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Someone once said that flowers are beautiful precisely because they scatter.
McQueen was no exception—she preferred fresh flowers to preserved or artificial ones. Eternal beauty was, in the end, a manufactured thing, something that defied the natural order. She had walked beneath cherry blossom storms thinking exactly that.
Back then, she hadn't yet realized that she herself was precisely such a "flower."
"It's tendon inflammation."
It happened while she was pushing hard in preparation for the Tenno Sho (Autumn). The pain in her left leg had swelled to the point where it couldn't be hidden from anyone, and she was forced to stop training without argument.
She still remembered the attending physician's voice from that day. Because hearing it was the moment McQueen understood. Her body had never been particularly sturdy, and she'd experienced injuries many times before, but never once had she heard that voice tremble so badly.
In short, it was a death sentence. So this was how unremarkably the bell tolled for the end of a history.
"I'm so sorry… my abilities weren't enough… Racing while favoring the leg carries a high risk of fracture, and even after rehabilitation, the chance of recurrence—"
"Please, no—please, raise your head! This isn't your fault, Doctor. I'm truly grateful for all the years you've supported me. …Besides, I'd already begun to brace myself for this, in a way."
Outside the window, a pleasantly cool breeze caressed the trees. The idle thought floated up: what a perfect day for a race. She couldn't help but laugh at herself.
"I see. So I… can no longer run."
"Whaaaat?! Going back to the Mejiro estate?! Why?! You can just stay at Tracen even after retiring!!"
"I most certainly cannot! What on earth would I train for when I can't even run…?"
"Well, obviously, belly dancing! Mime! And if you could learn to breathe fire, that'd be the best!"
"I'm not your toy!"
Several days had passed since the retirement was widely reported. The packing was mostly done, and Gold Ship had even attended the farewell party—so what was there to be surprised about now? Come to think of it, her gift had been a beginner's magic kit, but was that actually Gold Ship's idea of a farewell present, or simply a demand to "see some magic tricks"?
McQueen let out a deep sigh.
"If McQueen's gone, who am I supposed to hang out with?"
"Oh, come now. You have plenty of other friends to play with, don't you?"
"No! I want McQueen!"
"Yes, yes."
"That's so cold!! …Ugh, why? I thought… we were… friends. Wah, wahhh…"
"What?! I-I never said we weren't friends!"
Just moments ago she'd been throwing a tantrum, and now she'd covered her face and started sniffling. McQueen's eyes went wide with shock, and she hurriedly began rubbing Gold Ship's back gently.
She'd been answering carelessly, assuming she was being teased as usual—but thinking about it, she'd been rather cruel. Even if Gold Ship phrased things jokingly, she must have truly felt lonely.
Looking back, their relationship had started with Gold Ship inexplicably attaching herself to McQueen. But by now, Gold Ship had become someone precious to McQueen too. Her chest ached at having made such a person sad, and at the same time, a gentle warmth spread through her at the simple fact that someone cared about her this much.
"…Gold Ship? It's not as though we'll never see each other again. Whenever our schedules align, we can go out together, and I can invite you to our home…"
"You said it?"
"Huh?"
A grin curved across her lips. The area around Gold Ship's eyes, now uncovered, was refreshingly dry.
"Thank you for having me, Lady McQueen."
"…I didn't invite you."
"Hey, face-pass entry is so convenient!"
"Honestly! What has happened to the Mejiro family's security?!"
Clad in her trademark red casual clothes, Gold Ship barged in waving cheerfully. McQueen had indeed said anytime our schedules align, but shouldn't a friend who constantly showed up at your family home uninvited be turned away? Could such a person even be called a friend?
"But you always have tea and snacks ready when I come. That's so diligent of you."
"Well, what choice do I have? You've already made it to my room, so you're a guest now."
"Macchan, you're the best~~~~"
"Hey! Those cookies are mine!"
Gold Ship had become completely at home, lounging as if it were her own room. She sat on the cushion with such poor posture that her long hair trailed on the floor. McQueen secretly adored her hair (it was beautiful despite receiving virtually no care), so she'd ended up meticulously vacuuming the carpet every day to ensure not a single dust bunny could cling to it.
