Chapter Text
3:26.
A girl in the familiar periwinkle uniform of Tracen Academy impatiently rocks back and forth on her heels, her short orange hair bouncing with each motion. She taps her heels together to the ticking of the clock. She checks her watch.
3:26.
We’ve been in this elevator for forever! Indeed, thus far this thirty second long elevator ride seems like an eternity. She checks her watch again.
3:26.
“Fuku-chan, I know you’re excited, but can I have my wrist back?” More accurately, Matikanefukukitaru checks her trainer’s watch again, still attached to his wrist. He’s looking at her in a blend of annoyance and amusement.
“But Trainer, we’re gonna be late!” Fuku stares intently at the hands of the clock, willing them to move faster. But the clock face moves away as her trainer reclaims his wrist.
“We’re not going to be late, Fuku-chan,” he chides lightly. “It’s not even 3:30. We still have more than enough time before the race begins.”
Fuku puts up a single finger, still rocking on her heels. “Ah, not for the race, for 3:33! This time is of the utmost importance, ‘cuz it’s the lucky number the great Shiraoki-sama revealed to me just this morning!”
Her trainer raises an eyebrow. “That so? And what if Shiraoki-sama uses military time and you missed it already?”
Fuku tilts her head quizzically. “That’s so silly! The gods have no such need for mortal inventions. Why would Shiraoki-sama ever use military time?”
He opens his mouth to explain the very mortal concept of timekeeping, but opts to just sigh instead. “Fine, 3.33.” The elevator slows and bounces to a stop, and the doors slide open. “We still have a few minutes, so don’t rush, oka-AGH!”
Fuku rushes off the elevator and drags her trainer with her. A split second after, she screeches to a halt as she remembers something very important about her trainer. She whirls around, fearing the worst.
The thud of rubber to concrete keeps her trainer standing as he plants his cane in time to prevent disaster. “Ngh…Fuku-chan,” he chides, “you’ve got to be gentle with me.”
Fuku’s ears droop. “Yes, Trainer,” she murmurs, her eyes focused on the ground. I’m the absolute worst. Her heart begins to ache. Everything could’ve gone wrong, I could’ve hurt Trainer, how could I-
A gentle hand comes to rest on her head, and she feels his thumb stroke through her hair. She raises her gaze to her trainer before her. His warm brown eyes meet her own gold ones.
“Hey,” he says. A gentle smile. “I’m okay. Now how about we go see what 3:33 has in store for you, yeah?”
A soft smile. Kind eyes. A gentle touch. And the ache in her chest fades away, replaced by a warmth like the sun.
Everything’s okay.
Fuku’s ears perk back up, if only a little. She turns and walks toward the track, this time with her trainer at her side. She’s still holding his wrist - the crowd is massive today, and she doesn’t want to get separated. Together they step out from the shade of the overhang and into the sunshine.
It’s warm today - there’s not even a cloud in the sky, and it makes the grass on the track seem even greener. Something inside Fuku starts to hum with anticipation. It’s the perfect day for a race, even if it isn’t her own.. A warm breeze blows through Fuku’s hair as she, once again, looks down at her trainer’s watch.
3:33.
Fuku glances around. Alright, Shiraoki-sama, what did you want me to see? The crowd is large, but nobody’s standing out. The track looks fine. The sun maybe? Fuku looks into it before having immediate regrets. She closes her eyes, willing the colors burned into her retinas to fade, knowing very well that precious seconds are ticking by.
3:33.
Half the minute has already passed her by and dejectedly she slowly lowers her trainer’s wrist. “Trainer,” she begins, her voice low, her eyes to the floor again.
Look up.
Something calls out from within, she isn’t quite sure what. But she listens to that voice, raising her eyes to look at her trainer’s face. Her thoughts stall.
3:33.
Her trainer had always been a reserved man. He never showed anger, he was always gentle with her, but he never really showed much emotion around her, save for the joy and pride of her victories. His calm demeanor was always what grounded her when the world seemed too much, too overwhelming, his kind eyes the view that led her to serenity. So why, then -
3:33.
Why, Trainer-
Fuku’s trainer never has that look on his face. Or maybe she just hadn’t been paying close enough attention. Something in her breaks.
Why do your eyes look so sad?
The warmth of the sun kisses her face as she takes in the view of the racetrack. It’s a beautiful October afternoon - a perfect day for a race, she thinks. But every time she comes here, her heart aches nevertheless. As much as she knows that her life would be so much worse if she wasn’t here, the racecourse is a deeply emotional place for Mamori Sho.
She grips her cane tightly. She can’t let Fuku-chan see her like this - her trainee is a sensitive girl, after all. And so when she looks to her side and sees her trainee looking up at her with those starry eyes filled with concern, Sho does what she always does.
She puts on a smile and pretends that there aren’t bitter feelings trying to claw their way out. “Did Shiraoki-sama show you something?” she asks.
Her trainee blinks, then whirls to face away from her, gazing out at the track instead. “Nope! Not a thing!” Fuku-chan glances back at her, and the look is gone. “I stared into the sun for too long!”
