The reception for the URA Finals and the Legend Race was in full swing. This year marked the official transition of management to the URA, allowing the organization to finally operate under its own name with pride. However, there was no denying that this success was largely due to the overwhelming influence of Mejiro Rampage. The rift between the regional and central circuits remained deep; for now, they had merely built a single, sturdy bridge over a massive canyon. The task of actually filling that void was far from over.
Some regional Tracen academies had initially been hesitant to cooperate with the new management. It seemed the venture might stall before it even began, but a collective desire not to "spit in Rampage's face" had unified the factions, bringing the event to fruition. One couldn't help but marvel at the sheer gravity Rampage exerted—to conceive, establish, and lead such a massive undertaking single-handedly was nothing short of extraordinary.
(This entire party is only happening because it's under the Mejiro Rampage brand…)
One of the URA executives, who had been working himself to the bone to organize the event, scanned the room. Rampage's name was on everyone's lips. Many were quietly celebrating the fact that, thanks to her, much of the systemic corruption that had plagued the URA was finally being purged. The executive had intended to thank her personally—and, if he was honest, snag an autograph—when he spotted her.
She was at a corner bar station specifically set up for trainers and adult/university-aged competitors. But she wasn't alone. Sitting beside her was a guest of the highest caliber.
(Wait, isn't that Goodbye Halo!? What on earth are those two doing together?)
Suppressing the urge to eavesdrop openly, he stood a respectful distance away, nursing a weak cocktail while waiting for their conversation to conclude.
(Huh? She just tapped her chest pocket… a nervous habit? Well, I suppose I check my watch a lot, so I can't judge.)
"What can I get for you?" the bartender asked.
"Something light for me," Goodbye Halo requested.
"Dry Martini," Rampage countered.
"Certainly."
The executive, watching from afar, was taken aback. While Goodbye Halo had ordered a modest drink, Rampage had asked for one of the strongest cocktails on the menu without batting an eye. When the drinks arrived, a brief silence hung between them. The executive expected them to sip slowly, but Rampage downed the entire Martini in one go.
"...Not bad. But cocktails aren't really my style," Rampage grunted.
"I thought you might say that," the bartender replied smoothly. "Perhaps this bourbon instead?"
"Now you're talking."
As the bartender poured a glass of high-proof bourbon, Goodbye Halo watched in disbelief. Just how much of a heavyweight is this person? she wondered. Finally, Rampage broke the silence.
"Let's stop dancing around it. You're here to talk about your daughter."
"Yes. Though I fail to see what else we would have to discuss."
"How about the fact that she refuses to wear a single piece of the racing gear you helped design?"
Goodbye Halo reflexively pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. Rampage's smirk said it all. So, that's it, Rampage thought. She really is King's mother. That same "ponkotsu" clumsiness was clearly a family trait. It made the legendary designer seem far more human—and far more likable—than the rumors suggested.
"A-About that girl!" Goodbye Halo stammered, trying to regain her poise.
"Yeah, I've heard plenty from King. You're too hard on her, your explanations are non-existent, and you're socially hopeless. She's still a kid. You can't expect her to read between the lines of your 'lofty' criticisms. Of course she's going to take your words at face value."
"She is highly intelligent! She takes after me; she's logical. She should understand!"
"And how's that logic working out for you? She's currently shouting insults and sticking her tongue out at you from car windows."
Goodbye Halo went silent, taking a sharp sip of her drink. Being taunted by her own beloved daughter clearly cut deeper than she cared to admit.
"Let me tell you something," Rampage continued, his voice dropping an octave. "King's talent is the real deal. Among this year's intake, she's the absolute cream of the crop. I don't understand your dissatisfaction at all."
"...She may be the 'cream' now. But what happens when she debuts? When she enters the true gauntlet of the professional circuit? There will always be someone with more talent, someone who works harder."
"Of course there will be. And finding a way to win anyway—through grit and strategy—is what the sport is about. If you're that scared of the competition, you shouldn't be on the track in the first place. But King wants it. She believes victory only has meaning if the opponent is strong. For a girl her age, that's a hell of a backbone."