Given how frequently Gold Ship visited, one might suspect she was skipping training, but the pace worked out to roughly "dedicating most of her days off to McQueen," so she was presumably attending her sessions. If she weren't, surely someone would have contacted McQueen about it.
That excuse was why McQueen let it slide with only a mild scolding. Truth be told, for McQueen—who had nothing to fill her sudden abundance of free time—the visits were welcome.
And yet, she couldn't believe this arrangement was good for Gold Ship. McQueen was a horse girl of the past; Gold Ship was living in the present. There was nothing left that McQueen could offer her.
Gold Ship should spend her days off with the horse girls at Tracen. Getting to know her rivals, finding allies—the new friendships born from that would become her support.
Talent alone won't win without effort. But it's not a world where talent alone suffices, either. McQueen knew this from bitter experience.
(Should I tell her not to come?)
The fear that saying so would mean never seeing Gold Ship again kept her silent once more. Another convenient excuse.
"Hey, hey! McQueen!"
"Yes?!"
"What's with you, sleep-deprived? Get it together!"
"I don't want to hear that from you… Is something the matter?"
"That box, what's in it?"
Gold Ship pointed at a large wooden crate McQueen had brought from storage.
"Oh. Letters."
"Letters? I knew it—you're pen-paling with the Golgo-Golgo aliens in hieroglyphics! Don't hold out on me, lemme join in!"
"No, these are fan letters…"
"Right, right. A big industrial fan should send 'em all the way to space. No postage needed!"
"They're from people! On Earth! Fan letters! To me!"
"McQueen… fan letters do generally come from Earth, you know."
"What is wrong with you?! How have you twisted this so that I'm the one saying something strange?!"
Utterly oblivious to McQueen's inner turmoil, Gold Ship was her usual self, and McQueen—played like a fiddle as always—clutched her head.
Watching Gold Ship laugh so genuinely, so delightedly, McQueen felt her worries start to seem silly. Perhaps it was wrong to project her own experiences onto someone else entirely.
"Still, that's a crazy amount. You read all of these?"
"No, these are the ones I still need to get through. …I always received some letters, but after retiring, the number increased enormously. The same goes for magazine and newspaper articles."
"Hmm."
Despite the disinterested reply, Gold Ship stared fixedly at the mountain of letters. Her large eyes, usually darting about restlessly, were still, and that was somehow unsettling.
"What kind of stuff do they say?"
"Hm? Well… about what you'd expect. That a certain race was wonderful, or that they wished they could have seen more of my career. And many people ask after my injury."
"Are you happy? Getting all those letters?"
"…What's the matter, Gold Ship?"
Something was slightly off. But Gold Ship didn't answer McQueen's question; instead, she brightened up in an instant.
"I was just thinking—if you love letters that much, I could've written you tons! ♪"
Ah. I've failed again. She'd hidden it.
McQueen didn't understand Gold Ship. She probably knew more about the girl's habits than anyone else in the world—grudgingly so. But even that was surely just the thinnest surface layer. Gold Ship would charge toward you at full speed, run alongside you for a few fleeting seconds, then blow past and win by a wide margin. She'd probably just been kind enough to hold back to about five lengths against McQueen.
It wasn't fair that Gold Ship always knew McQueen while McQueen couldn't know her. She wanted to know. To uncover. To be shown.
Those tangled feelings tumbled out of her mouth before she realized it.
"I am happy. …Of course I'm happy."
"Oh, really? I don't have stationery at the dorm right now—loose-leaf okay?"
"I'm not talking about letters from you! I mean the fan mail!"
At that, Gold Ship turned back toward the wooden crate.
"You know the saying—flowers are beautiful because they scatter. There is no flower that doesn't scatter. I scattered in the same way. That's precisely why praise for 'the flower that once was' keeps arriving. Even if I'm… a bare, dead tree now, people still see the shadow of the blossoms."
Among all the retired horse girls—and there were as many as flowers themselves—McQueen had undeniably stood out. She had bloomed more proudly, more brilliantly than anyone, as if to declare this is what beauty means.
She couldn't claim to have no regrets. If only she'd been born with a slightly sturdier body.
But—she closed her eyes, clenched her fist—even then, the end would have been near. The inexorable wave of age had been closing in.
