, and she’s managed to gain a lead of three lengths!”
“Ah! Norm!” Masaru springs to her feet. “That wasn’t the plan! What is she-”
“She’s continuing to gain distance from the pack.” Goutarou’s brows furrow. “Is she… front running?”
Normcore’s heart pounds loudly in her chest. The rush of blood flowing through her legs now ran full force, a sensation she doesn’t usually get until later in the race.
A chill runs up her spine before she can even process her advantage. She doesn’t need to look. A silent, relentless pressure lingers just behind her right shoulder, a predator waiting for the first sign of weakness. Le Vent Se Leve was conserving energy, letting the upstart from regionals burn herself out.
“This is amazing! What a turn of events! The fight for the lead has a clear winner, but will she be able to keep that advantage?”
The group of runners swing out wide onto the first corner. Dirt.
Her world jolts. The firm turf had been yanked out beneath her feet like a rug, replaced by a sliding surface that stole her speed with every step. She almost stumbles, her knees and feet protesting wildly, her muscles screaming as they fight for traction.
Then, muscle memory kicks into motion.
Her form and stance shift immediately. She steadies her breathing and settles into a rhythm. Her speed picks back up. She’d practiced it all, drilling it into herself day after day until it became second nature.
“She- She’s in the lead! She might actually pull this off!” Masaru squeals loudly.
“No, she’s playing a dangerous gamble.” Goutarou’s silence was more terrifying than any critique. The gears were turning, and all roads led to one conclusion: failure. The truth was universal and absolute: No runner, no matter how talented, could change her style at will. “Any mistake she makes will be fatal.”
Yet, a seed of doubt defies his logic. This was no frantic scramble. Against all odds, he begins to consider the impossible.
Instead of settling on her lead, Normcore picks up her pace as she rounds the first corner; her breathing changes to a slow, drumming gasp between each step. Subconsciously, her head glances to the right as she reaches the peak of the turn. Instantly, a map of the track lights up in her head, pulsing slowly like a radar. She could see it now- where everyone was, what move they were about to make.
“Our runners are making their way into the second straight! Leading in the front is Normcore, three lengths behind is Le Vent Se Leve, a fifteen length difference between the leader and trailer.”
She didn’t particularly care about Le Vent Se Leve, there was no chance of beating her. A five length lead from the pack, however, was far from enough. Normcore grunts as she kicks her legs up into second gear, tearing away further from the pack with the soft dirt flying out beneath her. She slowly feels her lungs start to burn with each breath.
The pack behind her begins to jostle. They could see her flying further forward, growing restless by the second. Shoulders were brushing, soft bumps exchanged, tails whipping close enough to sting.
“Hhh-!” Her breathing staggers, her body flashing an early warning to let off the gas. She wasn’t pacing herself for a victory. Her stamina and acceleration was at a massive disadvantage, but if she could draw out the rest of runners into rushing their final spurt, she could level the playing field just enough to squeeze out a finish.
She grits her teeth and punches right through the pain. There was no other choice- in a head-on clash of stamina and speed, she was lost. The only way for her to mitigate that advantage was by dictating the pace from the front. The wind wildly prickles at her face; not the soft, gentle breeze of a broken slipstream that lingered behind the front, but rather the aggressive frontal gust that every pace setter was forced to conquer.
Seven lengths. All was good. She eases off the acceleration into cruise control, slowly settling herself into a steady trickle of pace. The lead would last her until the third bend, but the message was more important:
I’m done.
The audience, the competitors, the broadcasters- they don’t just see a racer stepping into energy conservation. They see a car out of gas.
“W-What’s happening? Everyone’s… pushing up!” A shriek from Masaru breaks through the silence. The bait is cast. The effect is instantaneous. Fourteen racers pounce on the red herring like sharks to blood, jumbling their pace in anticipation of an overtake.
“This girl…” Goutarou’s eyes are wide in stunned silence, his gaze locked upon her retreating silhouette that was now blazing through the first big straight. He had never imagined in his life that he’d see something like this again.
