Chapter Text
Moonlight Requiem never wanted to be a trainer. They didn’t even want to be a racer, but what can you do when your ears and tail dictate otherwise. What were they supposed to do if not do as told?
Umamusume, they are born to run. So they say, at least
It only got worse when they discovered their natural talent for racing. Moonlight was flexible and what they lacked in stamina, they made up in immense speed. They were agile and small, giving them a natural navigational advantage over some of the other umas around them. They were set up for success from the get-go. The stage was set to welcome a new star sprinter and everyone around them rejoiced.
Not Moonlight. They hated the thought of running and they hated the image of disappointed stared that was burnt into their retinas the day they hinted at their disinterest. They didn’t bring it up anymore.
They never said a word about it as races passed, trophies were won, losses were felt, and training became an all too familiar part of their day.
Then one day it all stopped.
‘A freak accident’ some called it. ‘A tragedy’ others mourned. ‘A careless mistake’ a few voices sneered.
Moonlight Requiem retired from the racing world not with fanfare and spectacle, but with a barely audible whisper that left the public wondering about their next steps.
They never imagined their life turning out like this. It wasn’t horrible and it wasn’t great. It was just one massive question mark, a suffocating “what if” that made them feel trapped in eternal curiosity.
They sat at a plain wooden desk, on a chair that was slightly too large, in a room that, despite it being May, still donned the Christmas decor that their trainee insisted on putting up.
“It’s so bleak in here trainer. Won’t you allow this entertainer to bring this tiny miracle of joy to your office?”
Moonlight couldn’t resist. That mischievous sparkle in pools of turquoise and that charming smirk never left room for argument or protest.
“Alright, Fuji. Just make sure I can still navigate the place!”
“Don’t you trust me, dearest pony,” her voice was light, a bright and delicate bell against the heavy, still air of silence.
They chuckled. “That’s trainer to you miss,” a tinge of pink dusted their cheeks. “But I do. I trust you.”
The decorations were gorgeous, they brought life to the previously dull room. There was nothing wrong with them, save for the fact that their presence was a reminder of their dwindling mental fortitude; a reminder of Moonlight Requiem’s unfinished symphony and the turmoil that came from its abrupt ending. They stayed there, no longer as a jolly cheer, but as glaring evidence of exhaustion. Guess even the miracle of Christmas joy was not enough to remove the demons of the past.
The clock ticked loudly, enough to pointedly mark every new thought, each movement of the hands indicating another second wasted on pondering why they were still here.
If Moonlight hated racing, why did they insist on becoming a trainer after retiring? Why did they spend countless nights sobbing after the injury took their career? Why did they want to keep their life so close to the track they’d only known how to resent?
‘Why am I even here?’
‘Here’, huh? It’s hard to tell nowadays exactly what that sentiment fully entails, but pondering on it too much only brings forth more questions.
Was it because of her?
Her.
Moonlight had always struggled to connect with others. They were kind, and friendly, or at least they tried in spite of their resentment and short temper. They still were so very lonely. Maybe the others didn’t have anything to gain from such a conflicted person. Because if they are born to run, an outlier full of disdain for the track would only be setting them back.
But then She came like a storm and turned their world upside down. A Black Meteor crashed into their world and changed it forever.
Moonlight Requiem always searched for warmth. They were cold and reserved, but deep down they knew they needed it. Given their track record and current reputation, they’d given up that search long ago. But now? They yearned, they craved. Their heart actively longed for her comfort.
And Moonlight couldn’t stand it.
No matter how much time passed, how much they bonded and became accustomed to one another, Moonlight always felt inadequate, undeserving of that gentle warmth. She was the sun and they were used to escaping to the shadows.
She’s their trainee, of course she’d want to be friendly. They’re not special. They never were. They might’ve been a spark on the track, but everyone
What a headache. Moonlight didn’t know if their rapidly firing thoughts or the clock were louder. They took in their own frustrations, their own past, the look of the room, the dull, constant ache in their leg, that godforsaken clock. Maybe everything was too much.
Yeah. Everything was too much. Suffocating. Overwhelming. A heavy weight upon their shoulder.
They felt so useless. It’s not like they weren’t trying to keep it together. No. They tried, by the goddesses they tried. Sometimes they succeeded. When she was around, that is. They needed her. How pathetic of a trainer to need their trainee rather than the other way around.
She was everything.
