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The other day, McQueen had taught Special Week a new word: antipodes. It meant, “a pair of places on opposite ends of the world.” Japan and America were not so distant, but on some days, it really felt like it—like today, a rainy April evening, after a terrible performance at the Spring Tenno Sho. Special Week didn’t bother sloughing off her loungewear before toppling head-first into bed. It was awful. She was the favorite to win, and she didn’t even place in the top five. The race before this, she had come in fourth, and the race before that, she had only come in third. With a soft whine, she curled up over the covers, hugging her legs to her chest. They still ached. Those legs had taken her to heights she’d only ever dreamed of—a whole wall of trophies and medals, thousands of adoring fans, the greatest friendships she’d ever known—and now, they hurt to move. She massaged her calf, but winced as pain shot up and down the limb. Maybe touring all around Kyoto with her friends to put the loss behind her hadn’t been the best idea.
Am I washed up? Gold Ship’s warning weighed heavy on her thoughts, asserting itself with the boisterous flair Golshi was known for, despite the great lengths Spe had gone through to mute it. No matter how hard she’d trained, she hadn’t gotten better. Everyone was starting to leave her behind. Her legs—her damn legs—they weren’t racing like she knew they could. With a particularly drawn-out hiss, Spe worked out a troublesome knot in her thigh. After mumbling a curse, she rolled over and started on the other one. It had been so long. Was being this sore normal for her? She drove a thumb deep into her skin, biting her tongue as the muscle burned. Goddesses, it hurt. Losing hurt. Of course, she gave the usual platitudes about doing her best, and working super hard, and no matter what, definitely winning next time, but after her third consecutive loss, the words rung hollow. Not once has saying “next time will be different!” ever actually changed anything.
Kneading fruitlessly at her legs wasn’t going to suddenly make her a better racer. She wouldn’t wake up tomorrow with the secrets to clawing her way back to the summit. Yet, in this dark, lonely room, what else could she do? Special Week turned back over and, not for the first time, cast a longing gaze towards Suzuka’s side of the room: a perfectly made bed, complete with a hard-won Special Week plushie from the crane game; a neat and tidy desk, devoid of assignments, but not gathering dust; and a wall of painstakingly-polished memorabilia from past victories. She heaved a sigh. If only Suzuka were here, she would know what to say. If they were together, it wouldn’t matter if she won or lost—just being able to race with her idol would be a gift enough. Suzuka, Suzuka, Suzuka. She must have repeated that name to herself a hundred million times. That’s sure what it felt like.
Special Week’s phone began to buzz. It was that time already! Where were her earphones?! Crap, the lights were out! After a bang, crash, and nearly nasty slip, Special Week tumbled back into bed and answered the call. Dread was building in her stomach, but she forced her complete, undivided attention on her phone. Nothing would steal this first greeting from her—it was the last time she’d be happy all night.
“Suzuka!”
“Hello, Spe.” You could hear the smile through the receiver. Hearkening to that voice was like meeting with a patch of sunlight on a freezing winter day. For a moment, you could close your eyes and let the fleeting warmth pool over your rosy cheeks and pinkening nose. Although, such heat hardly penetrated more than skin-deep.
“How are you doing? How was the Tenno Sho? I was so tired from training I went to bed early, so I couldn’t watch it.” Ah, it was the moment she’d been fearing; to think it had come so soon. The wind was picking up. The faint rays of golden light winked out one by one, as the clouds overtook the sun once again. It was back to shivering for Special Week, in that icy, frigid winter. Suzuka hummed sympathetically.
“That bad, huh?” Normally, Spe would be tripping over herself to spill everything about the race. In times past, she had narrated the whole thing, from the moment the gates burst open to her final triumphant stomp across the finish line. She could perfectly recall every corner, and every dash—on the first corner, she’d nearly gotten boxed in, but she slipped out and swooshed across the outside, gunning right for the straightaway! Then, she tussled with two other girls while they jostled for position, but she was stronger, and she took it right in time for the next curve!
This time, she hadn’t said anything. Of course Suzuka would know.
“Well, I’ve had worse,” Special Week mumbled.
“You don’t even want to talk about the race?” The call was a little grainy—it was halfway across the world, after all, but Spe could easily identify the emotion tinging the voice on the other end of the line: disappointment. She turned over to face the wall, smushing her cheek against her pillow. Her earbuds weighed heavy above the crown of her head. Droop. What was she supposed to say? I’m sorry I’m such a loser, and I can’t win anything, and you should just find a better umamusume to race with in America, because your Special Week is past her prime?
“What’s there to tell? I came in sixth.”
“Normally, you would be crying in frustration or chewing on everything you thought could have gone better.” A sheet rustled on the other side. Suzuka had sat up; she was still in bed. “Did something happen?”
