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Desks clump together in Agnes Flora's abandoned classroom turned hideout, two islands for two parallel board games, and one impromptu buffet for carrot cake, snacks, and tea. Fujimasa March can be found amidst a tense battle for the throne of some storybook kingdom, cards close to her chest.
Little by little, it is easier for March to enjoy moments like these instead of fretting over more proper ways to use the time. Not only does optimization require rest, but one could even say that optimization requires joy, a joy that March will not let slip through her fingers when she can help it. She owes her friends this at the very least, for throwing this little celebration in her honor.
She's waiting idly for Ikuno Dictus to finish her turn, gazing out of the room's window with Tracen's courtyard in view. Ikuno, as expected, has a sharp strategic mind, but March wonders if she'll catch onto Inari One's tendency to get riled up easily. Perhaps bluffing that Inari's prospects are more dire than they actually are could push her to take a greater gamble than she can afford?
Amidst all this musing, she catches a flash of silver hair outside the window, and her ears prick up. It's her silver-blue, a shade that she's only seen a few times in person, although the very first and by far most formative time was on television. And the uma in the courtyard looks like she could easily be an older version of the one on the screen.
March glances more closely at the pair of umamusume walking outside, seemingly heading toward the main lobby. One of those she recognizes by now as Maruzensky, a long-since retired racer who still hangs around Tracen frequently, even wearing the student uniform while doing so. The other uma, the ashen one, looks to be around Maruzensky's age, and wears her own distinct outfit, a suit jacket in matching Tracen lilac with yellow floral accents. They're sharing amicable smiles, walking close together in a way that good friends might.
The two of them pass closer to the window, and their facial features come into greater focus. March's eyes widen as they glimpse the gold-red irises she usually only sees in mirrors. The other uma's eyes have a different pattern to them, more speckled in a way that resembles a many-petaled flower, but the coloration is unmistakably March's own. Her heart rattles with a long-buried excitement. Her ears strain to catch their conversation coming through the window, but she picks up a bit as the pair passes right by.
"—hanging around the council room, same as ever?" the ashen uma asks.
"Yep, for sure! It looks a lot like it did back then, too, but Rudolf totes added her own touch," Maruzensky responds.
"Oh, you think we could head in there now? Would be neat to meet this Rudolf too!"
"Of course Tokopii! That would be so rad—"
Their voices fade as the two of them head into the distance… wait, Tokopii, March thinks. Toko-pii? She feels blood rushing to her head at full force as she realizes that the ashen uma really could be the very figure she's reminded of.
"Maaaaarch!" Inari pokes her shoulder insistently. "It's your move!" This jolts March out of her stupor, although she has to take an awkwardly long time to remember what her plans were for this turn.
"Sorry," March mumbles and shakes her head to clear her nerves. "Just saw someone who looked familiar…"
"Oh? You looked quite preoccupied with them. Did they perhaps resemble someone of importance?" Ikuno asks.
"K-kinda," March says, hiding the lower half of her face behind her hand of cards. "Just a racer I looked up to a bit as a kid. I've gotten over it."
Sure, little March did spend more hours than necessary digging through the library for all possible information on Press Toko — race records, race analyses, interviews, soaking it in with unending appetite. But she grew older, started training herself, and had to start keeping her head down. Sentimentality, fixation, those were all inefficient pursuits, too much dreaming and not enough running.
"Hey, if you think whoever you saw might be that racer, you should go talk to her while she's here!" Inari lays her arm on the table and leans toward March. "Nothing wrong with pausing the game, I can go grab more snacks and watch the other game while we wait, right Ikuno?"
"Oh, it's alright, I don't care that much for fan stuff, and she's just going about her day; I'd be intruding," March says bashfully. "Besides, if anyone here deserves to go meet her, it's Oguri…" And Tama, March thinks, although Tama is back in Kansai for now.
Ikuno clears her throat. "I think… that you let your emotions show more than you think you do, March," she says.
"Yeah, your eyes were bulging wide and stuff," Inari adds. "Go catch her, you gotta take the chance to say hi!"