"...No. The world of racing isn't as kind as she thinks. To borrow a sentiment from Sunday… it's a battlefield."
There it was. The raw heart of a mother who didn't want to send her precious child into a cold, cruel world. Goodbye Halo's own career had been prestigious, yes—seven G1 wins—but she had never managed to beat the one rival she truly wanted to defeat. She had tasted glory, but she had tasted far more bitterness. She wanted to spare King that pain. She wanted to protect her.
Rampage's response was a verbal slap.
"Then just say that, you idiot."
The bluntness was staggering. No one spoke to a world-class designer like that. Goodbye Halo stared at him, stunned.
"If you have feelings, you put them into words. If you don't, they don't exist to the other person. Adults can navigate subtext because we've chewed on enough salt and sugar to know the difference. Kids can't."
"...But…"
"Let me tell you a story," Rampage interrupted. "There was a certain horse girl. She lost her family and was taken in by her aunt and uncle. Those relatives took almost her entire inheritance and skipped town, leaving her with nothing. She was completely alone."
Goodbye Halo found herself leaning in, her expression turning somber.
"The girl wasted away, physically and mentally. She eventually decided to end it all. But she was saved by a new family… and that girl grew up to be the 'Tyrant' you see sitting in front of you."
"The Tyrant…? You don't mean—!"
"Whoa, easy. This isn't the kind of story you shout about in a ballroom."
You're the one who brought it up! Goodbye Halo's eyes screamed the protest, but Rampage ignored her and took another swig of bourbon.
"You and King can actually sit down and talk. Don't wait until things are beyond repair like they were for me. Go be a parent."
"But… she has a talent for design, just like me. If she followed that path, she wouldn't have to suffer…"
"That's for her to decide. If you force it, she'll just resent you more. In fact, she already does. And if you're so worried about her 'aesthetic eye,' wouldn't seeing the world from the track—actually wearing the silks and feeling the wind—make her a better designer anyway?"
"I… suppose that's true. Even my designs were often based on adjustments I realized I needed during my racing days."
Experience was the ultimate teacher. To live a full life, one had to taste both the sweet and the bitter.
"Besides," Rampage added with a smirk, "you wouldn't want 'Sunday' or 'Easy Goer' to start talking trash about the Halo family being soft, would you?"
"...Point taken."
Goodbye Halo slumped her shoulders, looking defeated. "Have I really been that hard on her? My own father was always like that with my mother, so I thought…"
"You're too harsh, you don't talk enough, and you're bad at it when you do. It's a 'Yakuman' of bad parenting."
She looked crushed. Rampage knew he was being blunt, but King had suffered enough; if he didn't hammer this point home, nothing would change.
"A mother who supports her kid's dreams is a mother who gets respected. It'll be awkward at first, but talk to her. King acts grown-up, but she's still a brat in the ways that matter. She's a total mess—just like you."
"Wh-What part of my King is a 'mess'!?"
"Case in point," Rampage chuckled.
He felt a sense of relief. He had successfully dragged Goodbye Halo's true feelings out into the light.
"Well, that's that. I'm done here."
"Wait! I'm not finished! Why did you never wear the silks I designed for you!?"
"Because it was a dress with way too much skin showing. End of story."
With that, Rampage turned and walked away. Goodbye Halo fumed behind him, declaring to his back that she would design something so perfect he'd have no choice but to wear it. Rampage ignored her, pulling his phone out of his chest pocket as he walked.
"Did you catch all that, King? Now you know. Your mom is crazy about you."
A sobbing voice came through the speaker. *"*Sniff… Mother is such a dummy… if that's how she felt… she should have just… said so from the start…!"
Rampage had opened a line to King before he ever sat down at the bar. She had heard every word of her mother's confession.
"Cut her some slack, kid. She's your mother."
There was no verbal reply, only the sound of King weeping as she whispered "Mother" over and over. Rampage closed the phone with a satisfied look.
"Family," he muttered to himself. "Nothing beats it when it actually works."
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