"The steeplechaser known as 'Mejiro McQueen' has scattered. But she lives on in memory. The Tenno Sho, the Kikka Sho, no, even the races I lost. These letters are my proof. My pride."
After a beat, Gold Ship murmured "proof," as though tasting the word. She blinked several times, then finally spoke.
"…You really are so serious, McQueen. Too complicated for Golshi-chan to wrap her head around."
Ah. Another failure, surely.
And proving McQueen right, Gold Ship abruptly stopped visiting. Without McQueen ever needing to make her decision, Gold Ship had chosen the better path on her own, namely, cutting McQueen loose.
If McQueen reached out, Gold Ship would happily come. That's what Ryan and Dober said, having apparently noticed McQueen's drooping tail. McQueen wasn't a child; she drafted several invitations in her head. But once she realized that in all their time together she had never once been the one to initiate, her pen wouldn't budge an inch.
Seasons passed in that state, and then Gold Ship announced she would retire at the end of the year, making the Arima Kinen her final race. McQueen learned this not from Gold Ship herself, of course, but from the news. The public's laments were considerable, yet no one was surprised.
Deciding she couldn't keep wallowing, McQueen sent a simple message congratulating Gold Ship on her career and saying she was looking forward to the Arima. The reply came back at a characteristically manic energy level, making all her agonizing feel foolish, but it would be several more months before McQueen actually saw Gold Ship's face.
The catalyst was a call to her cell phone, which she still hadn't quite mastered.
"Hello?"
"McQueen!! Gold Ship, Gold Ship is… what do I do, Gold Ship is—!!"
"T-Teio, what's this about all of a sudden? I can't understand a thing."
"G-Gold Ship, she… oh—"
"Teio? What happened?"
"Apologies, I've taken the phone. This is Symboli Rudolf. I'm sorry for the sudden call."
"Oh my, it's been a while. …So what's this about?"
"Gold Ship is nowhere to be found at the academy. Being her day off, that alone isn't concerning—but no one can reach her. Do you know anything?"
McQueen's breath caught. Outside the window, the sky was already a deep vermillion. Her mind threatened to go blank. An unauthorized overnight absence could result in the severe penalty of having a race entry revoked. And Gold Ship's next race was the GI Arima Kinen—her retirement race.
"It seems you don't know either. I hate to impose further, but I'd like your cooperation. If it's just a curfew violation, that's one thing, but… the worst-case scenario is frightening. If you learn anything, please contact Teio—"
"No. That's wrong. I've captured Gold Ship."
"………What?"
"I said I've kidnapped her. I, Mejiro McQueen, am the culprit. Despite her desperate resistance, she was made to inhale a powerful sedative, and Gold Ship is currently unconscious. She won't wake even if you step on her."
"Stop this nonsense."
"It isn't nonsense. I absolutely, positively will not return Gold Ship today! Well, um, I'll probably return her tomorrow, but! Understood?! I am the culprit! Goodbye!!"
She slammed down the call. Chanting I'm sorry, I'm sorry, she began adding every academy contact to her blocked-callers list. There were a surprising number, but it took less than ten minutes. Without pausing, she called out to a servant passing in the hallway.
"Lady McQueen, there are calls from your school friends—"
"Please decline all calls from anyone affiliated with the academy. There will likely be several."
"…Understood."
True to the Mejiro household staff's reputation, the servant departed without batting an eye at the baffling request. Perhaps the sight of their flustered young mistress had helped them find their own composure.
In her drastically thinned contact list's "Friends" folder, only one name remained: Gold Ship.
Things had gotten out of hand, but there was no room for hesitation anymore. She practically slammed the call button.
One ring, two rings, three. Such a small number, yet so agonizingly long. She hung up around the ta of "The number you have—". Several more rapid attempts went unanswered.
It occurred to her—belatedly—that if Gold Ship had gone out without her phone, this was a dead end. She'd devoted her life to racing, but she'd never walked a tightrope like this. Her stomach was in knots.
"Ahh, there's only one thing left I can do…"
She typed with a single finger, pecking slowly. But the message was done almost instantly.
"Please help me."
Send. She felt guilty about the deception, but she'd already told a colossal lie to the academy. Her conscience was already growing numb.
