Chapter Text
Ding, ding.. ding
“The next train travelling: Fuchū, Tokyo, to: Shizunai, Hokkaido, will arrive in.. 10 minutes.”
The cool, night breeze blew past her tail, swaying it gently in the wind. The station was empty, safe for a few businessmen taking the next line out of Tokyo. She looked up from her phone, pausing her music to let the ambience take over her mind. The flushed, older men who looked way too out of it to be travelling home reminded her of the first time she went back to visit, demanded by her trainer. “Vodka, you need to get out of this mindset, go for a change in scenery.” was his advice, she was grateful for it, but thinking back, when was the last time she had visited her family?
She shook the thought away, her gaze focusing and moving to a man sitting on the bench near the smoker’s only area. She pulled her hood further down and tucked her tail behind her legs before walking over to the man. “I can’t be recognized like this.”
“Excuse me, sir,” her voice creaked, a little higher than usual. “Can I bum a cigarette off you?” she asked, almost a bit shy. She just needed something to calm her nerves, something to do to pass the time.
The man looked up to her, his eyes unfocused, probably from an office party that spiralled out of control. Without thinking, he pulled one out for the other, along with a lighter. “What am I even doing?” she thought, “I haven't smoked since I was like, sixteen.” Even so, she took up the man’s offer, the flint clicking twice before sparking a soft, light flame. She brought it up to her lips, the tobacco sizzling as she took a breath in. Vodka’s throat burned in a way that comforted her, filled her with too much nostalgia for the vice she came back to for this moment. She passed the lighter back to the other man, moving to lean against a metal column holding up the makeshift roof above their head’s, conveniently there was a trash can nearby.
She took another breath in. Moving her eyes up towards the advertisements laid in front of the tracks, she saw herself next to the one person she had run away from, the one thing that mattered to her the most at this moment.
It was an ad trying to promote the next, big, G1 race, the one she hadn't announced her departure from competing in. Her trainer left it up to her to decide, but she knew it was inevitable, she had to sit in front of another room full of hungry reporters, knowing she’d disappoint everyone after being so cocky at the Shuka Sho.
“I’ll wipe that smug smile off her face myself!”
At the time, she thought she sounded insanely cool, but now? The words replayed in her head as she stared at Scarlet’s picture, next to her own, her mind making fun of herself. She chuckled, letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding in.
“That race,” the other man started. “Say, lady, isn't it in a few days?” Vodka looked in his direction.
“In five days.” She corrected the man blankly, taking another breath of smoke from the cigarette she asked for. Her lungs burned in a sense of familiarity. “Still don't know if I’ll go to it or not, ya know?”
The man looked shocked, surprised she’d be so uncaring to the event. “Why not?” he asked, taking a drag of his own. “It's pretty big, you think your favorite wouldn't win?”
Vodka looked back to her rival on the advertisement board. “No, I think she’s got this.” was the last thing she was able to say to the other as the tracks screeched, her train pulling up to the platform. She pushed the butt against the grill on the trash can, bowing her head to the man, then stepping up to the yellow line and pulling out her phone to skip to the next song.
The Man Who Sold The World - Nirvana, Unplugged in New York
“Fitting, huh?”
She stepped up to the train, scanning her ticket at the door, then found the most secluded single seat in the passenger car, throwing her bag to the floor. Vodka leaned her head against the window, sending a cold shock to her skin, the rhythmic vibrations of the train’s engine seemingly keeping her mind grounded. She set her phone to do not disturb, stared out the dusty glass, and felt her heart tighten at the changing scenery ramping up in speed. A tear threatened to roll down on her cheek.
Vodka would be lying if she said she managed to sleep while on the train. She stood alone at the bus station, the zippers on her bag threatening to burst open. The bright, green turf, illuminated by the passing sunrise, across the street reminding her of a future she thought she’d have to give up.
She attempted to click her phone open, being met with a pure black screen save for an empty battery icon. A groan escaped her lips, though the bus turning the corner to the station comforted her.
“Must be the first one today.”
Vodka hopped on and sat in the back, hiding away from the ticket scanner. She stared out the window again, this time recognizing the fields passing by her. “Eleven stops left,” she told herself, “eleven more stops and I’m home. Eleven stops and I can breathe.”
