Chapter Text
An Umamusume's running. The possibility it holds.
We Umamusume are organisms of yet unsolvable mystery, filled to the brim with curiosities.
Legs capable of reaching 70kmh. The cardiovascular structure to support them. Powerful musculature.
It is as if we were born to run.
I want to know.
At the boundaries of the potential we Umamusume hold,
at the limits of speed my flesh can reach...
...What lies beyond?
- Agnes Tachyon, Beginning of a New Era
A full moon hangs heavy in a cloudless black sky tonight. Soft moonlight trickles in through the small gaps of the curtain Agnes Tachyon has drawn over the window adjacent to her desk. That silvery light is drowned out by the glaring colors of the only other light source in the room: Tachyon's computer. She hunches forward in her desk chair, a terrible habit that will surely have her resembling a shrimp in her old age, should she survive that long given her poor self-care. Her wide, bloodshot eyes are practically pressed up against the screen, taking in as much information as possible, as though it'll all vanish should she blink. The wrist of her hand grasping her computer mouse twitches and flicks as she frantically drags multiple windows into place, creating a mosaic of videos, written observations, and raw data. Starving pupils dance chaotically back and forth, devouring all.
Click. Oguri Cap triumphing over Tamamo Cross at the Arima Kinen. Click. Tokai Teio ordering a honey latte alongside Mejiro McQueen. Click. Special Week and Silence Suzuka partner running together. Click. Daiwa Scarlet and Vodka, 'secretly' arguing, both heartrates skyrocketing. Click, click, click. Narita Taishin winning the Satsuki Sho. Winning Ticket, the Japanese Derby. Biwa Hayahide - Kikuka Sho. Click. Click. Click. Clickclickclickclickclick. Faster, faster came a hypothesis, spurting forth in Tachyon's mind like Rice Shower past Mihono Bourbon. Click.
Could the answer really be so painfully obvious? Was such a key ingredient missing from her research, barring entry to the Beyond? Surely, she had not overlooked something so vital. All the evidence before her eyes seemed to suggest otherwise, however. Perhaps there was some truth to the "power of friendship" she heard boasted of when traversing the halls to her laboratory. Perhaps there was some reason for the heartfelt rival declarations she would interrupt at times, demanding the pair drink one of her mysterious vials. Perhaps the essence of Umamusume could not be uncovered through serums, equations, and race results alone. Evidence suggested such, at least. She could not argue with evidence, despite trying her best at times. A skilled debater, it was.
Convinced, Tachyon springs to her feet in one swift motion, her desk chair rocketing across the room. A twinge of pain shoots through her bandaged ankle and foot, yielding no external reaction. A woozy feeling clouds her head, noticeable now that she's moving - the natural consequence of not eating or drinking for hours, likely. Her hand, hidden by her lab coat's dangling sleeve, presses to her mouth as she stifles a laugh bubbling forth. Turning upon her heel, the mad scientist marches purposefully to the other side of the room, continuing to cackle. Behind her, the mosaic of evidence remained, littered haphazardly across the screen. In the center, a close-up video of Meisho Doto surpassing T.M. Opera O at the Takarazuka Kinen plays on repeat.
Tachyon's white heels cross over the imaginary boundary set in the middle of the abandoned classroom the Academy declared she must share if she were to have her own laboratory. Metaphorically, she crosses from the realm of science into the supernatural - fitting, as the many clocks on this side of the room indicate it is The Witching Hour. In reality, she walks a few feet to where the other inhabitant of this space sits at a table. She is one of the only other Umas oft up at this late hour. Manhattan Cafe kneels upon a cushion, cradling a cup of hot black coffee in her hands. In front of her is a table, tarot cards spread across its surface. The raven-haired Uma has her head tilted off to the side, ears pricked forward as if intently listening to someone unseen. On occasion, she murmurs softly to her non-existent conversation partner, gesturing to the cards.
This unsettling sight is common with Cafe, and does not faze Tachyon as she approaches and strikes her usual, odd pose with outstretched hands. Standing there, the scientist's ongoing laugh grows louder, for an indiscernible reason. Out of delight, madness, or a desire to rudely announce herself and interrupt Cafe's 'conversation'? Perhaps all three. Either way, she does not succeed. Though Tachyon stands there, expectantly laughing on and on, Cafe does not acknowledge her presence, save for a momentary irritated flick of her ear.