Fuji Kiseki was, in the trainer’s eyes, the closest to perfection of any living creature. Her silky black hair, her bright eyes, her cheeky smile when performing for an audience: all of her was magical.
She was everything. Who even were they.
Moonlight hated being so reliant on having Fuji around to feel an inkling of joy. Codependency was the last thing they wanted, especially when it came to their trainee. It didn’t matter that they were similar in age, it didn’t matter that their heart needed her. They wanted these feelings gone. They didn’t want to set her back. They wanted her to trust them, but they also wanted to keep her at arms length. They wanted to shield them from the mess that as Moonlight Requiem.
Then that one night came: the night Fuji Kiseki shed her mask, crumbling under the pressure of the many eyes focused on her. That godforsaken night brought their conflict to the surface, forcing them to sit with their on feelings.
They fell hard, and they fell deep that night. They’d found a kindred soul whose struggle mimicked what they’d face not long ago. They felt closer to her than ever before. And yet they couldn’t shake their own self-doubt:
She was everything. Why would someone like her want to be around someone like them?
She doesn’t need a trainer like them.
She didn’t even trust them enough to tell them her worries.
Even with her reassurance, Moonlight knew the still weren’t enough.
Fuji Kiseki was the kind to heal broken hearts with a rose, the kind to calm an aching soul with a gentle caress. She was perfect. Moonlight knew that Fuji Kiseki was not free of flaw, she was imperfect, and that’s what made her so beautiful in their eyes.
Fuji Kiseki was beautifully imperfect. Moonlight Echoes was imperfection itself.
They wanted nothing more than to set her free, let her find the one who’ll truly help her chase the largest stage. Moonlight’s time with Fuji Kiseki needed to end and they were set on being the one to close the curtains.
…
Moonlight Requiem didn’t really know when exactly they’d gotten up to lock the office. They didn’t hear the clink of their cane as they walked to the door or the click of a lock. They didn’t hear the rustling of paper or the furious scratch of a pen. Every motion was robotic, planned to perfection so they wouldn’t need to think about what they were about to do.
They didn’t think much about typing out a text to Fuji that read “I’m sorry.” Their mind was not there as they pressed ‘send.’
Moonlight didn’t pay attention to their own movements as they took a small pill bottle from their messy desk drawer. They didn’t hear the rattling pills and didn’t feel as one by one they dropped onto their hand. Everything was planned. Everything was rehearsed, they just needed to keep moving and everything would end.
Moonlight wasn’t sure of when the bitter flavor of cheap coffee entered their mouth, a slew of pills following suit after every sip.
They didn’t notice when there was a faint knock on the door followed by the frantic rattling of the doorknob.
Realization and awareness of what theyd gone though with only really came when the sound of the door being kicked down and a muffled scream rang through their ears.
Their vision had already gone dark at this point, they could only hear and feel what was going on. It felt so distant, as if they were submerged in water. They could hear panicked rambling before strong arms wrapped around their back and knees picking them up in a sad and twisted rendition of a bridal carry.
“You’re okay. It’s okay. Please stay with me. Please”
Fuji. That voice they adored reduced to a mumbling mess. It was barely louder than a whisper, yet it carried a sadness as deep as the ocean.
They’d really done it this time.
‘She just doesn’t realize how much she needs me out of her life.”
Time was warped. It went by so quickly but also agonizingly slowly. An eternity and yet no time at all had passed before they felt the wind against their skin. It was light, tickling their flushed face. Was Fuji running? They hoped she’d give up and let them die there. Exhausting her strength wasn’t worth it. Not for this. Not for them.
Some time passed, so they thought at least, the darkness and numbness becoming familiar to Moonlight, they were slipping, it was almost time. Then, something cold and wet hit their face a few times. Tears. Fuji’s tears. Had they been more conscious the guilt would’ve settled in, but their life force was waning and all they could to was lay there unconscious, the cold wet spots, sharper than any other feeling, became their anchor to the world they were trying to leave.
They hoped it would end quickly and their shackles would release. They didn’t wanna think about anything ever again.
They didn’t know where they were anymore. But they felt weightless. Weightless and free as they’d hoped
‘I’m sorry, Fuji. I love you.’
—————————
Gasps of excitement accompanied by claps could be heard from the Three Goddesses Statue, where a small crowd could be seen forming. At the very center stood Fuji Kiseki, proud and tall, eyes bright and smile wide ready to wow the small group she’d deemed her audience.