She pulled her hood down, closing her eyes and dozing off for the rest of the trip.
A woman had awoken her at her station, the mother of a girl she was friends with when she was young. Many of them passed over the years when they had been separated by “boy” and “girl” interests. She doesn't remember exactly when it happened, but she remembers that one day she was only really able to talk to a few of the guys in her classes. She was pretty sure that girl was in college by now, economics, or something along those lines.
She bowed her head as thanks, stepped off the bus, and ran with her too-heavy backpack for the rest of her journey. A few minutes later, she stood frozen in front of her childhood home’s door. It felt as if an eternity passed before she rang the bell, being met with her mother.
“Hello, how may I hel-” her voice cut off once she saw her daughter standing in front of her. “Oh sweetheart!” her mother cried, bringing her into a rib-crushing hug. “You should've told us you were coming home!”
Vodka wrapped her arms back around her mother. “Sorry, ma”, she creaked out, “been really busy these days.” Her lungs heaved for air when her mother let go.
The older woman stared proudly at her daughter, a G1 Umamusume, a proud smile stretching across her barely wrinkled cheeks. “Come on in, Vodka!” she spoke, turning to her side, her hand placed on Vodka’s shoulder. “I’ll go make us some tea, alright? Your father's in the garage.”
The younger racer smiled in response. “Thanks mom, I’ll go see what he’s up to.”
Vodka turned and walked by the side of her house, checking the detached garage in the back. A few cruisers, arranged by production date, lined the back of her father’s hobby-workshop. Most of them were UMAHAs, though her father had a few imported Harley-Davidsons he bought as fixer-uppers. With its own special spot, laid her father’s 250cc, and the sight of it in such near-mint condition warmed Vodka’s heart.
In front of his collection, her father was kneeling before a 1980s Harley-Davidson FLT Tour Glide lifted on a fairly professional-looking jack, seemingly doing a routine check on the engine, and an oil change.
Vodka stuck her hands in her pockets. “Yo, pops!” she called out. Her father’s head turned over his shoulder to look at her daughter, his pride and joy. He got up instantly, wiped the grease off his hands and brought her into a suffocating hug. “Welcome home, Vodka” he said before a comforting pat hit her back. She would’ve hugged him back if her arms weren’t pushed neatly to her sides.
He let go of his daughter after a few moments passed. “Y’know, I was startin’ to think you were too cool for your old man, Vodka!” he teased. Vodka stuck her tongue out in response, followed by a hearty laugh from her father. “What brought ya back, kiddo? Isn’t your next race in a few days?”
She froze at the question, nervousness showing. Her gaze fell to the side, noticing the calendar stuck on the wall next to her father’s boombox and dusty, sun-aged cassette collection.
November 7th
Four days before the Queen Elizabeth II Cup
“It’s in four” she breathed out. Her ears and shoulders betrayed her fight to keep cool in front of her father as they both slumped weakly, her smile threatening to fade.
Her father, sensing the sadness in her voice, moved to change the subject. “Alright, Vodka. Wanna help me grease this old beauty’s gears?”
“I’d love to, dad.” As she was walking behind her father, his long, now whitened hair swayed slightly in its loose bun. Suddenly, it reminded her of something, one of her colleagues. “Hey, what time is it?”
Her father, already opening his toolbox, turned to look at his daughter, then to the watch wrapped around his wrist. “Almost 8, why?”
“Shit-”
“Language.”
“My bad, pops.” He nodded in response, signaling she was alright. “I gotta check somethin’, you got a phone charger here?”
Her father nudges his head to his right, under the boombox. “Put something on too, you choose.”
Vodka plugged her long-dead phone in, and moved to peruse his ever-growing collection of homemade cassettes. After a minute, she settled on The Doors’ self-titled album. She threw her bag on the floor before throwing her jacket on a nearby chair. Stretching her fingers, she prepared for some classic engine maintenance on a bike she could only dream of owning in a distant future.
A half hour later, her mother stepped on the backyard’s deck, calling the two inside for some tea and snacks. The young racer and her father passed the grease and oil stained rug to each other to clean up. Afterwards, she reached to wipe the sweat off her forehead, pinning her bangs back with a couple clips she had stored in the front pocket of her backpack.
