Chapter Text
Today was the day her life was supposed to change forever.
So why did this morning feel exactly the same as any other?
Westfalia’s phone alarm had rung her out of sleep only a few moments ago.
It was just after five when she sat up and perched on the edge of her bed.
Somehow this morning felt like race day.
Provided the race was somewhere nearby.
Düsseldorf, Cologne, somewhere like that.
If the race was here in Dortmund, she could even sleep a little longer, which was definitely Westfalia’s favorite option.
For races farther away — Munich-Riem, Baden-Baden, or even Berlin-Hoppegarten — they usually drove out the day before and stayed in a hotel.
Westfalia was less of a fan of that. She definitely preferred getting up early, even though she was anything but a morning person.
She stretched, but her dark-brown tail still hung limply over the edge of the bed.
With a sigh, she got up and left her room, heading for the bathroom.
“No helping it,” she grumbled.
In the bathroom, Westfalia looked at herself in the mirror.
Her dark-brown, shoulder-length hair was still a little tousled from sleep, but at least the white streak on her forehead had been kind enough not to stick out in some strange direction today.
There was an alertness in her dark-violet eyes that surprised her after such a restless night and so little sleep — if one ignored the dark circles beneath them.
Even her ears were not drooping slightly the way they usually did when she was tired. Instead, they stood upright.
Apparently, her body had understood better than she had that today was not like any other morning.
And now she felt it too.
This morning was different.
Today was not a race day.
Today was the day Westfalia would leave her home in Dortmund, leave Germany, and transfer to Tracen Academy in Tokyo.
After Westfalia came out of the bathroom, she went downstairs and into the kitchen.
Her mother, Tremonia, stood at the stove making scrambled eggs, the tip of her tail twitching lightly from side to side.
Her father sat at the kitchen table, his laptop beside him as he typed something with one hand and sipped his coffee with the other.
“Good morning, Spätzchen.”
“Morning, Wesfi.”
Her parents and their nicknames…
“Morning,” Westfalia said quietly, sitting down in her usual spot.
Normally, her parents were always talkative in the morning, which made them the exact opposite of Westfalia.
Usually, her father would tell some story from work, or talk about football, or whatever else came to mind. Her mother would comment on it, or say something about racing.
Football and racing were both topics Westfalia loved, but at this hour she usually only grumbled some kind of answer.
Her parents were used to her usual gloomy mood in the morning.
But today, the two of them were different too.
Tremonia, who normally radiated a natural calm, was stirring the eggs in the pan with tense precision.
A rare sight.
Her father slid a plate and a black-and-yellow mug with a BVB crest toward her.
“Here you go, Wesfi. Brötchen and chocolate cappuccino, just how you like it.”
At that moment, Tremonia turned around and added the scrambled eggs from the pan to the rolls on Westfalia’s plate.
“And scrambled eggs with carrots, Spätzchen.”
Her father glanced briefly at the plate. Westfalia knew exactly what he thought of that combination, but that was simply what happened when you were married to a horse girl and had a daughter who was one too.
Westfalia took a sip from the mug.
The cappuccino really was exactly the way she loved it.
“So..uhh… thanks. But I’m not really that hungry,” Westfalia said, a little uncertain, looking back and forth between her parents.
“You know how I feel about you leaving the house without breakfast. Besides, today’s going to be a long day for you. You should have something in your stomach.”
“And you won’t be getting Brötchen or bread this good for a while,” her father added, taking a demonstrative bite out of his own.
“Same goes for your mother’s scrambled eggs.”
Even though the remark gave her a small pang, Westfalia could not suppress a faint smile.
Still, she only poked at her food.
“Eat, Spätzchen. You never know what they’ll serve you on the plane.”
“Mama, it’s a long-haul flight. I don’t think they’re going to starve me for thirteen hours.”
“I never said they would.”
“You’re looking at me like they might.”
“I’m your mother. I’m allowed to look at you like that.”
As usual, Westfalia accepted that there was no point arguing with her mother. So she bit into her roll and took a bite of scrambled eggs.
Then another.
And then the next.
It tasted good.
It tasted very good.
It tasted like home.
That did not exactly make things easier.
She swallowed the last bite along with the lump in her throat.
For now, she was still here.
In Germany.
In Dortmund.
In her house.
Not for much longer, but she was not going to spend the last few hours holding back tears.
“Here, Wesfi.”
Her father pulled Westfalia out of her thoughts and turned his laptop toward her.
“I already checked you in online for your flight later. I know you’d wither away without a window seat.”
“Thanks, Papa.”
Now Westfalia really did have to smile a little.
Westfalia looked out the window.
It was still dark, and she could still see the dampness left by the rain during the night. A typical late-March morning in Germany. Wet, cold, and unable to decide whether it wanted to stay winter or become spring.
She definitely would not miss that in Japan.
Japan would be different.
Everything would be different.
Just the thought of it.
An entire academy for horse girls, for races that were easily ten times bigger than the races here in Germany.
The training, the school, the races. All of it would be bigger.
Here in Germany, Westfalia attended an ordinary school. Most of the girls were human, with only a few horse girls like her.
