This situation—being pinned to the ground by Sunday Silence—didn't last long.
Sakuraba Ryo braced a hand against the ground and pushed himself up easily.
She hadn't really used any strength to hold him down in the first place, so it took almost no effort for him to get back on his feet.
But even after he stood, she still clung to his arm, her chest pressed fully against it, making it especially hard for him to stay composed.
"Um, Sunday Silence... how about we put a little space between us first?"
"Why?"
She tilted her head, eyes full of confusion.
"What do you mean, 'why'? We're too close, that's why! A man and a woman shouldn't be all over each other like this!"
"Mmm... but if it's you, Mr. Sakuraba Ryo, then it's fine."
"Huh?"
Faced with her complete refusal to follow any normal logic, Sakuraba Ryo was at a loss.
"Come on... of course it matters! What are we supposed to do if weird rumors start spreading?"
He glanced around. Quite a few people were still looking their way after that tackle.
If people got the wrong idea in a public place like this and rumors spread, that would be a problem.
Not that Sakuraba Ryo himself cared much about being the subject of some sleazy gossip.
But Sunday Silence was different.
She was an active G1 Umamusume. Something like that couldn't be allowed to affect her.
Yes, he did want her a little off her game so she'd stop winning races—but that was supposed to come from fluctuations in her own condition.
If she got dragged down by malicious rumors instead, even he wasn't enough of a scumbag to just stand by and watch.
"Weird rumors... If people saw us like this, what kind of relationship do you think they'd assume we have?"
Sunday Silence asked it plainly.
"What else? That we're a couple, obviously. We're not actually dating, so if that kind of rumor gets out, it'll affect you."
"..."
She tilted her head, thinking.
Rumors that she and Sakuraba Ryo were lovers...
That actually...
Sounded pretty nice?
Just as she held onto his arm, apparently ready to stay glued to him all the way back—
A figure stepped decisively between them.
Obey Your Master moved forward and slipped neatly into the narrow space between Sakuraba Ryo and Sunday Silence, who had been practically pressed together.
She wore a steady smile, but the starry look in her eyes sent an inexplicable chill crawling up Sakuraba Ryo's spine.
How to put it...
It wasn't anger. It wasn't reproach either.
It felt more like... the look someone would give a husband who'd cheated.
Mixed with a quiet I knew this would happen, and something faintly cold and prickly.
No, no.
I'm not her husband—so why am I the one being judged like this??
"All right, you two."
"If you want to celebrate a victory or... deepen your relationship, at least be mindful of where you are."
Her gaze lingered briefly on the arm Sunday Silence still showed no sign of releasing, then shifted to Sakuraba Ryo, the meaning in her look growing even more layered.
"Mr. Sakuraba, as an investor, I'm sure you understand that an active G1 Umamusume's public image is extremely important."
As she spoke, her smile didn't change, but her gaze brushed over him with a faint, lingering chill—like a winter wind across bare skin.
"Even setting rumors aside, standing here like this is blocking people who are trying to leave."
She angled slightly, indicating the nearby onlookers—most had moved on, but quite a few were still sneaking glances.
"Sunday Silence just finished an intense race. What she needs most right now is proper rest and a chance to relax—not... continued emotional stimulation."
She placed subtle emphasis on the last words, her eyes once again passing over the way they were still pressed close before settling on Sakuraba Ryo.
"You understand what I mean, don't you? Especially you, Mr. Sakuraba."
"..."
He felt like he hadn't done anything—and yet somehow also like he'd done everything.
Everything she said was perfectly reasonable, impossible to argue with. But paired with that "kind" smile and those "cold" eyes, it still felt like a silent accusation—or even a warning.
Your honor, I'm innocent!
I'm just trying to preserve what little dignity I have left as an investor and protect an Umamusume's public image here!
But faced with her flawless this is for your own good stance—and the very real pressure of being watched—Sakuraba Ryo could only swallow all his protests.