They all settled in the living room, Vodka sitting beside her father on the couch, the same way she did when she was young: evenings spent with her father watching cartoons and, every other day, motorcycle-related broadcasts after his shifts at the factory. Her mouth watered at the milk biscuits and manju laid neatly next to their family’s tea set, the one her mother saved for special occasions.
“For you, Vodka, to welcome you back.” her mother said with a soft voice, placing a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. She sat down in the nearby armchair, crossing her legs. “What brought you back home, honey?” she asked while reaching for her cup.
“Thanks, mom;” she smiled. “Just needed a break from the constant buzz at Tracen, y'know?” Vodka wasn’t exactly lying, but the half truth she just told them still disturbed her, especially the way it flowed so seamlessly from her lips. She had to stop soon, she knew she couldn’t keep this up. Lying to Scarlet was one thing, still a horrible thing to do to her closest friend, but to her mother? The Umamusume that taught her to be so strong? To face everything head on with a smile?
Her father looked at her with his heart full of love and pride, but the slight crinkle in his brows let her know that he wanted to hear the full story later. The two had always been close, Vodka looked up to him all her life, and he had been there for all hardships that came to her. He wanted to let her know it was alright, that she could talk to him whenever she felt ready. “It’s great to have you back, kid. We’ve missed you.”
“It’s great to be back, too…” her voice trailed off. Awkwardness settled in Vodka’s chest. She knew this day was going to be long if she didn't grow the courage to talk to her family for advice, especially her mother. While his father, with a heart of gold, tried his best to help her whenever, he hadn't experienced the stress of being a national-level athlete, the difficult conversations that came with it, and she felt as if she stood in the same spot as her mother when the two had met, an upcoming, rapidly growing in fame Umamusume, even though Vodka’s future was uncertain.
She had to bite the bullet. “Mom, can I ask you something?” she creaked out after a moment. Her mother's teacup clinked against the glass coffee table.
“What is it, Vodka? Is everything alright at Tracen?” she asked, voice laced with worry. She leaned closer to her daughter, braced herself for whatever was coming next.
Vodka’s mouth felt dry. Her ears bent in shame. “No, it's not necessarily about Tracen.” She cleared her throat, looking for the strength inside of her to ask for advice, despite feeling like a failure to her bloodline. “What do I do when… I’m told it could all be over?” Tears welled up in her eyes, her resolve breaking in a million shards.
Her mother’s eyes widened, not expecting the words that flowed from her daughter. “Did your trainer tell you that?” she asked, placing a hand on her daughter's leg. “What happened? Are you having medical complications?” her voice trailed off, each word sounding even more stressed, the worry in her heart growing every second.
“Something like that” responded the young racer. “I didn't even wanna look at the file.” Her voice grew meek. Tears flowed down her cheeks, her shoulders trembling, hands shaking in her lap. “What do I do?” she cried softly, her head falling with small sobs.
Her mother got up, wrapped her arms around her figure, her father following suit soon after. “We’ll figure this out together, okay?” her mother comforted her with a thumb on her cheek wiping her little girl’s tears. They stayed like that for a while, letting Vodka run her emotions through, to properly process her heartbreak.
Once she calmed down slightly, through sniffles and tears wiped on her sleeve, she told them of the initial diagnosis she heard. Susceptible to fractures. “Basically he said I have brittle bones,” she said while choking through the tears, “but that's so lame!” Vodka wailed.
“There has to be a mistake,” her mother responded, “you haven't had any issues up until now, right?” she continued while loosening her grip, holding her daughter by her shoulders.
Vodka paused for a moment to think. “Um… no, I really haven't.” she trailed off, voice still wavering. “Do you think they were wrong, mom?” She looked up to her mother with eyes full of hope, reddened from her sobbing, salt staining her face.
Her mother moved to get up. “I’ll go get you a glass of water, but they might just be overly cautious.” She pulled on Vodka’s cheek for a second, a soft smile gracing her typically sharp eyes. “Give your trainer a call when you're ready, okay?”