It was a partly cloudy Sunday and while there were no classes, Tracen students were rather fond of spending their weekends on campus training or surrounded by friends.
Fuji was no exception. The entertainer loved to gather a crowd nearly every weekend to showcase what latest tricks she’d decided to learn and bask in the joy that was making her darling ponies fawn at the little miracles she was creating.
She had time to kill. There was still half an hour until her scheduled training with her trainer, Moonlight Requiem, and what better way to spend her time than by gracing her darling ponies with her magic.
It would’ve been an ideal day had it not been for a strange sense of unease creeping up on Fuji every few moments.
Moonlight Requiem was temperamental and easily agitated. It was not uncommon for them to have a tough day. They were in a constant state of stress, running every which way to get things done. They had their issues, but at the end of the day, it was Ember’s innate passion that drew Fuji to them. Like a moth to a flame, Fuji chased that fire with stubborn persistence.
Today, however, that flame was dulled.
Fuji noticed it that morning when her trainer had asked to push back their designated training time, stating something about a sleepless night. She didn’t protest, she respected their wishes, but she couldn’t shake off the unease that there was more to it than a lack of sleep.
Fuji had trained with Moonlight for close to three years and had memorized the tells. She knew when they were overworked, sad, stressed, flared up. She’d never miss the slight droop of their ears, the faint tremor on their hands, the twitching in their injured left leg. She’d seen it all and she’d carefully stored each sign in her mind.
This was not like that. There were no droopy ears or trembling hands, only a pair of dull, empty silver eyes.
Fuji wasn’t fond of having to prod. She’d simply wish they’d come to her with their troubles, a sign of pure trust. She didn’t necessarily think her trainer was weary of her, but she’d hoped to help them open up. She’d never want to overstep, but what if reaching out could break that final wall between them?
She was doing the best she could, keeping up her performance, captivating her audience with her charm, and making sure no one saw the unease she felt.
There were now only ten minutes till training was to start, and Fuji Kiseki was starting to wonder if she should head to Moonlight’s office early. It wouldn’t hurt to do so, after all, her trainer had never really been a stickler for the rules that insisted on perfect punctuality.
As if on cue, the universe solved her dilemma.
She felt a little buzz in her pocket. It was customized so she knew whom exactly it was from. As trainer and trainee they relied heavily on communication so having personalized ringtones and buzzing for one another proved a clever way of keeping in touch rather reliably.
“Excuse me just one second my darling ponies, I must see to it that I answer my trainer’s message” Fuji said, the urgency in her voice peeking through the cracks, but not enough to be noticed by her audience.
She turned away as a collective “awwww” rang out from the group before taking out her phone and looking at the single notification on her screen.
It was a message, short and clear. Two words. The least amount of words she’d ever read in a message from Moonlight.
Trainer: ‘I’m sorry’ (sent at 16:21)
Her face went pale and her suspicions came crashing down on her, the opened floodgates drowning her in a sea of worry.
She didn’t turn around to bid her audience farewell, she simply excused herself loudly enough for her audience to hear and just ran.
She could hear the whispers of protest behind her as she left her audience behind. Had it been any other kind of emergency she’d at least try to save some face, but the anxiety weighed on her so heavily it hurt.
Rules be damned, the student council be damned. Her position as a mentor be damned. She couldn’t care less about examples and mentorship when her Moonlight’s safety could be at stake.
Fuji Kiseki didn’t quite know how much time had passed between the text and when she’d arrived at the office door, but it felt like an eternity to her.
Her worry only grew at the sight of a closed door. Moonlight never closed their door, they’d always left it cracked open for her to come and go as needed.
Had a plain white door always been so eerie?
She knocked, hoping this was all just a misunderstanding and her trainer would open the door like nothing had happened.
One second passed. Then that one second turned to two and two to five and five to ten.
No response. She was met with silence. Deafening silence.
After an excruciating fifteen seconds she heard a faint thud. that was all the incentive she needed to let go of all decorum. She fought hard against the doorknob, doing everything in her power to force it open. It wouldn’t budge. She needed to get to Moonlight and see with her own eyes that her dearest pony was safe, lest she be driven mad by her own thoughts.
It wasn’t long before she gave up on opening the door normally. She’d figure out a way to smooth things over if this was just a misunderstanding as soon as she knew her darling pony was safe and sound. In the face of uncertainty, however, her methods and his strange they looked were the least of her worries. She mustered all her strength, steadying herself in the midst of uncontrollable tremors and mustering up all of her strength to kick the door down.