After school, Westfalia went home, changed clothes, and went to her club by the racetrack to train.
Tracen…
That was a name she knew from the internet, or from watching races with her mother.
A place for the truly great ones, because everyone knew the winners of the major G1s.
No comparison to the rather sleepy little bubble of horse-girl racing in Germany — at least compared to Japan.
And now she was supposed to go there.
Her.
The shy Westfalia from Dortmund.
All right, fine.
She was the number two in the country in the U17 junior division and part of the U17 squad of the DPMB*, the German Horse Girls’ Association.
*Deutscher Pferdemädchen Bund
But even so, Westfalia often still believed it had to be some sort of mistake that she was suddenly supposed to attend an academy nearly 10,000 kilometers away, where 3,000 horse girls gathered in one place.
The only times she had seen that many horse girls in one spot had been at the German Derby in Hamburg or the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe in Paris, races she had attended with her mother.
It felt unreal that she was now supposed to become part of that world.
“…falia?”
Westfalia was chewing the last bite of her Brötchen when she realized her mother had spoken to her and pulled her out of her thoughts.
“Sorry… what?” Westfalia shook her head, and her mother looked at her gently but attentively.
“I asked if you were finished.” Tremonia indicated the empty plate in front of Westfalia.
So she had eaten everything after all.
She had not even noticed.
Her parents began clearing the table, and Westfalia wanted to do the same.
When she tried to put away her plate, Tremonia took it from her.
“We’ll take care of it. Go get ready.”
Westfalia was about to protest, but then she nodded anyway.
“Take your time. We’re leaving in forty-five minutes.”
Westfalia nodded.
“Okay.”
Westfalia went back upstairs to her room and got dressed.
Comfortable tights, a black skirt, and a purple knitted sweater.
Nothing flashy, but comfortable.
Yesterday, she had carefully laid out the outfit after changing it at least five times.
Her first impulse had been sweatpants, a DPMB hoodie, and a BVB training jacket.
Then she had thought she should wear more DPMB gear, since even though she would soon be part of the URA, she was still representing Germany.
Then she had overthought everything because people in Tokyo always seemed so fashionable.
She had no idea what was appropriate.
She was not going to the racetrack today, after all.
So in the end, she had chosen a neutral and comfortable outfit.
After changing, she checked her carry-on luggage, first and foremost the folder her mother had pressed into her hands yesterday.
Documents from Tracen, documents from the URA, documents from the DPMB, a list of phone numbers Tremonia considered important.
Westfalia’s objections that she had already saved Tazuna Hayakawa’s number, and that she did not need the number of an old friend of Tremonia’s, someone she had once raced with who now lived in Fukuoka, had fallen on deaf horse ears.
Wallet with all her cards.
Headphones.
Tablet.
Laptop.
Phone.
Charging cables.
Passport.
And various other bits and pieces.
She seemed to have everything.
Westfalia turned around, and her eyes landed on the bed.
There sat Königsstuhl.
Or rather, the Königsstuhl plushie.
Dark fabric hair, stitched smile, a little sash in colors of the Germany flag, black, red, and gold, and visible traces of how often he had been hugged.
Königsstuhl was a German horse girl.
The only one ever to win the German Triple Crown.
Westfalia had received the Königsstuhl plushie from her mother when she was little.
Since then, Königsstuhl had been by her side.
At least in her bed.
Westfalia picked up the plushie.
“Don’t look at me like that. Of course you’re coming with me.”
As if that had ever been a question.
An emotional-support plushie seemed entirely appropriate when one was emigrating halfway around the world today.
Even at seventeen.
She put Königsstuhl into her backpack and looked at him for a moment.
“You look like I will on the plane later. Squished and totally overwhelmed.”
She stuck out her tongue, zipped the backpack shut, and set it beside the door.
She was ready.
And that was whole the problem.
There was nothing left to prepare, pack, or clarify.
No excuse left not to go downstairs, tell her parents she was ready, get into the car, and drive to Frankfurt Airport.
Westfalia turned around to look at her room one more time.
Her desk, where she had done her schoolwork.
Her PC, which her father had built for her, since he worked in IT and actually knew about that sort of thing.
Her sim-racing wheel, a hobby that would have to rest for a while.
Her shelves, filled with figures of her favorite anime characters, a model of a GT3 race car, and of course medals from her junior races.
Most of them gold, a few silver, and one bronze.
Her gaze moved on.
A BVB scarf and a picture of the Westfalenstadion on the wall.
A framed photo of Tremonia and her after her first victory in the junior division.
A picture of her and her father in front of the stadium.
And finally, a finish-line photo from a race in Dortmund last year.
Eishin Flash in first, and Westfalia herself just behind her in the background.
Why had she framed a photo from the race in which her rival had inflicted her most painful defeat on her own home track?
Westfalia did not really know herself.
As motivation?
To punish herself?
Because she absolutely admired Eishin Flash’s running style?
Probably all of the above, though she would never admit the last part, of course.
She looked around her room one more time.
This had been her room since she was little.
Here, she had hidden when everything became too much.
Cried after defeats.
