The lighting at the edge of the winning concert stage was far brighter than it had been in the tunnel, yet it still carried just the right air of solemn anticipation.
Easy Goer, now changed into her stage outfit, was already waiting there.
The tear tracks on her face had long since been carefully wiped away, and the faint redness still lingering around her eyes had been concealed with cold water and a bit of skillful makeup.
Her blue-green hair was tied back flawlessly. Her back was straight, her hands folded in front of her, her chin slightly lifted, her eyes calm as they rested on the backstage entrance.
The tears she had finally shed in the Churchill Downs tunnel, her sister's embrace, the frustration and unwillingness still burning from that defeat...
For now, she had locked all of it away at the bottom of her heart.
Just as her sister had said.
What mattered was what she would do next.
So the one standing here now was Easy Goer, the next Big Red—the Umamusume who had just suffered a crushing defeat, yet had already resolved to get right back up again.
It was only one loss.
She would make a comeback.
Easy Goer fixed her eyes on the entrance to the winning concert just ahead.
She knew that figure would appear from there very soon.
As the winner of the Kentucky Derby, Sunday Silence would naturally take the brightest center spot on the stage, accepting all the flowers, all the cheers, all the focused lights.
And she, Easy Goer, could only stand to the side—as the runner-up, as the foil.
The thought alone made that burning frustration surge up again from deep in her chest.
But this time, it did not turn into tears. Instead, it condensed into a dark spark in her eyes.
Just this once.
She declared it silently in her heart—to herself, and to the opponent who had not yet appeared.
Next time—at the next big stakes race, or on any future track—
The one standing at center stage, taking the cheers, will be me.
And you, Sunday Silence...
Easy Goer's gaze sharpened further, like polished blue stone.
You'll be the one standing in my shadow.
Footsteps sounded from deep within the corridor, drawing closer.
And there was something... oddly hurried about them?
Easy Goer narrowed her eyes. She adjusted her breathing, drew in the last traces of emotion still visible on her face, and left behind only the pure sharpness she wore on the track—the poised, waiting edge of a challenger.
She waited for the one who had beaten her to appear.
And then, here and now, after the result had already been decided, she would use her gaze, her posture, and that wordless yet iron-hard resolve to issue her challenge for the next race in advance.
The footsteps drew closer and closer.
At last, that figure stepped out from the shadows of the backstage corridor and into the halo of light at the edge of the stage.
It was Sunday Silence.
And yet, she looked nothing like the composed or imposing victor Easy Goer had imagined.
Two unnaturally vivid patches of color had bloomed across Sunday Silence's cheeks, running all the way to her ears, glaringly obvious under the stage lights.
Her breathing was still faintly unsteady, her lips slightly pursed, her golden eyes soft and damp and out of focus, while the corner of her mouth stubbornly tilted upward. It was as though she were still immersed in some intensely private joy and shy delight known only to her, and her whole body carried a subtle atmosphere completely unlike that of someone who had just finished a fierce race and claimed a huge victory.
Easy Goer frowned, surprise flickering through her.
This... was not how someone who had just won a grueling race should look.
But that brief oddity was quickly smothered by the battle intent still blazing within her.
No matter what state her opponent was in, what needed to be done would not change.
She stepped forward, blocking Sunday Silence's path to center stage. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head, her eyes blazing, and spoke in a clear voice full of grave certainty.
"Sunday Silence!"
Sunday Silence stopped.
Those golden eyes, still misted over, finally focused and landed on Easy Goer's face, as though only then noticing she was there at all.
Meeting her gaze, Easy Goer enunciated each word clearly.
"You won this one. I admit it!"
"But this won't be the las—"
Her declaration of challenge had barely even begun.
The flush on Sunday Silence's face seemed to deepen a little, but she was clearly not really listening.
Her eyes flicked hurriedly over Easy Goer, then drifted toward the brightest spotlight at center stage—or perhaps toward some even more important thought pressing at the front of her mind.
"Mm-hm, got it."
She answered vaguely and absentmindedly. Before Easy Goer could even finish speaking, Sunday Silence was already moving again.
Not toward her.
With a light step that was almost a skip, she slipped neatly around the still-frozen Easy Goer and headed straight past her.
"Whatever it is, we can talk later."
She tossed the line back carelessly, without a shred of real substance, the smug little smile on her face only growing more obvious, as though she could not wait to rush off to somewhere far more important.
In the blink of an eye, she had already slipped like a nimble fish into the dazzling sea of light at center stage, leaving behind only a retreating back that somehow carried an unmistakable air of cheerful delight.
Easy Goer: "..."
Her hand was still half raised in the air, not yet fully lifted toward the opponent she had meant to challenge.
The battle intent and declaration she had been building all this time had barely made it out before being shoved straight back down her throat.
She just stood there, watching as Sunday Silence practically bounced her way into the center position.
Her expression shifted from solemnity to shock to a blank sort of confusion.
A challenge?
It was not even that the other girl had failed to take it seriously...
She had not even bothered to hear the whole thing?
A feeling even more complicated than the frustration of losing began to rise in Easy Goer's chest, mixed with the suffocating sting of being completely ignored.
She stared at the winner beneath the spotlights—that girl with flushed cheeks, gleaming eyes, utterly absorbed in her own private world, so detached from the fervent cheers around her that she almost seemed out of place.
And then Easy Goer's own pale skin, white and fine like Secretariat's, began to turn red as well.
But the color on her face had nothing in common with the flush on Sunday Silence's.
This was pure anger.
How outrageous!
How can she look down on me this much?!
Yes, I lost to you in this race!
But at the very least, I still deserve to speak to you, don't I?!
What kind of attitude is that?
You just stood there grinning like an idiot and ignored me??
Damn it!
Damn it all!
I am absolutely going to beat you!
Next time!
Next time, I'm absolutely going to beat that arrogant face of yours!
Staring at Sunday Silence's back, Easy Goer felt more furious than she ever had in her life.
You're the worst, Sunday Silence!
You'd better keep beating me forever!
Because if I ever beat you—just wait until I humiliate you for this!
Biting down hard on her lower lip, the girl followed after Sunday Silence and stepped onto the winning live stage.
---
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