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Run.
She runs — her pumps clicking against asphalt, those thin heels wholly unsuited for the human body in full sprint. I shouldn't have picked these shoes. Looking pretty and running flat-out simply do not coexist. The wind destroys your hair, and sweat turns your makeup into a muddy mess. She had known that. She'd always known.
"Ha— hah—"
The uneven asphalt, cracked and buckled with age, keeps snatching at her ankles. Every time it does, her lungs burn as if on fire. Her breath is shallow. Not enough.
She's getting closer.
Even without looking back, she knows. The sensation is like a blade pressed against her spine — it hasn't left her for a single moment. She doesn't know the exact distance. Only that it's shrinking, certainly and steadily. She feels like a wild rabbit on the savanna. The other one is a cheetah. Moving through the dark, not stirring a single blade of grass, drawing closer and closer — and then—
"—"
No. Don't think about useless things right now. In the swaying corners of her vision, her own outfit looks absurdly out of place. A dress in soft, gentle colors. A hem that flutters in the wind. A thin cardigan draped over her shoulders. The kind of thing you'd wear to meet someone for a pleasant afternoon — the attire of a promise to laugh together. And in her arms, a basket far too large for the occasion.
"This way—"
She turns a corner. Slips into a narrow alley. The damp air clings to her skin — unpleasant — but she'll manage. She has the home advantage here. In these twisting, narrow streets, even that girl shouldn't be able to go full speed. That small arrogance gives her a little room to breathe.
Run, run.
She knows with strange certainty that stopping means it's over. That cold conviction has settled somewhere deep in her chest. So she runs. She doesn't know how it'll end. Even if the future is invisible, all she can do is keep moving her feet.
Run, run, run.
That girl is definitely trying to expose her. What she's carrying. Where she's headed. What she's hiding.
She pulls the basket close. Hard — hard enough to crush it. But this — this one thing I cannot hand over.
No matter what happens, this secret must be protected.
Several hours earlier.
The moment the train doors opened, she stepped onto the platform, blending into the flow of people.
"Golden Week really draws a crowd…"
The air outside was different from the sealed train — slightly humid, but carrying that outdoor smell. Not that it gave her any peace of mind. She hadn't done anything wrong. And yet the awareness that she was hiding something made her hypersensitive to everything around her.
Without stopping her feet toward the gate, she let her gaze drift around casually. A cluster of students coming home from club activities. A child with a backpack walking alongside a parent. A group of elderly people heading for a hike. The kind of people who could be anywhere, who were everywhere. But if even one of them among this crowd was different from the others—
"No, no. Don't think strange things. Since I kept it secret from my trainer, I decided to make today as fun as possible…"
Right. Just overthinking it. She told herself so, and to sweep away the bad feeling, pulled out her smartphone. She noticed her finger trembling ever so slightly as she turned on the screen. One deep breath. She was just sending a normal, ordinary message. Just an exchange. She photographed the sign at the station, tapped into the text field, and sent the picture along with a brief message.
Arrived at the meeting spot.
Roger. I'm three stations away.
I'm still transferring over here. Might be a little late. Sorry.
That's okay, take your time.
Headed to the meeting spot on foot. No abnormalities so far!
Got off the bus. About ten minutes out, maybe?
Then came the cute animal-motif stickers, one after another. Everyone was moving in exactly the same way. Each taking a different route, each timing their departure, each making sure their respective trainer didn't catch on, each having calculated a meticulous path.
Dots accumulating one by one, each representing a current location. It looked for all the world like an ordinary day's exchange of messages — and yet everyone was converging on a single point. The place where they would display their egos and their fetishism.
"Huh…?"
Five people had read the message. Already. But one person hadn't replied. That particular junior colleague — a serious one who always responded immediately — had not sent a single message about where she was or what she was doing. She should have at least sent something. Could something have happened? Anxiety flickered through her mind.