March squirms internally at this part of her being perceived, at the idea that her mannerisms give her away so easily. Of course looking up to older racers is a normal, accepted thing, but what makes March embarrassed about her own choice of idol is that it's so easy to assume that March only focused on Toko because of her appearance.
Maybe she even was drawn to Toko because of their shared appearance. March senses that there's more to it than that, but she can't quite put words to it, so she still worries that she's just being shallow. She shouldn't make a big deal of being ashen; it asks for attention to something March hasn't actually earned.
"I'll… just go," March concedes to her friends' insistence, and gets out of her chair. She makes her way out the door, but not before placing a slice of cake on a new plate, for her, if March finds her.
As quickly as she can without dropping her cake or causing a stir, March alternately walks and runs to the student council room. Her chest thunders with anxious anticipation as she knocks softly, then a bit more firmly. A figure steps toward the door and pulls it open.
The television screen really did not do her speckled red-gold eyes any justice. March is completely frozen in her tracks, at a loss for words, and then the uma from before is smiling at her, waving her in.
"Hey, come on in! Wanna grab a seat?" She has a softer demeanor than March remembers, but she exudes the same vibrant energy as she did in her long-ago Kikuka Sho. March would watch the footage until getting sick of it, then rewatch some more until she could anticipate every moment before it happened. She walks inside and stands awkwardly in place for a few long seconds, until she takes a deep breath.
"…Press Toko-san? Is this really you?" March feels like she's walked off a cliff, and if she's mistaken some poor other uma for Press Toko of all racers then this may as well be tantamount to a parachute failure.
"That would be me," the ashen uma — Press Toko, in the flesh! — says with a chuckle, and heads back in the direction of the couch. It takes a few more seconds for March to catch up to the relief washing over her before she follows Toko.
"I uh, brought you cake," March hands Toko the plate before looking back and forth between the couch spot and the door repeatedly, caught in limbo.
"Oh, for me?" Toko accepts the plate with eyebrows raised. "That's very—"
"One might even say that that's sweet of you," a voice cuts through their exchange as Symboli Rudolf looks up from some kind of paperwork across from March and Toko. "Sweet, like cake?"
"Ah, President Rudolf!" March says, a little startled. "Sorry, was I interrupting anything important?"
"Not at all, just a little friendly chat!" Maruzensky chimes in from a nearby armchair. "Tokopii here is just visiting Tracen for old times' sake, so I'm showing her what's new and changed and all. You're totes welcome to hang out here, although something tells me that Rudolf and I should give you and Tokopii a little moment." She winks in Toko and March's direction. "Something reminds me of my first time meeting Chiyo, you know…"
Toko smiles and nods. "I think Maruzen's onto something! Let's head out for a little walk, shall we? I promise I'll come back for the cake. It's always good to meet the current Tracen students."
After Toko leaves her piece of carrot cake on the coffee table, the two of them head back out into the hallway. "So… who might you be?" Toko asks as they begin walking side by side, gradually heading down from the council office. It takes a while for March to fully register that she's talking to Press Toko, alone, and oh, she needs to introduce herself, doesn't she?
"I'm Fujimasa March, a senior-year racer. I'm a transfer student from Kasamatsu Regional Tracen. And, honestly, thinking of transferring back to the regionals, but haven't decided for sure which region that's going to be…" Oh, she's rambling about herself. She quiets down, despite Toko never interrupting or giving an indication that she's done listening.
"Fujimasa March, yes? Hmmm, somehow, I had a hunch your name would be different, but I can't tell you what I was expecting," Toko says. "Never mind, I'm just rambling, haha! It's nice to meet you!" She offers a handshake, which March accepts, while hoping that Toko wouldn't notice how much her hand is shaking.
March figures she should probably find words for her admiration towards Toko, or at least ask her good questions about her own life (without being too invasive), but it's all hopelessly tangled. Instead of immediately expressing feelings to a stranger, March jumps to something vastly more comfortable, expressing facts.
"You won the Kikuka Sho."
March continues, words speeding up into a steady trickle. "A-And the St. Lite Kinen and the Kyoto Shimbun Hai before that. And the Mainichi Okan the following year…"
"That's right! Really takes me back," Toko says wistfully. Now that she's at least started talking, March finds it easier to continue, dipping into deeper ideas bit by bit.