If this didn't work, McQueen would have to embark on a Lunatic-difficulty game of hide-and-seek, scouring every place Gold Ship might possibly be (and her opponent had no intention of being found). There was no predicting that. This was Gold Ship, of all people.
She prayed—literally clasped her hands together and prayed—and her desperate wish was answered. The absurdly flashy sentai-show ringtone that Gold Ship had changed without permission rang out.
"McQueen! What's—"
"H-Hello?! Gold Ship?!"
"…Huh? You sound fine."
"Where are you right now?! Tell me quickly!"
"Hmmmm? …Ah-ha, you tricked me, didn't you, McQueen?! And here darling Golshi-chan was so worried she called right away…"
"Ugh… B-But I really was in trouble! Because of you, I'm now a kidnapper—"
"What? That sounds hilarious."
"Oh, just—! I'll explain everything you want, so tell me where you are!"
When McQueen all but screamed her plea, Gold Ship fell silent for a moment, then named a place McQueen recognized, a nearby station, close enough that a horse girl could run to the academy from there.
A flash of graceful white hair caught her eye, and she hurriedly asked the driver to stop. The sound of the car door must have alerted Gold Ship, who waved broadly with a cheerful expression. She wasn't wearing her usual wine-colored outfit today, nor her hair ornament, and McQueen had nearly missed her. The quiet hour worked in their favor.
"Gold Ship!"
"Ohhh, McQuee~~n!! How ya been? Long time no see~~ Did you shrink?"
"Mind your own business!!!! Ugh, just—give me your phone for a moment."
"Hm? What for? Gonna check my search history? Naughty~"
"Wh— I am not!! …Talking to you makes me forget what I came here to do…"
"Ahaha! Here, I bestow it upon thee."
After casually unlocking the passcode, Gold Ship tossed the phone over with decidedly no regard for it as a valuable possession. The screen was cluttered with game icons, but the messaging app was easy to spot—a three-digit unread notification glowed red.
McQueen opened the chat with Fuji Kiseki, the Ritto dormitory head, and typed a message. Gold Ship peered over her shoulder. As expected, the read receipt appeared immediately.
"This is Mejiro McQueen. I had planned not to return Gold Ship until tomorrow, but I've changed my mind. She'll be delivered before lights-out, so please don't worry."
"That's good to hear. Thank you for letting us know. We'll be waiting."
"What, so you're not kidnapping Princess Golshi after all?"
Gold Ship puffed out her cheeks in an exaggerated pout. If only you were always this easy to read, McQueen thought, her brows falling softly.
"If you'd been out at some distant beach trawling for fish, genuinely planning never to return, I might have considered it. One night only, though."
"Tch, McQueen's such a tightwad."
"…Gold Ship. What were you doing today?"
"Oh, prepare to be amazed! There was this place doing raw carrot tasting in the next town over—"
"Gold Ship."
Looking up, McQueen could see the trouble plainly written on her face. Even her ears had drooped. She was being asked about something she'd never intended to share.
"If you don't want to say, let's drop it. But I want to hear."
"…………It's gonna be totally boring, y'know."
"Only about half of what you say was ever entertaining to begin with."
"Harsh much?!"
Gold Ship made a show of being wounded, then wavered a little longer. When McQueen waited out the silence without the slightest sign of impatience, Gold Ship opened her mouth as though it weighed a ton.
"Nothing. I did nothing. I just walked around all day."
"Oh? May I ask why?"
"…I wanted to know what it feels like after you retire. Oh, with the added rule of not talking to anyone from the academy! And I was actually planning to check out a bunch of shops, but somehow… I couldn't make myself go into any of them."
"…I see. And then? If it was so boring, why didn't you go back?"
At that, Gold Ship went rigid. She hesitated for a long, long time. McQueen felt, for the first time, as though she were touching something inside the other girl.
The breeze was pleasant today, too. A perfect day for racing, and yet both of them had spent it walking. How strange.
"Tracen is… running too is… boring."
McQueen, who had been listening quietly, opened her eyes wide in spite of herself.
Gold Ship—who would invent ways to have fun no matter who tried to stop her—was saying that life at the academy, running, even a change of scenery outside, was boring. For a horse girl living in that world, weren't those things the entirety of life itself?