Being ignored does not seem to deter Tachyon, either. Placing a sleeved hand on her hip, she maniacally grins down at Cafe. "Playing cards with your imaginary friend again, Cafe? They sell those and ouija boards in the children's aisles, you know!"
Manhattan Cafe, once more, does not acknowledge her directly. Without breaking eye contact with her unseen companion, the dark Uma merely sets her coffee down and shuffles the spread tarot cards back into the deck.
Tachyon only laughs harder. "Yes, best to put those away! No use for them to tell a fickle future, for I have an undeniable proposition for an experiment that, if successful, will have you taking the lead from your friend in no time!"
As the scientist expected, this finally gets Cafe's full attention. Begrudgingly, the mystic turns to her. Behind Cafe's dark curtain of hair, pale gold eyes with pinprick pupils stare emptily. Unblinking gaze meets unblinking gaze, heavy swollen eyebags underneath each pair of startling eyes. Laughter finally dies.
Satisfied, Tachyon continues, "You see, I've developed a new hypothesis. You are familiar with my research project, of course, in which I am attempting to discover the true, full potential and essence of Umamusume by breaking the limit of speed and-"
"Mhm," Cafe hums, interrupting the inevitable spiel. Through that stoic exterior, Tachyon can tell Cafe is getting increasingly annoyed, yet won't turn down any opportunity to surpass her imaginary friend, and it stirs a sort of delight.
"Ah, well, you're familiar, as I said! I will keep this short and explain along the way, as you're clearly dying to get back to more important matters. I shan't keep you from playing with your toys! What I ask is very simple, my dear Cafe, very simple indeed - it won't interfere with any other of your activities in the slightest! All I ask is that you, Manhattan Cafe, become my one and only, truest, dearest, most devoted rival." She puts on an effect at the end, trying and failing to imitate the genuine emotion other Umas have when making this proposition.
All of Cafe's hidden irritation springs to her face at once in a deep scowl. "You retired. We can't be rivals. Not anymore." With that curt response, she mutters something to her imaginary friend with a small shake of her head. After listening for the unheard response, Cafe then starts shuffling and spreading tarot cards face-down in a particular pattern.
There is an imperceptible flicker in Tachyon's eyes that Cafe does not catch. Tachyon chuckles. "What does that matter? We've raced before, you know what I am capable of. Your friend said herself I can catch up to her - for you, it's the entire reason we fraternize in the first place, Cafe! What more do you need from me? If you must, just imagine me running ahead of you like you do your friend."
Cafe's ears pin against her head, and she does not reply for a moment as she peeks beneath the cards, glimpsing their faces. "...You had rivals already. Me. Jungle Pocket. You threw it all away. No point in trying to get it back, now." She pauses for a beat, and before Tachyon can squeeze another reply in, Cafe adds, "We pulled these for you. It's the outcome of your research. Want to know?"
It's an uncharacteristic question from Cafe, and this time, Tachyon is put on the backfoot. Now the scientist has the completion of her goal dangled in her face by the mystic. But Tachyon knows cold, hard data can't be argued with. As she stands there, beaming wildly at Cafe, she is more aware than ever of the pain shooting through her tendons. Why hasn't Umakind yet advanced past the need to register pain? She realizes that, unwittingly, her hands have balled into fists beneath her sleeves, sharp and unmaintained nails cutting into her palms. Relaxing her hands, Tachyon waves Cafe off, already turning toward the door with yet another laugh.
"No need! To Pokke-kun, then. Plenty of guinea pigs in this school!" The sound of the door slamming behind Tachyon echoes through the room and down the Academy halls.
"Mm." Cafe does not look away from the cards. With Tachyon gone, there is finally peace and quiet once more. She takes a long sip of still-steaming coffee to calm herself, ghostly whispers resonating in her ears. She turns over each of the five cards in the spread. The first: the Reversed Tower. The second: the World. The third, fourth, and fifth: the Fool, the Star, and the Lovers.
Outside, standing in front of the door she just slammed, Tachyon's smile falls into a flat, dead expression. Staring into the empty, black expanse of unlit hallways stretching before her, the scientist analyzes the past few minutes. In her head, over and over, she plays each line from Cafe's mouth like one of the videos on her computer. Shutting her eyes, Tachyon reaches an inner conclusion. Upon re-opening them, she sets off with a purposeful stride, smiling all the while. She heads not to Jungle Pocket's dorm room, but to her own.