The room was cold. There was a void on the other bed, where someone else should have been. It was sapping the heat from their square little loneliness called home.
“I keep placing lower.” Spe finally rolled back over and imagined she wasn’t talking on the phone any more. Instead of speaking to a silicone box, she was murmuring to someone across the room. They’d passed too many nights like that, only to wake up for morning training with their eyes protesting vociferously. They would lean on each other during their schlep to the turf, and only clear the sleep from their aspects after their third make-up lap. It had been a long time since Special Week had laid down with the comfort of someone else in the room.
“You’ve been in slumps before. This one isn’t any different.” Suzuka adjusted her posture again. Distant birdsong echoed from the other side, a reminder that it was morning in America.
“Maybe when I was younger.” The shuffling stopped.
“Spe, is that what’s gotten into you? Are you worried about Gold Ship saying we’re all yesterday’s noodles?” The image of a pouting Suzuka sprung to mind, hands on her hips, using all three extra centimeters of height she had to her advantage. What a disapproving frown. Urk. That did not spark joy. Spe’s ears drooped again.
“If you’re too old to run, what does that make me?” Suzuka brought her phone in closer, enough that it picked up her muffled, even breathing. Despite being an ocean removed, hearing something so bodily mundane imbued the night with a sudden sense of proximity. A zing! shot down from Special Week’s ears, and her tail curled. Suzuka’s voice came back quieter, next, with more tenderness than the radio waves could carry.
“I’m still competing, and I’m a year ahead of you. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be in America, training right now! The view from the lead is so breathtaking. I know you’ll find yours again, too.”
The pain and fear receded from such kind words, but those kinds of worries weren’t the type to just disappear after a soothing phone call. It didn’t make the reprieve any less appreciated, though. Switching to a different topic would probably be for the best, but Special Week’s doubts still lingered.
“You know, last week, they handed us a survey in class, like a high school career survey. We were supposed to write down what we wanted to do after racing,” she said.
“And what did you say?” Special Week chuckled bashfully, her last few laughs drawn out and weak.
“I said I’d go back to Hokkaido. Mr. A. told me to put more thought into things, so I had to explain that I meant I would take over the farm. Did you know that Tracen offers classes in agricultural science through a partnership with Tokyo U?” Maybe someone else would have called “going back home” an unsatisfying answer, but it was just right for Special Week. She loved her farm, her mom, and her neighbors. Even now, she had yet to run out of happy stories of all the antics she got up to back in the country, when she wasn’t training or attending school. There’s no place she’d rather be! (Except by Suuzka’s side.)
“I got the same one,” Suzuka said. “Do you want to know what I said?”
The notion of a Suzuka who didn’t race felt inherently incongruous, almost oxymoronic. Running was her whole raison d'être.
“Did you even turn it in?”
“Spe!” Suzuka giggled. “I think about my future, too, you know.” Her laughter was contagious, and Spe found a snicker bubbling up in herself as well.
“What did you write?” At first, all that came through was bird calls. Chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp. Whatever it was, it warranted some serious contemplation. Was she having second thoughts about sharing it?
“Be a beautiful bride,” Suzuka answered. The gears started turning in Special Week’s head. A bride… She rolled onto her back and looked up, beyond the ceiling, into her mind’s eye. A bride, huh? Her thoughts had gone blank, save for a single speck. What was that dark shape soaring into view? It was getting bigger. A brick! Its name was “realization”, and it was coming straight for her! Ka-POW! The block broke against her forehead, leaving a crimson red welt that spread across her whole face, especially her cheeks. The birds were no longer the only thing chirping; Spe’s mouth floundered impotently. Suzuka was similarly disarmed.
It wasn’t like the concept of marriage never came up, but it had certainly not been a topic they’d broached together to any serious degree. Historically, those conversations usually ended in awkward blushes and brusque changes of subject. Mentioning it now meant she was serious—more than before. Maybe Golshi’s words had stirred something in Suzuka, too. Flashes of a life together in Hokkaido ripped through Spe’s mind one by one—harvesting carrots right at their peak, taking long walks through the forest, chatting away nights on the porch, instead of their beds—that much and thensome; too many to count. The mosaic of ephemeral images crystallized into a single fantasy that gripped Special Week like a vice: Silence Suzuka stepping up to an altar, dressed in a sweeping white gown.
Still reeling, Spe wrung her next words from her throat. “Do I need to move to America, then?” She sounded distant even to herself, like she was listening to her own conversation from the outside. Behold, a Special Week, the Great General of Japan: she is lying on her bed, trying to recover after being caught unawares by a sudden marriage proposal. Witness how she has lost control of her motor functions and her phone lies unattended on her mattress, having fallen clumsily from her grasp upon receiving the conjugal proposition.
