URA's funeral—strangely enough—was calm beyond expectation.
But if you thought about it, there was nothing there for Gotham Song to be surprised by.
After all, the real announcement that URA was finished had already happened days ago. The people who came to this venue today weren't here to see URA off.
Japan's Umamusume had been praying for URA to go under as soon as possible, and as for the foreign Umamusume… the few who bothered to show up here today, how could they possibly believe URA had any reason to exist?
Most of them were either here to watch the spectacle, like Secretariat, or here to pop champagne and "send it off."
If anything, the latter group was bigger.
Honestly, Gotham Song felt there was a better way to put it:
They weren't just here to pop champagne—they were here to pop champagne in URA's face while it died.
The world had, in its own way, come to know this absurd organization's "great kindness," after all.
The whole mess with Gotham Song back then really did let URA score a massive, worldwide "achievement."
All you could say was: good riddance, meow. Pop the champagne, meow.
So in that context, the URA part was only a small slice of the press conference.
Once the event officially began and the key figures filed in, Mejiro Ramonu and Symboli Rudolf took their seats. After a brief overview—laying out the general structure and the core points—this press conference, one that could influence the future of Japanese Umamusume racing itself, began in earnest.
First came the front half: a token acknowledgment of URA's accomplishments, and a denunciation of its shortcomings in past operations.
Which was only logical. No matter how absurd URA had become, at the very beginning—long, long ago—it had played an important role. It had taken Japan's Umamusume racing scene from something wild and scattered and forced it into a single, organized system.
For that alone, even a press conference declaring URA's collapse had to spare a bit of space to give it a tiny nod.
It was dead, after all. This way, everyone looked decent.
Then that "tiny nod" ended almost immediately.
Symboli Rudolf, as the speaker, began reading out URA's concrete failures over the years.
Gotham Song let it go in one ear and out the other, filtering it down to the gist:
Yes, URA had played certain roles, but it had made a decisive mistake in leaving Japan completely out of step with the international circuit. And in various other respects, its organizational efficiency was simply too low. Therefore, after consideration from all sides, the Umamusume had decided to unite.
Something like that.
But that was just the paper script.
What was it that made the entire hall fall into stunned disbelief?
...
Mejiro Ramonu read out the plan for bringing Japan back into alignment with the international world.
And the single most crucial point was this:
Racecourses across the country would be gradually renovated. The high-speed "enhanced" surfaces—those that placed an enormous load on an Umamusume's legs—would be converted, step by step, into natural turf.
In other words, the so-called "Japan model" would be overturned completely.
What, exactly, was being dismantled—replaced little by little with real soil and grass?
That absurd thing Gotham Song had complained about countless times: concrete with a thin layer of dirt on top, then a veneer of grass. Sure, it gave acceleration a huge advantage—but for an Umamusume's feet, especially fragile types with "glass legs," it was a catastrophic, ruinous surface.
At last… it could be abolished.
That alone was wonderful.
Gotham Song had been fed up with those "enhanced" tracks for ages. Her own feet didn't suffer from them—if anything, they gave her speed an advantage that was hard to put into words.
Even so, she still hated them.
One reason: lying down on them was exhausting.
Another: running on them was exhausting.
Something like that.
Over in Europe, the turf was soft. On real, natural grass, you could run and run, and the surface itself wouldn't pile on extra physical burden.
Japan was completely different.
Even if it wasn't pain you couldn't bear, that swelling sensation in your calves—your body responding to the constant fight against the hard base under the dirt—couldn't be faked.
So no matter how you looked at it, Gotham Song couldn't stand high-speed "enhanced" turf.
And if it was going to vanish from Japan's tracks, that was nothing but good news.
That was the biggest change to the racing surface. So what about the system itself—and what shifts had happened in management?
The organization taking over URA was temporarily named the "Umamusume Racing Events Alliance." Mejiro Ramonu would serve at the top, while Symboli Rudolf would participate in leadership as an honorary top executive.
And besides those two familiar faces, a whole batch of old names were announced as joining the management team.
In truth, it was basically a direct copy of the Umamusume Racing Alliance Secretariat had organized in America—then adjusted for local conditions.
And the new leadership was, likewise, full of familiar names.
Beyond Symboli Rudolf and Mejiro Ramonu, household-name Umamusume like Mr. C.B., Shinzan, and Katsuragi Ace were included in the administrative lineup.
Though if you asked Gotham Song, Mr. C.B. and Oguri Cap were ninety percent there just to lend their names. She honestly couldn't imagine either of them seriously participating in day-to-day work.
In any case, as the conference neared its end, Mejiro Ramonu—the top leader—delivered a stirring speech.
Tonight, Mejiro Manor's lady wore a magnificent gown, in full bloom—like a black rose of pride that no corner could hide.
"We aren't here to take something away. We're here to bring something in," she said. "URA's work and its performance over the years have been so awful it's simply unacceptable. And that's why we had no choice but to bring more of what Umamusume truly care about—racing—into the open, place it directly on the table for everyone to see, and then overturn it and correct it."
"This isn't an ending. It's a beginning—the beginning of a new chapter in Japan's Umamusume history. We will take everything URA should have done, but failed to do, and on top of their ruins… we will open a new future."
As expected of her sister. Brief, powerful—she explained everything, declared her resolve, showed firm courage, and not a trace of drag or fluff.