The same gasp from the crowd. The same frantic, panicked surge from the pack behind. The deja vu strikes him like a gut punch, leaving him winded in silence; the gray hair billowing out behind the racer that day was short, but the two matched each other stride for stride. He was watching history repeat itself in the ghost of a laid-back easygoing gremlin, channeled by a silver-haired thunderstorm rising from the sticks.
“...And it’s Normcore in the front still as we come halfway past the big straight! Half the race still to go, but it looks like the pack is gaining on her lead!”
A stabbing sensation was starting to form in her lungs. It took Normcore everything to maintain even her cruising pace, her muscles groaning and straining with each step. She adjusts her breathing, trying her best to save stamina for the final spurt, yet she’s still burning through that reserve far too quick for comfort. At this rate, she wouldn’t be able to spurt for the full distance.
A cold, hard panic blossoms in her chest. Her ears frantically twitch as they pin back, trying to judge the distance still between her and Le Vent Se Leve. The footsteps behind her grew louder by the second, and she’s suddenly flooded with a sensation of despair. It was a catastrophic fault line built into every memory- The fear of being boxed that kicks the mind into spurting early… and burning the race out entirely.
No… Stay!
The next step drives her foot hard into the dirt. She leans forward, her teeth grit together so tightly she could feel sparks fly off them. A shower of sweat droplets fly off her hair, splashing upon the track with each laborious step.
And she forces herself to wait.
A sensation of dread floods her from behind. Her lead had evaporated almost in an instant, Le Vent Se Leve close enough to breathe right down her neck. She couldn’t let her overtake yet, the favorite was the only one shielding her from the rest of the pack.
Then she sees it. A beacon of light. The third bend was coming up in a hundred meters; if she could be just enough of a nuisance to keep the fight going until the-
“...huh?”
Fphump. The earth violently shakes behind her as a vortex of unstoppable force whistles past her like a bullet, a gust kicking up in her wake as Le Vent Se Leve bursts into overdrive. Normcore, sensing the incoming burst, tries to sidestep and check her path…
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But she’s one step too late. Le Vent Se Leve whistles past her with blinding speed, accelerating from thin air into mach four.
“Gck!” She gasps, nearly sent into a stumbling spiral in the violent aftermath.
“And there it is! The favorite of the race, Le Vent Se Leve, overtakes the leader and heads for the finish!”
No. Things were still fine. She doesn’t need to finish first. If she manages to keep her pace, she’ll still be able to-
“Gah!”
A sharp pain springs up her left foot, causing her to stumble for real. Normcore nosedives towards the inner railing, losing a huge chunk of speed before straightening herself. Her limp had come roaring back to bite her at the worst moment possible.
Sweat lines her forehead, her body trembling head to toe with exhaustion. It had taken everything for her to accelerate back up to cruise control, but that had left her tank burning critically low. What was worse, she was now offset with a terrible limp that threatened to turn her leftwards with every step.
“Not looking too good, eh, girl?”
The city girls were neck and neck with her now. The ringleader had accelerated herself to match Normcore’s pace, slowly pressing her body towards the inner rail like a vice grip of death. She barely edges out in front, but any letup meant she would be completely and utterly blocked off.
“I thought you were some hotshot dark horse. Turns out you’re just some small shrimp with a fancy gimmick up your sleeve.”
Normcore had no response. Her world was starting to turn white. Each and every breath came with a ragged gasp, her body one bad step away from collapsing. A good final spurt was out of the question now- it’d be a miracle if she even manages to jog her way to the finish.
“...What a pity.”
The statement rings in her head like a relentless bell.
The stadium fades. The roar dies down. They echo slowly in the air until they become silent…
And she finds herself back in the classroom with Katsura Oscar.
A soft, warm trickle of sunlight bleeds through the curtains, casting an orange glow on the floor. Katsura’s expression was something less than contempt. It was pity.
“To think I got beaten on the final straight by someone like you.”