Having chosen her words so carefully until now, the tiny confession broke the dam, and the rest came tumbling out in ragged pieces.
"My legs feel heavy. I can see exactly where I should overtake, but they won't move. The doctor said it's age. If only it were an injury instead—"
She caught herself and went silent. "Sorry," she said immediately. McQueen shook her head slightly.
"It was much the same for me, age, essentially. Recovery required rest and rehabilitation, and while going through all that, I'd have passed the age where I could compete at the highest level. …It was so frustrating. I could still run, and yet, for reasons entirely beyond my control, I couldn't win anymore."
Gold Ship nodded, then didn't raise her head. Her long, hanging hair concealed her expression entirely.
"Last time I came to your place and saw the letters—you said flowers are beautiful because they scatter. Right?"
"Yes. I said that."
"After my retirement got announced, I got a crazy amount of letters too. They say the same kind of stuff as yours. Well, I get a lot of hate mail too, but… everyone says good work out there. The people at Tracen, too."
"You do have a great many fans."
"Every time I read stuff like that, it feels like they're telling me to wrap it up already… Like they're saying, 'It's okay to scatter now.' Even though I chose to retire myself."
Small, distinct—Gold Ship's hands trembled. McQueen instinctively placed her own hands over them. The tremor was so faint she questioned whether she'd imagined it, but Gold Ship's ice-cold skin told McQueen she was right.
Those were hands hardened by effort. Gold Ship was strong—fiercer than most. And that wasn't limited to what happened during a race.
"I'm scared, McQueen. It's like someone rolled out a red carpet over scorched earth. I know everyone thinks I can't win the Arima. But nobody says it to my face. Hey—who the hell chooses to retire? If I could've been a flower that never scatters, I never would have wanted to."
"Yes—yes, of course. That goes without saying."
"But it's not their fault. If I really threw a tantrum, maybe they'd let me keep running until I drop dead. But—but, y'know—dragging these legs through every race from now on… that'd be even harder to bear."
"…Gold Ship—"
"Hey, don't cry, McQueen. I'm the one retiring here."
"I'm sorry…"
The fat tears spilling from her eyes wouldn't stop no matter how she willed them to. The moon was beautiful that night, and she could see all too clearly each drop as it darkened the ground. As if prompted, a single water mark appeared a short distance away.
"…I guess I really can't be number one anymore."
That was a line McQueen couldn't let pass. She seized both of Gold Ship's arms as if struck by lightning and shook her bodily.
"Don't you dare give up!!"
No answer. Something at Gold Ship's core, crushed between so many kinds of pain, had snapped clean in two.
Perhaps it was inevitable. No horse girl could run without aiming for first, and the Arima Kinen was no cheap race that could be won on a bad leg.
Even so.
"This is your last one…! Knowing the next race is your last, and still being able to choose the Arima as your final stage, do you have any idea how few horse girls in this world get that chance?!"
"…! I-I'm sorry, McQueen—"
"If you're sorry, then aim for first! …If you've decided to scatter, then bloom with everything you have until that moment! I, Mejiro McQueen, will not permit you to scatter before the Arima!"
"Mm… mm-hmm…"
"P-Please… Gold Ship! You're my pride too… so please, don't say things like that…"
Her trembling wouldn't stop, and the strength drained from her hands. They hung limp at her sides. Freed, Gold Ship stepped closer, wrapped her arms around McQueen's back, and gently held her.
"…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Thank you. I won't say it again."
Because McQueen cried so much, Gold Ship ended up shedding only a single tear. In fact, partway through, she'd started gently patting McQueen's back to soothe her.
After crying her fill, McQueen realized the situation had gotten rather reversed, felt a twinge of embarrassment, and pulled away. "Are you okay now?" Gold Ship asked, her eyes dry.
McQueen cleared her throat pointedly.
"…You are loved. You're free to run however you like. Even if you pull some absurd missed start in your last race, everyone will welcome you home with a smile. As long as you never stop aiming for first."
"Heheh. McQueen too?"
"Of course. I'll be watching from the best seat in the house, so run like your life depends on it. It's the last time—you're welcome to get as injured as you please."
"Uh, that'd be a problem, wouldn't it? Can you really take responsibility for saying that, Macchan?"