Scarlet hadn't slept a wink the entire night either, most of it being spent pacing around their shared room. By now, lunch had long passed, and their team’s trainer had delayed practice for a bit. She sat on the bleachers with Teio, Spe and Golshi, though their silver-haired senior seemingly wasn't paying attention, choosing to mess around with a Rubik's cube instead. The two younger Umamusume’s conversation faded in the background of Scarlet's mind.
She stared blankly at the turf ahead, resting her head on her hand. She thought back to the day before, how close Vodka had gotten, and she couldn’t help but feel her ears warm up. The other had promised her a rendezvous at their room later, had she gotten stood up? Was Vodka avoiding her on purpose? Scarlet couldn’t help but feel pissed at the other for doing that to her, but the “angel on her shoulder” tried to reason that maybe something truly happened, that she wasn’t alright, possibly even in danger. A mixture of guilt, worry and anger crept up her nape.
Her phone sat on the seat next to her, buzzing intensely, every ding a plea to be answered. She shut it off completely, Golshi giving her an odd look. “Yo,maybe you should answer that,” the silver haired senior suggested, “could be important.” Golshi set her Rubik’s cube aside while spreading her arms across the seats above, taking up about three seats total.
“Whatever,” Scarlet breathed out, trying to seem uncaring, unbothered by Vodka’s sudden disappearance. “They’ll live, whoever it is.” Scarlet crossed her arms, lifting her head up high.
Golshi stared at the other, her expression unreadable, but still drilling holes into Scarlet. “Something’s up.” she stated, confident in her abilities to read the younger Umamusume. Suddenly, after another couple moments of her incessant staring, Golshi snapped her fingers, something clicking in her head. “You miss Vodka!”
“What?!” screamed Scarlet in response, her voice probably reaching the high end of the notes she could hold. “Me? Miss her? Hmph!” she closed her eyes, pouted, and looked the opposite way. “As if.” she stated blankly.
Golshi chuckled, “I’m right, aren’t !?” and Scarlet’s face turned bright red, the silver-haired racer bursting into hysterical laughter before singing a crappy version of ‘Vodka and Scarlet sitting in a tree’. Spe and Teio looked their way, alarmed by the sudden loudness from the other two. Scarlet flashed Spe a look in between that of a sad puppy’s and fury, begging the other to tell Golshi off, begging for freedom from this humiliation.
Deep down, Scarlet knew the other wasn’t wrong. She never performed well when the other wasn’t there. Vodka was her missing piece for success, and she didn’t know what would happen when she didn’t run by her, didn’t hear her pant-chain and necklace jingling next to her as they fought for first place. They talked about it in the past, if one couldn’t race against the other, they’d be in the front row, cheering the other on, but now? Scarlet wasn’t sure if Vodka would hold up her end of their promise.
Just as Spe opened her mouth to save Scarlet from Golshi’s onslaught of teasing, all their heads darted to the side as their trainer called out from the track. His expression was more serious than usual, Team Rigil’s trainer, Hana Toujou, standing beside him. “Get down here, and line up!” he called, his hands settled on his hips. They obliged, quickly jumping down the rows of seats and settling height-wise in front of the inner barrier of the track.
“An emergency came up,” he stated, “Hana will be covering for me today.” The woman shot him a piercing look at his use of her first name, no honorifics being used. She was his superior after all, even if they were old friends. “Good afternoon, girls.” she stated after a moment of silence. Their usual trainer ran off with a wave, desperately glancing at the watch on his wrist. He whispered a quick thanks to his colleague, then disappeared into the school, hurriedly answering a call. Scarlet thought back to the swarm of notifications that hit her cell earlier, wondering if the two could be related. She shrugged it off for now, deciding to focus on training.
He ran as fast as he could to the front of the school, frantically flagging down a taxi to the hospital where Vodka was examined. Vodka’s cell had rung him earlier, and once he heard the young athlete and her mother question the early diagnosis she received, he stopped looking up how to file a missing person’s report and started perusing through the file. They were right, some documents had gotten mixed up between Vodka and another racer. Now, Vodka was on the next train to Tokyo, and it would arrive tomorrow morning. Not many ran from Shizunai in the first place, most being delayed, but at the moment, that was the second thing on his list. Vodka’s withdrawal from Tracen hadn’t even been processed, his words from yesterday only hinted at a possibility, not a certainty, but he didn’t blame her for running away.