Marriage. What a powerful word.
“I don’t think we need to elope,” Suzuka said. “We’d just be moving back to Japan anyway.”
“Yeah, but…” She hemmed and hawed about this and that, but most of it was flustered bluster anyway.
“I want to see you in a dress…”
Suzuka giggled brightly. “I can still do that, silly.”
Special Week continued to stare at the ceiling like it had turned green. Marriage. She gathered her phone back up and started speaking the first words that came to mind. If they kept talking about the m-word, Spe feared she might self-destruct. Poof!
“I haven’t been able to run right since you left, like my legs have been weighed down by something. The longer it went on, the heavier they got. I kept having thoughts like… ‘Is this the end of the Supreme Commander?’ ‘Will I ever be center stage again?’ ‘I can’t race Suzuka like this.’ Y’know? And then with Gold Ship talking about how she’s feeling like she can’t pass like she used to, and that career survey, and…” There was too much to spill out. The giddiness had yet to dissipate, and even clumsy words were preferable to stewing with a palpitating heart.
Marriage.
“The room gets so lonely without you here, sometimes. It’s dark at night. I can’t look out of my window and count the constellations. It’s just me, alone, in this big, cold box. The only time I could see you was in my dreams, but you were always just in front of me, dashing further away. You wouldn’t stop at the finish line, and while I was catching my breath, you were already halfway across the world.”
The harder she pushed, the further she fell behind.
“Now, though, it feels like you’re right beside me. Maybe it’s because our hearts are connected?” Spe curled up and hugged her pillow, laughing with a tinge of sheepishness.
“Geez, how corny can I be?” The sounds from her earphones indicated that Suzuka had lied back down. She’s imagining sleeping next to me, isn’t she? Suppressing more laughter, Spe clutched her pillow that much tighter.
“Why don’t I come back early?” Suzuka said. The world shattered into fractals; planetary collisions roared in Spe’s chest. Happiness jousted with concern for control of the young umamusume’s heart. For ages she’d cradled that promise of a reunion. Now, it dangled in front of her; she only had to reach out and take it. Nevertheless, dreams were dreams for a reason.
“I’d love that, but you have races of your own. There are so many views you haven’t seen.” Her heart twinged as she declined Suzuka’s offer, but real life came first.
The receiver crackled with static.
“Let me tell you something, Spe. Each time I race, I find something new I can treasure. That view from first place, when the sky splits apart, and I can see everything stretching out into the distance—each time I reach it, I feel like I’m where I belong. I wake up every morning counting down the days until I can see it again. Lately, though, I’ve been thinking—that view is more beautiful when you’re in it. I noticed it during my last race. After it was over, I kept thinking to myself, ‘if only Spe were there with me.’ I’ve spent my career chasing after this feeling, traveling all over the world trying to find something that can satisfy me, running my heart out to reach that blissful place again—I’ve loved all of it, and I don’t regret it. Only, I think I’ve been a fool. I didn’t realize what I had been searching for was beside me from the start.”
Suzuka seemed to search for the right words.
“I’m sorry. We could have been running together this whole time.”
She’s going to give me a heart attack. Special Week clutched her chest, her entire face burning with an apocalyptic-level blush.
“Maybe we should talk about this later,” Spe said. “I should be getting to bed; it’s already…” One glance at the clock was enough to cause her physical pain. Yeah, she wasn’t getting up on time.
“Right. Of course.” Even as the line went quiet, neither of them hung up. An invisible force tied them together, preventing them from calling it a night. If they said goodbye, the spell would be broken, and they would need to go back to being responsible women, instead of girls with their hearts aflutter. The seconds ticked by on the bedside clock, but still, no farewell was forthcoming. Try as she might, Spe’s words kept getting caught in her throat.
“When we meet again,” Spe started, “how about I bring a ring?” Even the birds seemed to take pause, waiting for Suzuka’s answer. It started with a mischievous giggle.
“I guess I’d better ask for your mothers’ blessing.” Pffwah… It was getting hard holding in all that breath. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like hours.
“You already know what they’d say,” Spe teased with a smile.
A perfect place to stop, and yet, they still refused to end the call. Just a little longer, they hoped. Let me stay with her just a moment more, and that’ll be enough. Tick, tock. Oh, well. The night was still young; they had time to spare.
“Suzuka?”
“Yes, Spe?”
“I want to have the wedding in Hokkaido.”
“I was just going to suggest that. Now, get some rest.”
“Uh-huh. You, too!”
“I just did, though?”
“Goddesses—” Click.