"If you lose the use of both legs, I'll serve as your personal attendant for the rest of your life. I'll even breathe fire if you wish."
"Wha—?! D-Don't say that! I might actually waver!!"
"Hehe. And if you win first place… let's see. I'll treat you to a vacation."
"ANTARCTICA!!!!"
"I'll only authorize trips within a two-night, three-day range."
"Stingy. Then—what if I don't get first?"
"I'll punch you."
"…Huh?"
"I'll punch you. I'll be training my grip strength in the meantime, so do keep that in mind."
"Domestic violence?! …Oh! Oh, oh—what if I break both legs AND get first?! That'd be incredible, totally unprecedented! Hmm, tough choice~~!!"
McQueen laughed at Gold Ship, who showed no signs of running out of what-ifs. You look like you're having a wonderful time. She cut off the hypotheticals with a firm pat on Gold Ship's broad back.
"Whatever the result, you run to the finish. I'll decide your reward then. With you, there's never any telling what will happen in a race."
Gold Ship's shapely face split into a grin. Lips so smooth they might be mistaken for a serene moon when closed, parted in a mischievous smile.
"That's right. 'Cause if it's not fun, it's not a race!"
Gold Ship's last run. Despite a poor showing in the Japan Cup, the previous race, she was the overwhelming favorite at number one. A stage worthy of the star who had captivated one and all was now set.
McQueen sat in what was supposedly the best seat for viewing the home stretch. Supposedly, because Fuji Kiseki had given it to her.
That night in the car ride back, Gold Ship had fallen asleep almost immediately despite the short distance. It seemed that part of her fragility had been simple sleep deprivation. As a result, McQueen had to face a furious Symboli Rudolf alone—but it was Fuji Kiseki who smoothly calmed things down. It made perfect sense that she had a fan club.
The seat was indeed magnificent. The only cost was the tremendous number of stares she felt. Whispers of It's McQueen, McQueen, the queen herself, she's here for Golshi?! Think we can get both autographs? buzzed around her. Come to think of it, since retiring, she'd turned down almost every interview request, not feeling up to it.
Perhaps she should have worn a disguise. Now that she thought about it, the sunglasses Gold Ship had given her—was that a gesture of consideration? It was probably too late, but she put them on out of appreciation for the thought.
"M-McQueen's wearing Golshi's sunglasses…!"
"And she put them on deliberately too—she's showing off, definitely showing off."
That's not it at all! How do you even remember Gold Ship's sunglasses?!
She'd been spectacularly misunderstood, but taking them off now would cause another stir, and fidgety behavior was undignified.
Before she knew it, it was time for the gate loading. She took the sunglasses off—they made it hard to see, after all.
Gold Ship was in gate 15, an outside draw. Not that her gate assignment ever mattered much. She'd won from the far outside while being in the number-one slot before.
From a distance, Gold Ship's gaze was razor-sharp. Her race face. The spectators, who had been chatting among themselves moments ago, began calling out horse girls' names in unison. To McQueen's ears, only one name registered.
The heavy clank of metal. The starting gate opened.
"And they're off!"
Instantly, Gold Ship's words flashed through McQueen's mind.
The starting gate gets me so antsy! Can't they make it so you kick it open yourself?
"Gold Ship doesn't get the best jump, but she breaks cleanly enough!"
They're calling it "cleanly enough," you know. The gate system didn't change before your retirement after all. I told you to run however you liked, but I'm glad you didn't try anything there.
Dead last, but a fine start. When she wasn't feeling it, Gold Ship was hopeless—but today was different. She was running with first place in her sights. That was the promise she'd made to McQueen.
The race unfolded as expected. From the tail of an elongated field, Gold Ship glared at the leaders ahead. Nearly every spectator was watching her. Would she move? Wouldn't she? If she moved, from where? Or was it true—could she no longer move at all?
With roughly 1,000 meters remaining, one minute and thirty-five seconds into the race, a roar erupted from the crowd.
"From the back, it's Gold Ship—Gold Ship! She's making her move!"
"……!"
The announcer's call was answered by a deafening wave of cheers. Some people had already begun to cry.
She moved. A long sprint of absurd proportions, powered by what seemed like bottomless stamina. The Satsuki Sho in April, the Kikka Sho, the Arima, the Takarazuka, the Spring Shield—the very same explosive charge that had seized the hearts of the crowd in every single one!