"Surely not…"
A bad premonition was beginning to take shape in the back of her chest. Bad signal. Poor reception. Low battery — she could pile up any number of explanations. But none of them managed to convince her.
Then: ping — a light notification sound.
She reflexively looked at the screen.
Sorry, I got caught. The meeting spot is probably exposed too.
"—!"
Such a short message. And yet it carried such weight. Immediately after, a photo followed. A blurry image, but clear enough even through the unfocused frame.
A smoky-blue blouse. A navy vest.
Wind-tousled hair with purple tips.
"As expected of a pace-setter Uma Musume — arriving first. This is bad…"
Of all possible situations, this was the one she'd most needed to avoid.
Their trainer had found them. Everyone understood what that meant. If one person got caught, there was a chance of being traced back, chain by chain. Their locations, their purpose, everything.
Ah, figured she'd get caught.
Saw that coming.
Change of plan — meet at the destination directly.
Understood.
Godspeed.
Good luck.
Terse, minimal replies scrolled across the chat screen.
Meet at the destination. That single line aligned everyone's intentions. Meeting up partway was too risky. Communication was to be kept minimal. All that was left was for each person to reach the final point by their own means.
"…Haah."
A small exhale.
The vague anxiety that had been rustling in her chest somehow sharpened into a clear shape. A distinct crisis made the mind sharper than amorphous fear. She tucked her smartphone into her bag and gripped the basket's handle again.
"Sorry — I can't let this be seen…"
Apologizing to a trainer who wasn't there, she started walking. Just a little faster than the careful pace she'd been keeping — but not fast enough to look like she was hurrying.
The destination was a park. A small patch of greenery on the outskirts of a residential area, a little ways from the station. Apparently a perfectly ordinary spot where families and children gathered on weekends.
That's exactly why it was convenient. No matter who showed up, it wouldn't look strange. No matter what you did there, nothing would stand out.
Her gaze kept drifting — to a telephone pole's shadow, a parked bicycle, the faces of passersby. She checked each one without being too obvious about it. She felt like a spy trying to smuggle classified documents out of a country.
The basket swayed slightly. Inside, she thought she heard the soft click of contents shifting.
A picnic.
Just that — a modest little gathering.
…At least, that's what it was supposed to be.
But this gathering had one problem. The specific "what everyone was bringing" was the issue. Every single thing that each of them planned to bring was something their respective trainer could absolutely not see. If found out, it would definitely be stopped. Or — something even worse than that. So this was why they were moving around as if hiding.
"Really, what is wrong with us. …Getting so excited, at our age."
She muttered to herself self-deprecatingly, then immediately fell silent. She had known from the start how childish all of this was. Even so — there was a reason it had to be done. A woman's word is her bond.
One more corner. Into an even narrower path. The foot traffic thinned slightly. In its place came the sound of wind and, in the distance, a child's voice. The park must be close.
Her pulse quickened slightly. Whether it was tension or impatience, she couldn't tell even herself. Still, she couldn't stop walking.
And then her smartphone buzzed again.
She stopped walking before she could stop herself. She knew she shouldn't — and yet reflexively pulled it out.
The notification on the screen wasn't just one.
Sorry, I don't think I'll make it either. They apparently saw through my whole plan of betting everything on the bus stop.
"Oh…"
A short message.
But for all its lightness, the meaning was heavy. In other words: her trainer had won. Which route to take. What time to move. Which moment was least likely to be noticed. Whether all those calculations had been seen through, or whether a miracle had occurred — she didn't know the details. But this much was clear: she had been caught too.
Then, immediately after, another one.
The station got blockaded (crying) I'm currently barricaded in the bathroom (crying)
The image that followed was of the station I'd been at not long ago — in front of the ticket gates. The flow of people unnaturally interrupted, and beyond it—
A small, gray silhouette.
She must have fled in a hurry. The image was blurry and unclear, but somehow the outline alone was strikingly sharp.