The evening sun settled in the horizon, and knowing the assigned doctor’s program was almost up, he ran out the taxi and burst through the hospital’s doors. The receptionist, startled, managed to catch him to wait for the doctor to finish with his current pacient. He sat in the waiting room, leg tapping uncontrollably against the pearl-white tiles. Time seemed to slow as he sat there, glancing between his watch and the file every two seconds. He almost didn’t hear his name be called, but an older gentleman next to him had tapped him on the shoulder. He took a second to snap out of it before jumping to his feet and racing to the orthopedic department.
He slammed the door open, startling the older doctor. “You…” he wheezed, “you messed something up.” He held on the doorframe for support, he wasn't exactly athletic anyway, despite being a trainer. “Take a look,” he spoke once he regained some energy, “see, on those scans? It's another girl's name, not Vodka's.” the young man stated after he took a CT and blood test sheet out of the file, pointing to the name written on the corner, “Beauty Again. These aren't Vodka’s.” He handed the rest of the file to the orthopedic assigned to Vodka's case.
The doctor stared at the young trainer as if he was insane, but after straightening his glasses and taking a look at the names on the test results, he realized his own mistake. “Oh my,” he started, shocked at his own incompetence, “well, sir, you are right.” He leaned back on his desk’s chair, vaguely flipping through the records. “This girl hasn’t received her results yet, we thought they were lost.” he continued without much thought. The doctor set the file on his desk, looking through the archived results in the file cabinets behind him. After a moment and 3 cabinets thoroughly checked passed, he pulled out Vodka's results. “You see, she should still be on active rest,” he spoke calmly while showing the younger man the results he’d pulled out, “the pain she complained about in her calf was from overuse and an electrolyte imbalance. She can jog, sure, race for a short lap, but shouldn't be exerting herself in such a high-stakes environment.”
The younger man let his shoulders relax, heaving one last breath in a newfound state of calm. He had always deeply cared for the girls he took under his wing, seeing them as his daughters. How they placed didn't matter all that much to him, he would still be extremely proud no matter what, but he nonetheless pushed them to newer and greater heights. Not being able to do the same thing for Vodka would've crushed him. “Thank you, sir.” He took the actual results, bid him a good evening, and flagged another taxi for the ride back to his apartment. He moved to send Vodka an update on her case as he sat in the backseat of the taxi driver's old car.
“Vodka, you’re fine. It's just overexertion and a diet imbalance. Drink more water, I’ll get you some supplement powder to mix into it tomorrow. Rest up.”
He sent the message, attached a few quick photos of her results, and moved to put his shut off phone back into his pocket.
Vodka was on the back deck with her father, after a long day of exhausting herself emotionally, and trying her best to fix a rusted up engine with her father. It was way into the evening by now, her mother was cooking dinner, and the two were enjoying a can of zero-sugar soda in the cool breeze. He listened as she recounted a few funny stories that took place at Tracen, her expression turning slightly solemn whenever she mentioned her roommate, Daiwa Scarlet. She still felt guilty for disappearing, and Scarlet hadn't returned any of her calls or messages either. Vodka was sure the other was extremely mad at her.
“What's up with you and that girl anyway?” her father asked casually. “You got a crush and she's ignoring you?” he nudged Vodka with his shoulder. She spat out the soda she just took a sip of, choking and coughing at her father's sudden question.
“Huh?! Where’d that even come from?!” she half-screamed in response, a flush racing across her face. Now that she thought about it, it made sense. She felt a hole open in her heart whenever Scarlet wasn't with her, and the thought of losing her in any way terrified her, especially if she couldn't keep up with Scarlet and felt her slowly move on, run out of her reach and disappear into the sun ahead. “That's it,” she thought, “that might be why I always got so scared when she got a lead on me.”
Vodka leaned back in her chair, keeping back any blood that threatened to spill from her nose, and letting her gaze fall to the stars slowly appearing above. It reminded her of the cardigan she borrowed yesterday, how she just tossed it haphazardly after she arrived at their shared room. Deep breath in, deep breath out, Vodka had calmed herself down. “Yeah, maybe, pops.”