From 16th place, passing two, then three: the golden unsinkable ship would not be stopped. A flawless closing rush. The textbook pattern for a Gold Ship victory.
McQueen remembered her words: I can see exactly where to pass, but my legs won't move. There was no way she'd just gotten lucky today. She might be pushing herself beyond her limits. Even so, McQueen couldn't help but pray for a miracle.
God, just this one moment is all I ask. I'll pay whatever price you name. Please—
"And here comes Gold Ship, gliding up smoothly—she's reached the middle of the pack! She won't stop—she's behind the leading group now—Gold Ship! Unleashing that tremendous kick, she rounds the third corner in third place! Third on the outside, pulling alongside!!"
"Golshi!!"
"Yes, yes, yes! She can do it, she can win!!"
"Go, Golshi, go!!!"
"GOLSHIII!! You can do it!!!"
"…GOLD SHIIIIIP!!!!"
McQueen's voice, strained to the point of pain, was swallowed instantly by the noise. In this moment, Gold Ship was, without question, the star above all others.
Tears streamed down McQueen's face again, embarrassingly, uncontrollably. By the fourth corner, she could see it—she understood, now, just how much Gold Ship was suffering.
Third place. She'd clawed her way up to third. A blazing run every bit as beautiful as her best, and the final straight was right there. Everyone could see the opening. And yet—Gold Ship didn't burst forward.
She couldn't.
"Gold Ship holds at third, fourth—and from between them, number nine surges ahead! The leader is—"
The explosive final kick never came. After that call, the announcer stopped saying her name.
Gold Ship's eyes were locked on the leader until the very moment she crossed the finish line.
Before the retirement ceremony, McQueen managed to get a few minutes alone with Gold Ship in her waiting room. Some might say the staff had kindly arranged it.
"Gold Ship."
"Oh, McQueen! Heh, sorry~ I lost. But eighth place isn't bad or good, right? Dead center… Wait, doesn't that actually make it kind of amazing?"
"Gold Ship, close your eyes, lower your stance, and clench your teeth."
"GYAAH!! No way?! I said I'm sorry—don't hit me!!"
Despite her screaming, the ever-game Gold Ship squeezed her eyes shut and crouched down. Her palms hovered near her cheek as a guard. Did she actually think McQueen would hit her?
McQueen quietly drew the prepared item from her bag and hung it around Gold Ship's neck.
"There. You can open your eyes now, Gold Ship."
"…? What's this medal?"
"It's custom-made."
"What?! Custom order?!"
"That's right. Your name is engraved on it with a laser, too."
Upon hearing that, Gold Ship grabbed the medal to examine its details, then burst out laughing.
"'Award for Doing Your Best'?! I've never heard of anyone making a medal for THAT! Ahaha, AHAHAHA!!"
"Oh, hush! I thought it was the most fitting thing!"
"Ahah, haaah… McQueen, your taste is terrible."
"I'll take it back."
"Nononono! You already gave it, so it's Golshi-chan's now! I'm never giving it back!"
"Oh, fine! Just stop stomping your feet—it's unbecoming!"
Gold Ship was, despite everything, clearly pleased. The gift had been worth it.
"Man, I was sure I was getting decked since both my legs are fine. I was totally bracing for it."
"I wasn't going to hit you. I'd been training my grip just in case you pulled something on the level of the Takarazuka fiasco, but…"
"For real? Good thing I ditched the plan to throw a fit at the gate at the last minute."
"Please stop coming up with schemes designed to give me heart attacks."
McQueen sighed. Where did the jokes end and the truth begin? She'd probably never fully understand Gold Ship.
But she could stay by her side. So that whenever Gold Ship, who never showed her inner self to others, wanted to, McQueen would be there to listen.
"Never thought I'd score such a hilarious novelty item. Getting eighth has its perks."
"Yes. It was a magnificent race."
Gold Ship froze. She looked down at McQueen with a searching gaze.
"Even though I didn't come in first?"
"Well. You have perfectly fine ears—did you not hear that enormous ovation?"
"That was only… partway through, though…"
"Exactly. The cheering was far louder from the moment you launched your sprint than when the actual winner crossed the line."