"That was close…"
A chill ran down her spine. She gripped her smartphone tight. How many people were left? Judging from the unread messages, the remaining two were probably also caught up in some kind of trouble.
And what remained was — her.
"For the sake of everyone who scattered — I have to reach the park, even if it's just me…"
"Haha, you sound like the protagonist of a suspense film. Why do you cling so much to reaching that place?"
"Of course I cling to it! Because it's something everyone planned together, the very first time we've—"
She started to answer the voice that had just appeared right behind her on pure reflex. The next instant she realized what that voice was, and the temperature of her entire body dropped a full degree in a moment. By the time she understood, it was already too late. Her breath caught. She didn't turn around. She didn't need to. She knew without turning, and something primal told her: turn around, and it's over.
Run.
"AAAAAAHHHH!!!"
"Whoa!"
Her body moved faster than thought. Her newly-bought heels struck the asphalt hard.
She ran. Just ran.
Something moved in her wake — and it gave chase without hesitation. She had known that would happen. And still she couldn't stop. She hugged the basket tighter. Its contents shifted and made a small sound.
And so the story returns to the beginning.
Run, run, human girl. Outrun your Uma Musume from who'd be the favorite, human girl.
"Why are you even chasing me—!?"
"Because you're running, obviously!"
The voice she'd squeezed out half as a scream was crushed by her own panting and came out as a rasp. From right behind her came a breezy reply — it even sounded composed. The casual tone made her spine prickle. Well — actually composed was the truth of it. An ordinary human woman stumbling about frantically in clothes not built for sprinting was probably not even a warm-up jog to her.
"—Stay Gold!"
Even without looking, she knew. Her trainer was closing the distance with that same light, unbothered voice, surely wearing the same unbothered face.
"Of course I'm running—!?"
"It's not like I'm going to eat you—"
"Even so, not today—!!"
That was instant.
She turned a corner. Slipped into the narrow alley. The same view as before. The same situation as before. The only difference was that the gap between her and Stay Gold was narrowing. She's pulling her punches, damn it.
"Aah—!"
Her heel caught a stone and almost sent her down, but she braced and barely wrenched her balance back.
"Look, I just want to know what you're planning. Everyone was saying their trainer had been distant and secretive lately and it made them cry, you know."
"Even so, you don't have to round everyone up for a whole round-up operation—!!"
"I prefer 'strong solidarity.'"
A sob entered her voice. She was furious, but there was nothing to be done. She adjusted her grip on the basket. The things inside made soft bumping sounds against each other — and in that exact moment:
"—Time to wrap this up."
"What—"
Her gaze wavered. Reflexively she looked up — and there, against the side of the building, a shadow stepped lightly onto the rim of a stacked air conditioning unit.
"Hey."
The voice came from above her.
That one word was the signal. The dry clang of metal being kicked rang through the narrow alley — and in that instant, Stay Gold flew.
She had kicked the wall once, hard, and vaulted over her. Every bit of force from that kicking leg converted without waste into upward momentum. Her body floated into the air as if briefly defying gravity.
The blue shirt tied at her shoulder spread wide a beat later, catching wind and billowing out — like a stage prop, it emphasized her silhouette. Like a hero's cape — but what she was actually doing was the villain's work, cornering an innocent bystander.
And then, with the weightless ease of someone playing, she described an arc and swung around in front of her.
"What—!?"
Stay Gold landed right in front of her, completely blocking her path. She couldn't stop in time. To avoid crashing into her, she reflexively lurched backward — and that was the mistake. Her balance collapsed. She couldn't get her arms out. She was going to hit her head on the way down—
"Gotcha."
She didn't get hurt. Because arms shot out and caught her around the waist. She was pulled in, and her vision spun. In the rocking of that off-kilter moment—
"Ah—"
The sensation slipped from her fingertips. It seemed to hang in mid-air for an instant, as if time had stretched. Then it fell. The impact knocked the lid free, and the contents scattered and bounced. Pomph — something rolled. The cloth wrapping loosened and a flash of color peeked through. A series of small dry sounds overlapping. There, against the alley ground, what she'd been hiding lay exposed and defenseless.
