Tap, tap, tap...
The light in the entrance tunnel was dim, the air still carrying a faint echo from the track, mixed with the smell of dust.
Sunday Silence's footsteps struck the solid ground, sharp and hurried in the narrow space, echoing once, then again, beating in time with her quickening heart.
The tunnel clearly wasn't long.
And yet, to her now, it felt unbearably—maddeningly—endless.
The walls stretched back in silence. The lights overhead blurred into pale streaks, guiding her forward while doing nothing to shorten the distance her mind had drawn out so impossibly long.
Every passing second became painfully distinct, like grains of sand dragging slowly, stubbornly across her nerves.
Something was crashing wildly in her chest.
It wasn't leftover adrenaline from the race.
Nor the cold anger that had flared when she faced the reporters.
This was something hotter. More urgent. A feeling so intense it felt ready to burst out of her body.
Sakuraba Ryo.
His name. His figure. They filled every corner of her thoughts.
Did he see it?
Did he see how she crossed the finish line—how she left those girls from the American Circuit behind—how she declared her return and her strength in the most undeniable way possible?
What would he say?
What expression would he have?
Surprise?
Approval?
Or... that pure smile he'd shown her when he first decided to invest in her?
No. She wanted more than that.
In the dim tunnel, her cold golden eyes shone with startling brightness. What filled them now was no longer distance or irritation, but a near-scalding desire, aching to spill over.
She wanted to stand in front of him right now and tell him herself.
Tell him about this victory.
Tell him about the crushing gap of thirteen lengths.
Tell him how pathetic and shocked those people—who had once looked down on her and driven her away—must be now.
Tell him that she had done it.
With the money he invested. With the tiny, insignificant starting point he had given her, she had produced a result far beyond anyone's expectations.
And she wanted to tell him something else too...
About the heat burning so fiercely inside her now...
The American Circuit?
The American Triple Crown?
An even higher stage?
Those goals that seemed impossibly distant to others had, in the fire of her will, become clearly visible steps.
She wanted to win.
Win more. Win better. Win until no one could ignore her.
And all of it—
Taptaptap...!!!
Her pace quickened, almost breaking into a run.
The light at the end of the tunnel grew clearer, and she could faintly hear the entirely different noise of the dispersal area outside.
All of this was to prove it to him.
To prove his eye had been right. To prove his investment had been worth it. To prove that choosing Sunday Silence had been the right decision—that she could become the sharpest, most unstoppable blade in his hand.
More dazzling than Tamamo Cross.
More popular than Oguri Cap.
As long as he would look at her.
As long as she could place victory before him.
She wanted to see him.
Now. This instant. Right away.
That thought drowned out everything else, sweeping away the last trace of gloom left behind by the reporters.
She drew a breath. The light at the end of the tunnel struck her full on, and the air outside carried a different temperature.
She burst out of the passage, eyes sharp as lightning as she scanned the slightly chaotic scene beyond.
Sakuraba Ryo—where are you?
The moment she emerged, the bright, scattered light made her narrow her eyes instinctively.
The area outside was even more crowded than she'd expected. Spectators filing out, busy staff, waiting vehicles and horses...
Voices overlapped, colors shifted, blending into a single disorderly scene.
But her gaze, like the most precise radar, cut through it all in an instant.
Without hesitation, her eyes locked onto a figure near the edge of the crowd—a figure utterly out of place amid the excitement.
Sakuraba Ryo.
He stood there, not especially straight-backed, carrying a casual, almost listless air.
He wasn't animatedly discussing the race like everyone else.
He wasn't even looking around.
He simply stood with one hand in his pocket, head slightly turned, as if listening to Obey Your Master beside him.
Sunday Silence ignored Obey Your Master completely.
Her world went silent, leaving only that one figure.
He wore a simple dark jacket. In the slanting afternoon light, the lines of his profile stood out clearly.
There was nothing striking in his expression. None of what she had imagined.
No delighted cheering.
No approving smile.
Not even the pure happiness she had secretly hoped to see—a joy meant solely for her victory.
What was there was... calm.
And beneath that calm, her sensitivity caught something she couldn't quite name.
Fatigue, perhaps?
Or maybe...
Resignation?
The realization pricked her buoyant heart like a shard of ice.
But the next second, a fiercer heat surged over it.
It didn't matter.
What expression he wore, what he was thinking—none of it mattered right now.
What mattered was that she had found him.
She had won. She was here. And he was within reach.
At last, the beast rampaging in her chest found a clear target—and let out a silent roar.
Almost on instinct, she shoved aside the people in her way. The movement wasn't rough, but it carried an urgency and force that allowed no refusal.
"Move."
The cold word barely reached their ears before she was already like a shell fired from a cannon, charging straight toward him.
Her steps were swift and steady, each one carrying the resolve to crush anything in her path.
The crowd parted on its own, shaken by the aura around her—a mix of lingering victory and searing urgency.
The distance closed fast.
Ten meters.
Five.
Three.