Watching Mejiro Ramonu from below the stage, Gotham Song found herself genuinely moved.
If things kept going like this, Japan's Umamusume racing world would step into a better beginning—one that led toward the future.
With her sister at the helm… there was nothing not to trust.
"Miss Secretariat," Gotham Song said quietly, "I think you can consider submitting the documents to restore the Japan Cup to its original international G1 status."
"I've already prepared them, Miss Song," Secretariat replied. "Or rather—once I learned Mejiro Ramonu was personally taking the field, I knew a day like this would come."
Secretariat curled her lips in a faint smile. She looked at Gotham Song, then flicked her gaze toward the person onstage.
"Don't misunderstand. I didn't prepare those documents because she's your sister. I prepared them because I trust Mejiro Ramonu's character and ability."
"If it's her, then defeating URA and taking control was only ever a matter of time, wasn't it?"
Gotham Song held Secretariat's gaze for a long moment, then let out a helpless sigh.
She couldn't be bothered to point out what Secretariat was trying to tuck between the lines. Fine. She'd take it as a vote of confidence in her, too.
Still… it really was a rare kindness.
And a kindness deserved an answer.
"Thank you for your help, Miss Secretariat. In that case, I can only repay you by giving everything I've got—and crushing you completely in the Dream Cup."
"The Dream Cup…?"
Secretariat froze. Then, quickly, she hooked her mouth into a nasty smile and let out a low laugh.
"Crush me completely, is it? You've got nerve, Miss Gotham Song. But I'm happy to hear it. And I won't be conceding in advance."
"If you can do it, then try. Come—do your best to crush me. And if you can't…"
"…Then I'll be the one to shatter every last scrap of your pride."
Secretariat didn't say more.
But Gotham Song's mouth tugged into a grin.
Shatter all my pride?
You've got nerve, you bastard—no, of course it's you. Only a bastard like you would dare say that.
Even so, you answering like this won't make me afraid. It won't make me waver.
"You can't. Holding out against my assault—forget it," Gotham Song said. "Still, that kind of reckless freedom is yours. Just don't bore me, Miss Secretariat."
"Don't worry," Secretariat said. "And you'd better not get careless and end up bitten to death in one bite, Gotham Song."
Their heights were worlds apart. And yet, in the space between looking up and looking down, neither yielded an inch.
Because this was Secretariat—perhaps the most famous Umamusume in the world. She had her own absolute pride, and that pride would never allow her to lower her head to Gotham Song off the track.
No—scratch that. Even on the track, even in defeat, Secretariat's glory wouldn't break. She would never become meek and obedient just because she lost.
"Then I wish you a marvelous evening, Miss Song. I have other matters to attend to, so I'll take my leave."
"Then… see you at the Dream Cup."
See you at the Dream Cup… huh?
So I can count as an opponent Gotham Song is looking forward to, then.
Secretariat raised a hand in a brief wave. She ended the farewell with silence, got into her car, and watched the world outside the window stream backward at speed.
It was unfamiliar.
Or rather… it was a feeling she hadn't had in a very, very long time.
Her heart pounded as if it wanted to leap out of her body. Her whole frame trembled, like she was starving for the battle to come.
In the glass, faintly reflecting the car's interior light, Secretariat could see herself.
Her cheeks were flushed without her noticing. Even her neck carried a warm tint.
Like she was drunk?
Ah—no.
She hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. She was simply… too excited.
How do you put it?
For an Umamusume who once stood at the summit of the world, who had been away from the track for so long—was there anything more worth being thrilled about than this moment?
No.
Absolutely not.
That was Gotham Song.
A challenge she could only get in the Dream Cup, after leaving the track.
Would she be crushed completely by Gotham Song?
Hard to say. Secretariat wanted to tell herself—clearly—that it was hard to say. She wasn't some frail Umamusume.
But—
The less frail she was, the harder it was to say it out loud.
Because for any Umamusume—any Umamusume at their peak—for Secretariat at her peak… what was truly terrifying?
It was that Secretariat couldn't see where Gotham Song's peak even was.
Think about it carefully: when, exactly, had Gotham Song ever been forced to show her full strength?
Only once—at the Arc.
But the Arc couldn't be used as a reference.
First, too much time had passed. Gotham Song had already undergone a qualitative leap in ability.
Second, Gotham Song had been in a special state back then—there was no stable point you could measure against.
That was the real horror.
Secretariat's peak could be seen.
Gotham Song's peak?
Even now, it was invisible.
And it was precisely that invisibility that plunged Secretariat into feverish excitement.
Or rather—never seeing the limit of that strength was exactly what had her restless, trembling in her seat.
To challenge an Umamusume like that…?
Heh. Hehahaha… hahahaha…
Was there anything more beautiful than that?
No. Nothing.
Secretariat believed it—
No. She was certain.
If she could have a clash with Gotham Song at the absolute summit right now, and the price was only that she would die on the spot—be forgotten by the world, folded away into history no one remembered—
She would still step onto the track without hesitation.
Her blood was boiling. Shaking. Every cell in her body screamed, desperate to cross time itself.
She couldn't wait anymore.
Completely, utterly—she had fallen into a boiling, frenzied rapture.
You're going to tear me apart, are you, Miss Gotham Song?
Good. Good!
That's exactly the you I like.
Get ready to slaughter each other.
Wager life and soul. Offer everything. Hold nothing back—
Our slaughter.
Our Dream Cup.
---
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