Her arms were crossed. The tone of her voice had transformed from sadistic to platonic, almost like she had been making small talk and not threatening to kill Normcore seconds ago.
“Take a good look at yourself.”
Normcore finds herself staring at the floor, her arms threatening to give out beneath her. She was on all fours, out of breath, out of strength, and… well… out of wits. She couldn’t even find the effort to answer back, her body too busy gasping to muster a word.
“You know what? I’ll admit it. I was angry when I first saw you peeking through that door.” Katsura slowly kneels down in front of her, her ribbon-like hair draping inches from Norm’s face. “After all, it’s quite embarrassing for you to overhear that little spiel of mine.”
But she didn’t sound like it. She wasn’t angry. She looked… overjoyed.
“But after that little adventure of ours, after the effort and the chasing and the little hunt. I realized I didn’t need to worry at all.”
There was a trill of singsong in her voice. A note of happiness that sprang forth so unnerving it made Normcore’s skin crawl. Her canines were bearing through the smug grin on her face, her eyes glowing ominously in the setting sun.
“Just look at you. Out of breath already. What was that… a five minute chase? Ten minutes? You’re never going to overcome me. You’re never even going to get close.”
Katsura’s face gleamed with sweat, but she wasn’t exhausted; not in the way Normcore was. She wants to bite back, to tell her she’s wrong, but before she can muster the courage to fight, Katsura pounces.
“I’ve been on a treadmill for twenty minutes, graycoat.” Katsura practically slams her forehead against Normcore. Every cell in her body screams danger, yet there’s nowhere for her to go. “Tell me, what the hell were you doing before I started chasing you?”
She gulps. The answer is there. She doesn’t want to admit it, but she doesn’t need to. Katsura knows the answer already.
“Nothing. Nothing, am I right? I am right! Your fresh pair of legs couldn’t outrun someone on half a tank of gas!”
She giggles. First it was a small, grating sound akin to nails on chalkboard; then a loud, banshee-like maniacal laughter that filled the room to the brim. Norm remained a statue on the floor, each and every sound chipping at her confidence until it was ground to a fine pile of rubble on the floor.
There was no clever rebuttal. There was no witty comeback. Her mouth opens, but only an airless gasp comes out. Katsura… was right.
“Thank you. Thank you for showing me that I am better.” She hisses into her ear, finally standing and leaving for the door humming a tune in her wake. “You’ve given me the best day of my life, and I owe it all to you, graycoat!”
The door slams shut with a jolt. The afternoon sun feels scalding on her skin.
“You’ve never had the lungs to back up your bite.”
GASP.
Normcore’s body convulses on the track, a ragged, wet sound tearing from her throat. The exact same sound she’d made on the classroom floor. The pack practically swarms her, swallowing her up in a tide of bodies. The gap between them was quickly closing, the group now jostling for a good position in the final third.
Voices of contempt echo loudly in her head, drowning out even the crowd, they begin to tower over her, their shadows stretching far enough to blot out the sun.
“You vermin. How dare you show up here?”
“Regionals? Wow.”
“You’ll never amount to anything. You’re nothing without me.”
But it’s Kentaro’s voice that finally sets her off.
A white-hot wire snaps behind her eyes, the spark was a blazing ember on a gas trail of rage, boiling over into a concoction that threatened to consume her very soul. If not for the bastard, she wouldn’t even be in this situation.
No more. She was done being trampled over.
No more. She was done being a doormat for the glory of others.
No more!
“URYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
She lets out a guttural scream, shattering the voices in a devastating roar.
If they wanted to see her burn and crash so bad, then so be it. If she was bound to go out ablaze, then she would make sure to burn so bright the world could never forget.
Her foot hits the floor hard enough to crater, her body leaning so far ahead she practically kisses the dirt. She doesn’t care. She kicks off with the force of a rocket, blasting herself out of the back and exploding round the third turn.
“How unexpected- It’s Normcore again! What fierce resolve! She tears away from the pack once more! She’s gaining on Le Vent Se Leve! Ladies and gentlemen, we might have a dead heat finish on our hands!”