Spe let her phone drop to her side as the two finally went their separate ways. She mechanically removed her earbuds and placed them back into their protective travel pouch. The slow purr of the zipper would have helped her focus her thoughts, if any were remaining. She placed it on her nightstand, then lied back down and stared vacantly into space.
Marriage.
Spe spazzed out and buried her face in her pillow.
I’m getting married.
She gripped the pillow so hard her knuckles went white, pressing it to her face like she was trying to smother herself, and released a ghastly wail that she hoped wouldn’t have Fuji Kiseki breaking down her door.
To Silence Suzuka.
Special Week went from curled up like a pillbug, to rolling around her bed, to kicking her legs in the air, all in the span of a single minute. There was no way she could ever sleep now!
I’m getting married!
An inexhaustible well of energy surged forth from her soul, and there was nowhere for it to go but out, out, out. Disbelief and ecstasy mingled in equal parts, producing a cavalcade of fireworks in her chest. Whole orchards of flowers bloomed from her core, with petals of pearlescent light. Their radiant blossoms illuminated the shadows encompassing her lonely room, revealing them for what they truly were: an iridescent collage of memories with her beloved Suzuka. With nowhere else to go, they had hidden here, waiting for the day the object of their affection would return.
Reflected in the windows was the moment she first saw her—how her pumpkin-toned hair fluttered with grace as she threw off her coat, and the steely determination that burned in her eyes. In the absence of stars, Suzuka’s own sparkling beauty served as more than a fair replacement. Zooming past, another memory: their first time running together, an impromptu sixteen-hundred meter dash on one of Tracen’s training tracks. Speeding down the turf, neck and neck, they tore through the green without a care in the world. More scenes piled on—their first winning live together, their first kiss, the day Spe brought her to Hokkaido—all of them overflowing with warmth enough to chase away the cold April chill.
Lying around wasn’t enough anymore. Spe hopped to her feet, restlessly bouncing in place. So what if the Tenno Sho had been today? She needed to run! Fast!
I’m getting married!!!
Next morning, in Team Spica’s shed, Gold Ship was squatting with each foot on a separate chair.
“Hey, Macdaddy. Try my new yakisoba,” she said, pushing an ominous tray of questionable noodles towards McQueen, who took one look at it and nearly gagged.
“Why is it bright red?” Gold Ship, unblinking, answered,
“I’ll tell you if you try it. Now, eat up!” McQueen defiantly turned her head.
“Absolutely not. Yakisoba is far too unhealthy for breakfast.” Gold Ship bellowed out a long, exaggerated groan.
“That’s classist.”
McQueen sputtered. “If it were coming from anyone other than you, I might actually be inclined to believe that!”
The rest of Spica entered in short order, with varying levels of interest in the daily GoruMaku occurrence, save one.
“Has anyone seen Spe?” Someone asked. (“Traineeeeerrrr! McQueen won’t eat my noodles! She says they’re POISON!” “I did not!”)
As if summoned her name’s utterance, the woman of the hour appeared. Special Week trudged in and collapsed into an empty chair. She rasped out a withered croak, then thunked over onto the table like a released Halloween skeleton. It was a sorry sight. All of Spica shared a glance, and their one communal brain cell fired on all cylinders. It told them thus: a sacrifice must be selected. Only the worthiest umamusume could prevail over the minefield newly lain in their cramped little shack. Four judicial gazes fell upon the unfortunate victim, whose eyes went wide as saucers.
Tokai Teio, you have been chosen, boomed the council. Powerless to refuse, there was no choice but to obey.
“Spe, is everything all right? You look exhausted.” Teio scooted her seat over, concern written in her knit brow.
“Trainer, I absolutely have to win my next race.” A chorus of sympathetic noises filled the room.
“It’s all right, Spe,” he said. “A loss streak is the worst. Next time—”
“No, you don’t get it.” Pushing herself off the table, Spe’s face was grave. “An engagement ring costs a fortune, so I need to—”
“A WHAT?!”
Legends say the screams echoed all the way to Rudolf’s office.
Far away, in America, Suzuka’s eyes cracked open as her phone howled bloody murder. She blearily slumped over and blinked away the momentary blindness. A torrential rush of text messages cascaded across her screen with the explosive force of fifteen of Gold Ship’s last spurts. It felt like everyone at Tracen and their mothers were flooding her inbox with congratulations and well-wishes and pictures of fortune slips (what? Oh, thanks, Fuku). Wow. Spe couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, but this time, the news broke faster than it took for her to inhale a plate of home-grown carrots. They weren’t even officially engaged, yet! Her texts flew by, ten at once, reminiscent of fence posts sailing past as she closed in on another runaway victory. Suzuka took one long, weary look at the endless (still growing) stream of messages, then switched her phone to silent and flumphed back onto her pillow.
The view from that lead… can wait until tomorrow.