"I watched that Kikuka Sho as a kid. On television." March focuses on the stairs she's descending. "It was one of the first races I watched, and I never took my eyes off of you. You were smiling so much, you looked so… free. Your hair was just blowing everywhere, too."
"Hair, huh?" Toko says. They reach the bottom of a staircase, and Toko pauses. She pulls a strand out of her loose braid and reaches it toward March, who holds up one of her own locks. Toko twines her strand with March's and the colors meld as one. "Not a shade we see often." Toko holds on to the moment for a few long seconds, meeting March's eyes with a warm smile.
When Toko lets the intertwined hair fall apart, March looks away for a wistful sigh's worth of time. "I cut it short, you know," March says quietly. "It suddenly didn't feel so right having my hair so… on display, when I couldn't become the umamusume that I wanted to be. An—an example of an ashen uma who could win." The two begin walking again, aimless for now, March simply strolling wherever her legs lead and Toko keeping pace beside her.
"I thought about it too, many times," Toko says. "Of shrinking myself. I had no trouble winning G2's and G3's in my classic year, but G1's carried… a heavier expectation against me. And with the race outfits and everything, there was an even bigger emphasis on how we all presented. I tied my hair back, and in interviews, I tried not to sound like I cared too much about being ashen. I worried about being taken seriously like the other racers. And I guess that pressure got to me, like a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'm sure you already know that the Satsuki Sho and Derby didn't go well for me."
March remembers that Toko didn't place in either of those races. "So what changed during the Kikuka Sho?" she wonders.
"It's hard to say for sure, with races," Toko muses. "At that level, the smallest things can make a difference between a winning and losing run. But something did shift inside me, somewhere between the Derby and the Kikuka. I think it was Winning the Soul, or something about the experience of performing it.
"I started to get really into the song, and would sing and dance the lead part with nobody watching. Just me in a practice room, and the backing track. I could move however I wanted, I could headbang, I could just have fun. I started to see myself as someone worthy of that special spot on the real stage, and the musical outlet probably did wonders for my racing nerves."
"Music… and dancing," March replies in acknowledgement. "So it became an anchor for you. I was never very good at that part, though. Probably because I used to dismiss every endeavor besides racing and studying. It took me too long to realize that my single-mindedness towards these things was hindering more than helping me."
"Yeah, it's a lesson many of us have to learn the hard way. That we're people first, and racers second. Have you found something to nourish yourself, like music does for me?"
"I'm still figuring that out," March says, heart jumping a little from Toko showing curiosity about her life. "I've gone on a few trail running trips recently. It's still running, but I try to focus on what's there along the trail. And I've been spending more time with my friends, and trying to be present with them instead of worrying that I should be training. Having something like a game to focus on can help. I mean, neither of these are hobbies exactly, or anything that could become a career after I can't race anymore, but it's making a big difference already."
"Those are both great options!" Toko responds. "Learning to enjoy good nature and good company. Changing ourselves is hard, and you should be proud of yourself."
March's thoughts go completely haywire in response. She swells with the very pride that Toko wishes on her, and revels in her growth being recognized. It's quickly followed by a lurch in her chest, as she dreads that Toko's opinion of her would crumble down if she learns of March's hopeless results in the Nationals. She isn't sure how long she spends with her head muddled and her ears twitching haphazardly, but Toko starts speaking again.
"You also sound like you've found some kind friends," she says. "You don't have to, but I'd love to meet some of them!"
"Ah! I was just celebrating with some friends in an unused classroom, so we could walk back towards there," she offers.
"Celebrating, ooh! What's the occasion?"
"It's my birthday," March says with a flush creeping into her ears. She doesn't want to seem like she's asking for a special birthday favor or something. "But you might be interested in meeting one of my friends in partic-"
"Oh, that's amazing, happy birthday! Is it, what, your eighteenth?" Toko chimes excitedly, to which March nods. "Somehow feels like a wonderfully fitting day to meet you. Like I'm learning your story at a checkpoint in your life?" Toko looks to the side a bit bashfully. "Sorry, you were saying something about one of your friends?"