She could see the fine creases in his jacket. She could see, as he turned toward her, her own reflection rushing toward him in those black eyes.
Found you.
Sakuraba Ryo.
And then Sunday Silence lunged like a shark that had caught the scent of blood.
The distance hit zero.
...
He didn't even have time to react. Whether it was surprise or an instinctive step back, it was all useless against the force crashing into him.
Holy crap, incoming torpedo!
That was the only thought that flashed through his mind before he was tackled to the ground.
His vision spun.
His back hit hard with a dull thud.
Yet the impact and pain he expected never came. It was as if something deft had absorbed and softened the blow at the moment of contact.
He lay flat, smelling sun-baked dust and dry grass—and over it, something sharper: the heat of a body fresh from running, a faint trace of sweat, and that cool, distinct scent that belonged only to Sunday Silence, wrapping around him.
The weight pressing down on him wasn't heavy, but it had a presence he couldn't ignore.
He blinked, vision clearing, and met a pair of golden eyes at close range.
Sunday Silence hovered above him, her dark blue-black hair slightly disheveled from the charge, a few damp strands nearly brushing his cheek.
Her breathing was still a little fast, her warm breath grazing his skin.
Those eyes—always distant and cold—were dazzlingly bright now, filled with emotions too tangled to sort.
The heat of victory.
The satisfaction of finding her target.
And something else...
A stubborn focus, fixed entirely on him.
She just looked at him. Said nothing.
As if she meant to burn everything she had won—everything surging through her—straight into his eyes through that gaze alone.
Lying there, Sakuraba Ryo looked up at the victor pinning him down, felt the girl's soft body pressed firmly against his, and in the end could only sigh, the corner of his mouth lifting in a helpless curve.
"Hey, hey... I can't handle a welcome this sudden."
There was an awkward, half-laughing note in his voice, but no real anger or panic in his eyes.
Though, with the increasingly sharp looks from passersby, he quickly grasped exactly how this must look.
Obey Your Master?
This really isn't my fault, so why are you staring at me like that?
Your honor, I'm innocent!
It's not like I wanted to get tackled!
Damn it, Sunday Silence runs way too fast! Even with my body strengthened by the system, there was no way I could dodge that!
And this is still a public place...
If we don't get up soon, my career as an investor is going to end right here, isn't it?!
No!
I have to at least try to struggle!
He glanced at Sunday Silence as she was now.
This newly crowned winner seemed unusually attached to him.
And it really looked like she had no intention of letting him up...
Sigh.
The kid's just too excited.
Yeah, yeah, I get it.
If I congratulate her properly, she'll probably calm down.
He lifted a hand and patted her shoulder.
"Congratulations, Sunday Silence."
His voice wasn't loud, but it reached her clearly.
"You won... beautifully."
The moment his words fell, the tension lingering on her face—the traces left by the reporters—softened at once.
The corner of her mouth twitched slightly.
Then a clear, bright smile bloomed.
It wasn't her usual cold smile tinged with distance or mockery.
Nor the sharp twist of anger she'd shown the reporters.
It was pure. Deeply satisfied. Almost a little clumsy.
Her golden eyes curved with it, the storm inside them settling until only the light kindled by his words remained.
That light shone so directly into his eyes it nearly melted the helpless calm on his face.
And so she stayed there, lying on top of him, smiling in the loose afternoon light.
Beautifully.
He had said she won... beautifully.
The tiny shard of ice that had formed in her heart vanished completely in that warmth.
In its place spread a strange, gentle contentment, flowing from her chest through her entire body.
The irritable edge she always carried settled at once.
Irritable?
Yes. Her temper had never been good.
The American Circuit had never treated her kindly. Living under constant pressure had turned her into a powder keg, ready to explode at the slightest spark.
But here... by his side.
With him looking at her like this.
With him speaking to her like this.
All those jagged spikes drew back in silence. The beast in her chest lowered itself at last, rumbling in satisfaction.
A sense of peace she had never known wrapped around her restless soul like warm water.
She didn't need to suppress anything.
She didn't need to stay on guard.
It was as if, as long as she remained within arm's reach of him, all the outside noise that irritated her would simply disappear.
So this... is what it feels like to belong somewhere?
She didn't know for sure.
But she knew this: the heart that always charged recklessly forward, always burned with destructive urges, was now beating steady and strong, carrying a warmth she didn't want to let go.
Her smile lingered—and deepened.
She made no move to get up. Instead, she relaxed more of her weight onto him, golden eyes fixed on his without blinking, as if trying to carve this moment—his expression, her reflection in his eyes, this fragile peace—into memory.
The curious and suggestive looks from passersby?
Obey Your Master's piercing stare?
The rules of public decorum?
All of it blurred into distant background noise.
She didn't care.
All she knew was that she had won, she had found him, and he... had said she ran beautifully.
So right now, all Sunday Silence wanted was to hold Sakuraba Ryo a little longer.
---
T/N: awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww shes such a green flag! wait... green like money? gulp.
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