"Uh... Miss Obey Your Master is right."
He echoed her dryly, subtly trying to ease his arm out of Sunday Silence's grip.
"Sunday Silence, let's head back first and talk there, okay?"
At the same time, he couldn't help sneaking another glance at Obey Your Master.
She simply gave a small nod. The smile remained impeccable, but her eyes—
Yeah. Still cold.
Sakuraba Ryo sighed inwardly.
Today's "investor experience" really was... one wave hadn't even settled before the next one hit.
Seriously.
What even is this?
...
The media on the American Circuit boiled over within hours of the Santa Anita Derby's conclusion.
At the center of the storm was not only Sunday Silence's shocking thirteen-length victory, but another rumor spreading just as fast—growing more exaggerated with each retelling.
The newly crowned G1 champion had reportedly intimidated reporters in the post-race interview area with near-violent force—and when asked to thank the American Circuit, responded with cold silence and a backward glance so sharp it bordered on outright hostility.
"A Monster Returns! Victory and Arrogance Hand in Hand?"
"A Thirteen-Length Miracle—or Thirteen Lengths of Arrogance?"
"Refusing to Give Thanks? Sunday Silence's 'Special' Greeting to the American Circuit"
"Talent or Total Lack of Manners? Inside the New Champion's Post-Race 'Rampage'"
One eye-catching headline after another flooded sports pages and online trending lists.
Clips were cut and replayed endlessly: reporters falling silent in fear, Sunday Silence's cold profile as she turned away, and the pale account from the reporter who had asked the question.
Debate erupted everywhere.
Some marveled at her overwhelming strength and unruly personality, praising her as a rule-breaker and a force of change.
More condemned her, accusing her of lacking even basic respect—for the race, the audience, and the circuit itself—calling her behavior nothing but arrogance.
Naturally, that uproar spread, reaching the symbolic pinnacle of the American Umamusume world—
American Tracen Academy.
...
A few days later.
Deep within the academy, in a spacious, brightly lit activity room lined with soft mats, everything felt unusually quiet.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through spotless windows, casting bright patches across the floor.
In the center of the room, a girl stretched.
With her back to the door, her figure was tall and straight. Glossy blue-green hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, nearly to her waist.
She bent slowly backward, every movement smooth and controlled—an elegant fusion of strength and flexibility, proof of long, disciplined training.
Sunlight traced the line of her slender yet powerful waist, catching in the strands of her swaying hair.
If seen from the front, anyone might freeze in surprise.
That calm, inward-focused profile—almost severe in its stillness—looked strikingly similar to the student council president of American Academy:
Secretariat.
The same eyes. The same nose. The same lips, especially serious when pressed together.
But compared to Secretariat's polished elegance and ever-perfect smile, this girl carried less refinement and more edge—like a famous blade kept sheathed, yet unable to hide its sharpness.
She seemed completely untouched by the outside storm, fully immersed in her routine.
Only after finishing one set did she straighten and turn toward a nearby table holding a water bottle and towel.
At that exact moment, the wall-mounted display switched automatically to a sports news feed.
A close-up of Sunday Silence sprinting flashed across the screen, followed by blurred footage of the tense post-race interview—and a bold headline.
The girl's steps paused, just slightly.
Her blue-green eyes flicked over the screen, reflecting the sensational images and words.
Her gaze lingered for only an instant on Sunday Silence's face—impatient, cold with anger.
There was no surprise. No curiosity. None of the criticism or excitement seen outside.
Only the faintest trace of scrutiny passed through eyes so similar to Secretariat's—then calm returned, as if she'd just seen ordinary, irrelevant news.
She picked up the towel and wiped the sweat from her brow, then took a small sip from her cup.
The room remained quiet, filled only with distant everyday sounds drifting in from outside.
Setting the cup down, she turned back to the mat, preparing for her next set.
As if all the turmoil outside—the controversy, the legend of that "monster"—was nothing more than background noise between exercises.