"…………"
"That's a compliment, you know? …Today, all of us in the stands were dreaming. The dream that you would overpower all fifteen others and cross the finish line first. We knew winning the Arima would be difficult, and yet, there was a moment where every single person genuinely believed Gold Ship would take first. Unbelievable, isn't it? You'd been so miserable, and then the lid came off and—right to the very end—it was utter, beautiful chaos."
"If a race isn't a race unless it's fun, then the one who made today's Arima a race was you. Gold Ship, no one else could have done it."
A wet sniffle broke the silence. McQueen leaned in gently, and without an ounce of hesitation, Gold Ship pulled her into a fierce embrace. McQueen decided that just for today, she'd forgive the tears soaking into her clothes.
Gold Ship never once let slip the words "I wanted to win." When there is no next time, sentimentality is meaningless.
After the petals scatter and fall to earth, they darken and decay. But they are not worthless refuse. Slowly they break down, becoming nourishment for the next flowers to bloom. New horse girls, having seen the backs of Gold Ship and McQueen, will one day surpass them both. That is simply the way of nature.
And yet—precisely because that flow is absolute—those who defy it move people's hearts. Show us a moment for the ages, the crowds gather and plead.
Gold Ship was a star horse through and through. Always had been. Always would be. Even if she never stood before a starting gate again.
"GOLSHIIIII!!"
"Golshi, look over here!!"
"OHHHHH, YOU GUUUUYS!! Did somebody call for the one, the only, GOOOOOOLD SHIP?!?!"
The instant Gold Ship took the microphone, shrieks of kyaa and WOOO and GYAAAH erupted from every direction—less cheers than battle cries. Popular with men and women alike, she had droves of devoted fans who'd say, "I only bet on Gold Ship." Quite unlike McQueen, who'd often been kept at arm's length with the complaint "She's so strong it's boring."
"Who'da thought the day would come for me to retire, huh? Looking back, I was this shy, quiet kid who was so scared of the pack that I stuck to front-running my whole career…"
"LIAR!!"
"FIX YOUR STARTS!!"
"HEY!! Shut it!! Geez, I was tryin' to wrap this all up nice and pretty for once, and you ruined it!"
She pouted for an instant, then was smirking the next. Gold Ship spun a flashy turn on the podium.
"Sooo, today, I have something to brag about to you losers!"
What is it? the crowd called out happily. It felt nothing like a retirement ceremony.
"I lost the Arima today, BUT! I won the simultaneously held McQueen Cup! This medal's the proof! So when you guys talk about my list of wins, make sure you add it!!"
"Wh-What is she saying up there…?!"
McQueen desperately wanted to stop her, but this wasn't Tracen Academy. She couldn't very well storm a retirement ceremony. She bit the inside of her cheek, stewing. Meanwhile, the high-octane speech barreled on.
Gold Ship's eyes were completely dry. McQueen had been asked, unreasonably, to fix the redness before the ceremony, and had done her best with the cosmetics on hand. She wanted to believe the results held up from a distance.
"Oh yeah, Golshi-chan's super diligent, so I've read and saved every single fan letter! Pretty impressive, right? Since I'll have tons of free time after retiring, you guys better send me more… Hm? What? Time's up? I'm not done talking yet!"
"GOLSHI!!"
"Don't go, Golshi!!"
"Gahhhh! When you say stuff like that, it makes me wanna go home! Fine, let's go home! I'm wiped from all that running today!!"
Shrieks erupted again. Her retirement remarks were a comedy sketch to the very end—the reporters would have their work cut out for them. A legendary retirement in its own way. So very Gold Ship.
As the fans realized she truly meant to wrap up, one voice rose above the rest.
"GOLSHI!! Thank you for everything!!"
Gold Ship blinked, startled—then broke into a radiant smile.
"HEY, YOU GUYS!! Your lives got a whole lot more fun after meeting ME, didn't they?!?!"
Answers to that obvious question came flooding in from all sides, and she nodded with a satisfied ihihi.
"All right! Everyone who's cheered for me—seriously, THANK YOU!! …And one last promise, okay? You listening? You'd better NEVER, EEEEEVER forget the way the super-miracle-mega-genius-ultra-Golshi-chan used to run!!"