Her footsteps converge into blur beneath her as she hits the gas with all that she has. The railing transforms into a straight line of white, the whistling of wind in the air harmonizing with the roar of the crowd into the climax of her Ninth Symphony.
She sees it now. The finishing line was a stretch away from her. Le Vent Se Leve was two lengths away and closing. Her body was screaming in protest, her legs feeling like lead. She ignores it and pushes right through, shutting off all thought with the pure force of will.
Two hundred meters left. This is it. All that remained was to close the gap and-
…
Whoosh.
Her world turns white for a split second. Her vision flickers. She was still racing ahead full speed, but her body simply… stops. No matter how much she wills it to move, it simply refuses to obey.
Realization washes over her: She was a fool for thinking she ever had a chance.
Thump. The crowd lets out a collective gasp as she rakes across the dirt in an unceremonious crash, unceremoniously rolling across the dirt in a broken heap of limbs.
Footsteps thunder past her as the pack charges for the finish. It was over. Her hope, her future, her dreams- it means nothing in the end. She tried her best. It wasn't enough. The facts were simple: There’s simply no reality where she wins.
A dejected groan leaves Normcore’s mouth as she lies on the floor like a dying fish.
“KEEP GOING!!”
The scream sends a jolt through her body.
Her eyes flutter open with a gasp, drifting to the stands with a startled blink. Masaru, screaming, hanging so far over the railing she seems to defy gravity, her face so red she looks like she’s about to pass out.
“DON’T GIVE UP!”
A shudder wracks her broken body. One trembling hand, caked in dirt and streaked with red, digs into the track. The other follows. Her arms scream as they take her weight, shaking violently, threatening to buckle. She doesn’t stand up so much as she stumbles, hauling herself upright with a body full of static.
The tip of the pack pushes past her, footsteps thunder on her left and right as they navigate around her. Somewhere in the static, her mental map flickers back to life. The rushed pack slows towards the finish; they, too, are running on the ends of their legs. The city girls had utterly ignored her in their smug grins and snide chuckles. She was free to try for the finish, but the thought is seldom a consolation; there were mere seconds left in the race.
She pushes off her right foot and slips. She slams her left into the ground. It refuses to push off.
Why? Why can’t I run?!
Long, cold, metallic chains stretch out of the ground, firmly rooting her ankle in place. The limp cuffs her like Kentaro’s pudgy fingers trying to drag her back to hell.
No! I won’t let myself be stopped by this!
The chains groan as she violently shifts her weight onto her left.
We are Uma Musume! We are born to run!
For the first time in months, her knee snaps taut against the weight of her body. The chains strain against one another, whining as she stretches them to their limit.
A reality where I cannot run is a worthless one!
A resounding, earth shattering SNAP reverberates through the air. Broken links blast off in every direction as her foot entrenches itself in dirt, accompanied by Masaru’s screams and crowd’s deafening roar.
“GO!!! NORM!!!”
She springs forward like a cork from a bottle, her eyes blazing with an intense fire.
REJECT THAT REALITY!
“I-I don’t believe it! Ladies and gentlemen, Normcore has gotten back up! She’s still going! What extraordinary resolve! What extraordinary will!”
FORGE A FUTURE WHERE I CAN WIN!
Her legs shudder violently with each agonizing step. The world fades at the edges with each ragged breath. She doesn’t even bother wiping the soot from her face as she throws herself forward.
“It’s Normcore! She’s coming in strong and two lengths behind!”
GET YOURSELF OVER THAT LINE, EVEN IF IT KILLS YOU!
“I don’t believe it! We are witnessing history, folks! She’s neck and neck with fourth place! It’s Normcore! Normcore from Iwaki City racing academy-”
The crowd’s roar fades. One length to the finish.
Her right leg buckles. She throws herself forward, hand outstretched, crashing violently over the finish line in a lightheaded daze.
“-Finishing third against all odds!”
Her body, battered and abused, finally sputters out for good.