Knock, knock.
A measured knock broke the stillness.
The girl didn't react.
She didn't even open her eyes. She held her stretch, breathing steady, movements fluid, completely absorbed in her own world.
Sunlight played over the ends of her hair, outlining a profile both focused and distant.
The knocking stopped. After a brief pause, the doorknob turned.
Creak.
The door opened.
Secretariat stood in the doorway, a clipboard in hand.
She glanced around before letting her gaze settle on the figure still facing away, fully immersed in training.
Seeing her little sister so completely uninterested in the outside world, a faint trace of helplessness flickered through Secretariat's ever-composed eyes before dissolving into a quiet sigh.
Yes—the Umamusume before her was none other than her younger sister:
Easy Goer.
Though sisters, there were several years between them, and that gap left a subtle barrier in how they communicated.
But Secretariat didn't mind.
She closed the door softly behind her, shutting out the noise, then walked lightly to a nearby bench and sat, setting the clipboard aside.
She didn't speak right away. She simply watched—the steady rise and fall of Easy Goer's back, the cascade of blue-green hair.
A delicate stillness settled between them. The distance between them felt almost tangible.
They shared blood, shared features—yet everything else about them was different, even the air between them unfamiliar.
Easy Goer finished her set and straightened, picking up a towel to wipe the sheen of sweat from her arms and neck.
She still didn't look toward the door.
As if the person there didn't exist.
Watching her, Secretariat sighed again—this time aloud.
"Easy," she said gently, a hint of careful probing beneath her tone. "You're very focused on training."
Easy Goer's hand paused slightly, the towel resting at her neck.
She didn't turn. Just gave a quiet, indifferent "Mm."
"Things at the academy have been... lively lately. Have you heard?"
Secretariat chose her words carefully, glancing at the display screen.
Only then did Easy Goer turn.
Her blue-green eyes settled on her sister, calm as a windless lake—reflecting her, but without a ripple.
"I saw the news," she said simply. "Someone... who runs very fast."
She didn't say Sunday Silence's name.
Didn't mention the storm around her.
Didn't use words like "monster" or "champion."
Just that—someone who runs very fast.
Secretariat studied her, something faint flickering behind her glasses.
She knew her sister well. This reaction didn't surprise her.
The age gap. Their personalities. And... things in the past too difficult to put into words.
There had always been a thin but unmistakable barrier between them.
"Just runs fast?"
Secretariat smiled her usual perfect smile, though a hint of inquiry colored her voice.
"She's caused quite a stir. About her attitude... and what she thinks of this place."
Easy Goer held her gaze for a few seconds, then looked away, picking up her cup for another sip.
Only after setting it down did she answer, tone unchanged.
"That's other people's business. Mine is training."
Clear enough: the outside uproar had nothing to do with her.
Secretariat's fingers shifted faintly on her knees. In the end, she simply nodded.
She knew pressing further would only bring shorter, colder replies.
"All right," she said, standing and picking up the clipboard, her tone returning to gentle professionalism. "Then keep at it. Don't forget to balance work and rest. I'll be going—student council matters are waiting."
Easy Goer didn't say goodbye. Just another quiet "Mm," her attention already back on the mat.
Secretariat watched her disappear again into her own world, the helplessness in her eyes deepening slightly.
Before leaving, she added one last thing.
"Easy, be careful."
"Sunday Silence isn't an ordinary Umamusume. Even you could lose to her."
"Pay attention."
With that, she turned, opened the door, and stepped out.
The door closed softly.
Easy Goer kept her gaze on the mat. Only after a few seconds did she lift her eyes, glancing briefly at the closed door—then at the display screen, which had long since moved on.
In those calm, lake-like eyes, the faintest ripple stirred—and vanished.
"Like I need you to tell me that..."
Her voice was no more than a ripple breaking the still surface, fading into the room's heavy quiet.
---
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