Chapter Text
I was just a child when the ones they call the "Golden Generation" ran in the Classics and wrote a new world into existence.
It didn't interest me much at first, but I was the exception and not the rule. I remember how it seemed like they had taken over every conversation. Even my home, far from Japan, had hosted a watchalong when El Condor Pasa had challenged the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe. My father had been so disappointed when she had taken second. I remember the racing schools that sprang up near my home, and then how within a month three of them closed down because they didn't know what they were doing. It seemed as if overnight, all of our local horsegirls began pursuing dreams of glory.
For me, the races were just an abstract idea. Nothing more than a show that the local news channel displayed the highlights of every morning on TV. I saw it as something in a far away land, somewhere I couldn't go to and which didn't have a place for me.
Far away, until that final day of summer. One day while on my way to summer camp, the road became blocked by a herd of cows that had decided to occupy the road while being moved to the next field. I was forced to turn away from the mooing and the cowpies and go around.
The path I took opened up onto the main highway that led past the local racecourse. I was shocked to find the shoulders cluttered with cars. Despite being a highway, my town had always been a place to drive through and not stop at, and there had never been many vehicles. That wasn't true today, and in a moment I realized it was because today was race day.
The occupants of the cars were all bunched up against the fence that bordered the racetrack. I was already doomed to a scolding for being late to camp, and so I lingered, pushing myself and my bike through to a gap by the fence to see what was happening.
A sound like distant thunder. In the emerald field in front of me, colored banners flew in the wind as our local horsegirls ran a race against a visiting team. The people around me cheered and hollered, the noise deafening and yet making my heart leap in time with the beating of feet against grass. I could not tear my gaze away from the battle unfolding on the turf as the racers sped along the far stretch.
The pack turned the final corner, coming over the hill.
One ran far ahead, her clothes a pattern of light and dark grays, her hair ash white. Streaks of red and yellow stood like the flags of an invading army upon her jacket and skirt. On her shoulder: the number thirteen, emblazoned in yellow.
In that moment, there was nothing but me and that racer. That Yellow Thirteen.
In an instant she had run past, and then the rest were upon us, their racing colors flashing by, the sweat streaming, the dust behind them a cloud that enveloped me and left me coughing. Then, they were gone. I strained my eyes, climbing up the fence to look down the stretch as the crowd roared.
Words echoed across the field: "Sunset Song! Sunset Song has done it again, Yellow Thirteen continues her streak undefeated!"
I will never forget this.