Fuji Kiseki rarely screamed. She cheered, she sang, she laughed. But that sound, that came out of her, that broken guttural scream of unadulterated devastation was something she’d never thought she’d hear coming from her.
The sight that met her was haunting.
Moonlight Requiem sat at their desk motionless, head down on the wood of the desk, pitch black hair splayed in every direction, an empty pill bottle lay on its side beside the limp uma’s hand.
“No. No. NO! Ember you idiot. You were supposed to come to me, we are supposed to trust each other.” Fuji’s eyes were frantic, her hands shaking as she approached the unconscious trainer nearly tripping in her frenzy. She’d have thought they were dead if it weren’t for the shallow breathing that she could only notice once up close.
You’re okay. It’s okay. Please stay with me. Please.” Fuji never pleads. She asks, she requests, but she never pleads. Today, though, faced with the fear of loss Fuji Kiseki pleaded to anyone who could hear her.
“Please don’t leave me”
Once she was by their side, she wasted no time scooping her trainer up in her arms and rushing out of the office.
She passed by many people on her way out of her academy. She got many surprised stares. Some asked what was wrong. Fuji paid them no mind, her mind laser focused on getting Ember to the hospital before it was too late.
Time was ticking.
Fuji didn’t know when she’d started crying. She only realized when her vision blurred and her cheeks felt wet. She ached, not the pain from an injury but the devastating hurt of seeing Moonlight in this state. Her heart broke knowing the one she’d come to know and trust lay limply in her arms, fighting to stay alive.
“I can’t lose you,” she whispered.
‘I love you’ was left unsaid
Clouds now covered the afternoon sky, coating the world in melancholic hues. Had she not known that magic was an illusion she would’ve thought that she’d done that herself with how miserable she felt.
Entering the hospital felt surreal, bright LEDs a stark contrast to the desaturated tones of the outside world. It was blinding, suffocating.
“HELP! PLEASE HELP! We need a doctor,” she croaked breaths heavy with exhaustion, her voice hoarse from its earlier strain. “Overdose,” that last word was quiet, ringing in her ears as Fuji was forced to face the truth.
The waiting room was silent for a few beats, staff and patients alike stunned at the sight of the Fuji Kiseki, famous racer and entertainer, reduced to a shaking mess. There was always this need to be a perfect, stage-ready beauty, a desire to perform so potent that even in this state it fought an arduous battle against her panic. She didn’t care, or rather she couldn’t care. Not right now, at least. She pleaded with her eyes for a quick response bringing the room out of its suffocating trance. Nurses ran to her aid, taking the limp figure from her arms, noting the slight resistance and tightened grip from the taller woman
Moonlight was rushed away into the emergency room, Fuji chasing close behind. Her hearing was static and all she could really see and hear was her pale, near lifeless trainer, and the rapid sound of her own heartbeat.
…
The rest of the evening was a blur. Fuji couldn’t think about anything other than the vivid image of her beloved pony unconscious on the desk, an empty bottle of pills and a puddle of spilled coffee on the floor— telltale signs of an attempt.
It shook her to her core. No matter where she looked or what she tried to do the image would not leave her head. Her mind wouldn’t let go of every single excruciating detail. That pill bottle, Fuji had never seen it before. She knew their career-ending injury was severe enough to cause chronic problems, but this bottle seemed to be for something else. Were they keeping it as a reserve, a hidden tool to use when it all got too much? And the coffee. Moonlight hated coffee. They’d described it as bitter and unpleasant one time when Fuji suggested they try a cup to help with fatigue. So why now? Was it one last act of hatred towards themselves? Fuji hated the thought.
She only came to her senses when a doctor approached her, sighing in relief before telling her that Ember’s vitals were finally stable and all that was left to do was wait for them to wake up and monitor their recovery.
Relief coupled with the adrenaline crash finally made something in her snap. She fell to her knees, arms wrapped around herself and wailed. Sobs uncontrollably left her body as every emotion that had been dulled finally rose to the surface. Her chest heaved and tears spilled uncontrollably from her eyes. Her face was contorted into an expression that felt foreign on her features. She couldn’t simply smile, she’d nearly lost someone so dear to her.
For a few moments, the world went silent save for her sobs and the rhythmic beeping of Moonlight Requiem’s heart monitor. Steady, and present. They were alive.
In her relief, through sobs and shakes, she felt weightless.
‘Please wake up.’