"So, what exactly have you people been hiding—"
The amused curl of Stay Gold's lips froze.
Her eyes went wide.
Beneath the soft sunlight, the last remnants of spring lingered in the air, drifting gently. The light was not too harsh, warming the skin pleasantly, and the breeze carried with it the smell of new greenery. The park's grass grew a vivid blue-green, dotted here and there with little white clover heads poking up. The leisure sheet spread on it had warmed slightly in the sun.
"S-so cute…! Did you all make these by hand?"
"There's a great little goods shop I know! They're doing a spring fair right now, and…"
"Let's take photos! If we lined them up with that flower bed behind…"
The air filled with bright, excited chatter. The junior trainers who'd been caught by their respective trainers were gathered here — each one clutching a plushie to their chest with obvious care. Each plushie was modeled after their own trainer's Uma Musume. Every single one of them had been wrestled out of crane games through considerable struggle. The outfits, accessories, hairstyles — each one clearly beloved, each a tiny double cared for with devotion.
They were arranged on the grass.
Like a family.
— It was, in the truest sense, plushie activities.
"They really are cute when you line them all up~"
"So fluffy… fluffy life…"
"Ahhh… healing…"
"Is it just me, or does the Orfevre one look kind of roughed up…"
"Various things happened."
Six human girls make a ruckus times two. While they squealed and laughed together happily — right beside them:
"…"
"………"
"Hey, what's happening here? Golshi's getting eaten."
"It's a shark costume with legs, but…"
"What is this, a B-movie?"
"Hey, hey, Journeys. Let's take a photo together."
"…Please don't mind me…"
The Uma Musumes in question stood next to their respective trainers, looking deeply uncomfortable, staring down at the plushies arranged before them. Orfevre with arms crossed. Nakayama Festa averting her eyes. Or perhaps Fenomeno shrinking in on herself, sitting in seiza.
"…So this is what you were hiding…?"
"Yep."
"That's misleading. I thought for sure it was…"
"Thought what?"
"…"
Beside her, Stay Gold murmured quietly. The trainer shrugged just a little.
"I mean… I'm a fully grown adult who has dressed up her trainer Uma Musume's plushie in a little costume. I figured you'd definitely be against it, and besides, it's kind of embarrassing…"
"Not that I'm against the hobby itself, but…"
Even as she said it, she glanced away with faint awkwardness. Stay Gold said nothing for a moment. She just stared down at the small plushie wearing her own face. A little smug-faced me-plushie. And it was stuffed into a fluffy bear costume, sitting perched on my trainer's knee.
"…That is, well… Seeing a doll with my face being doted on is a little bit of a strange feeling."
"I knew it would be."
"…Is it fun?"
"Of course. Because it's my trainer's Paca-Petit."
The trainer answered immediately, and somehow even sounded a little smug about it. A small silence fell. Wind brushed the grass and lifted the edge of the leisure sheet. In that gap, the trainer shifted her outstretched legs and crossed them the other way.
"Here."
Then she reached over and picked up the cup she'd set beside her. A Hachimii Drink bought from the food truck parked in the park. She pressed it into Stay Gold's hand.
"For you."
"…"
"…Are you still mad?"
Stay Gold pressed her lips to the straw and took a sip. The sweetness of honey and the tartness of lemon spread across her tongue. She looked once more at the grass — the junior trainers awkwardly hunching their shoulders — and then at the trainer-girls beside them, a sharp contrast. Every one of them had been looking forward to this day, had applied their best makeup, had dressed themselves up in fancy clothes. Because that's the kind of outfit you'd never worn in front of me before.
So — no, any more of that was just sore-loser talk.
"…I'm not!"
Stay Gold flicked her tail once, then gulped down the Hachimii.