"It's Oguri Cap," March says hesitantly. "We raced together in Kasamatsu, you see. I was… said to have been her first rival." She bows her head down and gives it a shake. "… I shouldn't think like this. Oguri would want me to claim it proudly. I was her first rival, and I'm her close friend. But, Toko-san, if you want to meet an ashen umamusume who defies expectations, that would be her, not me."
"March…" Toko says, lifting her hand uncertainly, then lowering it. "That's exactly why there need to be more of us in the racing scene. Winning to spite all expectations shouldn't have to be the only… right way to be ashen. It's not our fault that when we don't win, people just further believe that all ashen umas can't win as much."
"It's true that we were the only two ashen ones in Kasamatsu Tracen, who were any good back there, at least," March says, to which Toko nods. "She was the only one I seriously compared myself to."
"That Arima Kinen win of hers, you know…" Toko muses. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still proud of being the first ashen uma to win any of the Classic races, but taking the Arima Kinen was an even bigger dream of mine, and I just couldn't quite—"
March tilts her head in consideration, until she suddenly has to contain a burst of laughter. "You got fourth."
"And twelfth the following year, for the matter. But wow, you really do know my race record like the back of your hand," Toko chuckles.
"Y-yeah. I hope that's not too strange." March clasps her hands in front of her. "Sorry, I wasn't laughing at you. I just also placed fourth. In my dream race." March feels relief and warmth wash over her as she finds a detail to bond over with this woman who she's seen for so long as a distant ideal. Even leagues apart, they can still connect about their relationships to their dreams.
The two of them make their way into the courtyard, where the spring breeze carries a sun-kissed, grassy scent. Their strides gradually fall into an easy rhythm, and March might still be addled from her excitement, but walking beside Toko starts to feel as natural as it would with a longtime acquaintance.
"So that's where you got the cake from!"
When they enter Flora's hideout, March half-expects Toko's attention to turn fully toward Oguri, the uma who managed to succeed in blazing the ashen trail where March couldn't. Where Toko couldn't. Of course the two introduce themselves, but Toko shows equal interest in the rest of March's friends in the room. March sticks by Toko's side in a haze until Inari calls to her from her table.
"Hey, are you gonna keep us waiting longer or no?" she asks with her arms crossed. "If you weren't the birthday uma we would have just finished the round without you long ago."
"Oh!" March remembers that she was, in fact, in the middle of a game. "Coming, just a moment. Ah… Toko-san, would you like to sit down and watch us play?"
"Of course! Although, I'm afraid I've gotta make it back to the council room sometime, before Rudolf and Maruzen think I've disappeared."
March's mind isn't exactly clear as she reminds herself of the state of the game upon her leaving. She manages to at least get second place, though, with Ikuno winning and Inari, as March guessed, getting burned by impulsively taking greater risks than she should have.
"Alright, with the round done, I'm gonna dip out soon," Toko says before turning toward March and switching to a quieter voice. "March? Look, my life is a bit hectic and silly these days, but still, if you'd ever like to talk again, uh, you should reach out! No matter where you happen to be!" She hands March a slip of paper with a phone number. March looks between Toko and the paper in bewilderment.
Toko continues. "I know we've only just begun getting to know each other, but I get the feeling that our paths want to connect." Her expression is the most serious that March has seen from her yet. "If you'll have me, I'd like to look out for you a little."
March folds the paper neatly and reverently into her pocket, her fingers shaky. "I will. I'll have you."
They bid their goodbyes and thank yous, and Toko heads out with a final wave. The shift to her absence is abrupt, making March feel like she's just woken from a fever dream. Even throughout all the jitters of meeting an idol, Toko's presence made a part of her relax in a way that's hard for her to articulate. Now that it's just March and her friends, that part of her feels strangely hollow.
But it's not the time for March to turn over her feelings like pebbles, or untangle her thoughts about everything that has just happened. She's got games to play, company to enjoy, simple moments to take in. She wants to take her growth to heart, and relentlessly pursue what uplifts her. She wants to continue to make Toko proud.