Sho pauses. “You know that’s bad for you, yes?”
“I didn’t want to miss anything Shiraoki-sama might show me!”
“I don’t think Shiraoki-sama would approve of permanent eye damage, Fuku-chan.” Sho sighs and looks out towards the racetrack, her eyes scanning the competition. “If you’re going to look directly at a star, the race is about to start.”
Fuku-chan looks to the turf. “Do you think she can win?” Sho follows her gaze to a girl with dark purple hair and a bundle of teal ribbons decorating her left ear.
“Honestly, it’s a toss-up,” Sho admits, leaning on the railing in front of her. “Seeking the Pearl may have pulled out, but Kyoei March is still here, and she beat Dober in the Oka Sho. When you consider Maple Syrup and Air Liberty and their showings for their last few races, it could go to anyone.”
Sho glances over and sees her trainee’s ears droop a little. With a gentle smile, Sho pets Fuku-chan’s head again. “Hey, believe in your friend. For one, she’s a Mejiro, but Dober is a strong racer in her own right. There’s a reason she won the Oaks, and she’ll win this too if she fights for it.”
Fuku-chan nods, folds her hands, and begins to pray. As if on cue, the proud fanfare of Kyoto Racetrack filled the air, pulling everyone’s attention to the course.
October 19, 1997. Kyoto Racecourse
Sho turns her own attention back to the track and takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes and feels the wind.
It’s a good day for a queen to be crowned.
Shuka Sho. Turf 2000 Meters
“With number 18, Ibuki Thirteen, now entering the gate, all of our racers are ready to go!” comes the voice of Misato Akasaka, her enthusiastic tones electrifying the air, just like always.
The familiar ache blooms once again in Sho’s chest, but the pounding of her own heartbeat almost drowns it out. She leans forward as the tension builds.
Eight Brackets. Eighteen Runners.
“The Shuka Sho begins…”
…
…Her ankle begins to itch.
…COME ON!
BANG.
The gates slam open and the crowd roars to life.
“Now! Strong starts all around, Night Cruise making good use of her inside position to push for the lead, Kyoei March from the far outside in hot pursuit! Mejiro Dober places herself midpack on the outside as our racers hit the first corner.”
The thundering of cleats to turf rumbles through the air, but Sho’s heartbeat still rings louder. Her eyes settle on Mejiro Dober, but then she blinks and awakens to a different Kyoto Racecourse, a different announcer ringing out, a different Mejiro on the field.
“Strikingly, strikingly, already in fifth is number thirteen, Mejiro Ramonu!"
Sho blinks again, eyes opening back to the Shuka Sho.
“We’re onto the backstretch now, Night Cruise still with a decisive lead, Kyoei March holds steady two lengths back, Promotion’s in third, followed hot by Air Liberty and Air Wings, Mejiro Dober still riding midpack -”
“Mejiro Ramonu moves up to fourth now, marked closely by Glanzend right behind her!”
No, please. Her cane clatters to the floor. She desperately grips the railing, cold steel held fast in her palms, hopelessly trying to ground herself here in 1997 as her heart begins to yank her back to 1986.
“From the far outside here comes Mejiro Dober! Mejiro Dober is pushing up, look at that strength!”
“Matikane Elbe’s still holding on, Mejiro Ramonu caught between her and Super Shot!”
Don’t do this to me, not now.
“Kyoei March has the lead, Night Cruise can’t hold on-”
“Mejiro Ramonu’s out front, Super Shot gives it everything she’s got, from the outside is Sakura Hustle -”
Why -
“Here comes Mejiro Dober! A duel between the Oaks Queen and the Sakura Queen-”
“It’s not enough! Her bewitching grace leaves everyone behind, it’s-”
“Mejiro Dober!”
“Mejiro Ramonu!”
The crowd roars, but Sho’s ears are ringing. She takes a shaky breath, holds, and a slow release.
"...------r!" She thinks she hears something, but she has to focus, she has to come back.
Five…five things I see, um. That girl’s green scarf, a yellow hat, a uh, a girl with orange hair and starry eyes- Fuku-chan?
“...----ner…Trainer!” Fuku-chan’s voice cuts through the ringing and Sho heaves for air. Her hands are sore - oh, she’s been white-knuckling the railing, hasn’t she? She forces her hands to open and color rushes back into her fingertips. She looks down at her trainee.
Fuku’s clinging onto her arm to steady her, her eyes wide. “Trainer, are you okay?”
“I -” Sho opens her mouth and feels something wet slide down her cheek. Oh, she was crying? She tries again, but as her shoulders begin to shake she realizes that she’d lost this battle.
I’m so sorry, Fuku-chan.
“I d-d-don’t-t know,” she manages, before crumpling to her knees in a pile, sobbing into her hands. She knows her trainee is there on her knees with her, her hands stalled in the air wondering if there was anything she could do. But Sho can’t reach out, Fuku-chan is too young, too kind, too sensitive -
I’m sorry you had to see me like this.