Yelled at her mother and apologized afterwards.
Laughed, studied, slept, dreamed, and often enough been bored.
And now she was leaving.
Not forever, of course, she told herself.
But long enough for it to feel that way.
From downstairs, she heard her father’s voice.
“Wesfi? We should get going soon!”
Westfalia sighed.
“Yeah,” she called back, surprised by how composed her voice sounded. “I’m coming.”
She picked up her carry-on, switched off the light, and paused once more in the doorway.
“Bis bald,” she said to her room, and somehow it felt as though she were saying goodbye to her childhood too.
Then she closed the door behind her.
Downstairs, Westfalia’s father had already loaded her two suitcases into the trunk of his Volkswagen Passat.
It was still dark when they drove out of the driveway.
Westfalia managed no more than one small farewell glance at the house.
The familiar streets of Dortmund slid past outside the car window in the dim morning light.
Her father drove. Her mother, Tremonia, sat in the passenger seat, the folder of documents on her lap — documents Westfalia had on her phone anyway.
No one talked much.
The radio played quietly.
Westfalia looked out the window without really seeing anything.
Only when her phone vibrated did she come back to herself.
A message from a teammate at her club.
Good luck in Japan and have a good flight! Show them what Dortmund can do!
Westfalia pulled a face, her ears drooping a little.
What could Dortmund do?
Be stubborn and blunt?
Take second place behind her rival?
Still, she typed a quick reply thanking her.
“Everything all right back there?” her father asked. He had glanced at her in the rear-view mirror and must have seen her drooping ears.
Westfalia considered making some typical sarcastic joke.
Instead, with a throat that felt as though it were tightening shut, she said:
“I’m nervous.”
Her father nodded slowly, and her mother half turned toward her.
“I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”
Her mother did not say anything more, but she moved her tail back toward Westfalia and touched her leg with it.
Her way of showing that she was there.
Westfalia said nothing else and stared straight ahead again.
But the navigation display, which said they would reach the airport in twenty minutes, and the motorway signs outside now all pointing toward Frankfurt Airport, only made the heavy feeling in Westfalia’s chest grow stronger.
Normally, Westfalia loved airports.
Normally, they meant one thing: vacation with her parents.
She liked the thought of being somewhere completely different a few hours later.
But now, standing with her parents in the terminal hall of Frankfurt Airport beneath the huge departure board, the thought of being thousands of kilometers away from home in a few hours no longer seemed quite so wonderful.
Too much was happening for a day that changed your life.
“There. ANA, flight NH204 to Tokyo-Haneda. Check-in is open,” Tremonia said, nudging Westfalia and pointing at the board.
“Yes, Mama. I can read.”
But there it really was.
Not in some email or booking confirmation, but white on black and real.
“I already checked you in, so we just have to drop off the suitcases,” her father said.
“You can hardly wait to get rid of me, can you?” Westfalia grumbled sarcastically, her ears hanging slightly.
To Westfalia’s disappointment, the baggage drop went smoothly.
Her suitcases were not overweight.
Her German passport and her Japanese visa had not mysteriously become invalid overnight.
Nor did anyone say that Symboli Rudolf had accidentally scouted the wrong Westfalia and that she had to stay in Germany.
Westfalia watched as her suitcases disappeared onto the conveyor belt.
“There goes my whole life,” Westfalia sighed in a flat voice that had been meant to sound dramatic.
Her father tilted his head.
“Your whole life weighs two times twenty kilos? Our shopping list at home says otherwise.”
Even after all these years, her father still had not fully adjusted to the appetite of horse girls.
Especially horse girls actively running races.
“Not quite forty kilos. There’s still room in her backpack, darling,” Tremonia said to her husband.
Normally, Westfalia liked this kind of thing with her parents, and she wanted to laugh, but in her current state all that came out was a small chuckle.
She could tell, however, that her parents were not quite ready to let her go either.
Instead of heading straight to security, the three of them went to a bakery and sat there for a few more minutes.
A few last, tense conversations.
But the inevitable came anyway.
A short while later, the three of them stood in front of the security checkpoint.
The point from which Westfalia had to continue alone.
The point at which nothing stood between her and goodbye anymore.
Her father stood to her left, her mother to her right.
Both looked far too composed, but Westfalia knew her parents well enough to know that they were not.
Her mother’s tail rarely gave her away, but now it did.
Westfalia had actually planned to make some casual joke.
Something like: “Well, I’ll try not to embarrass myself internationally.”
Or: “You’ll come pick me up again in two weeks when they throw me out for tripping Eishin Flash during training, right?”
None of that came out.
“Thank you,” she said instead, and her voice broke on the very first word.
Westfalia pressed her lips together, but it did not help.
The tears came anyway.
First hot in her eyes, then down her cheeks.
She wiped them away hastily, as though she could still undo them.
“T-thank you for everything…” she began, her voice trembling.
“Thank you for always being there for me… for letting me do this. Thank you for being my parents…”
Westfalia’s voice faltered again.
“Oh, Spätzchen,” Tremonia whispered.
“I-I’m going to miss you two,” Westfalia sobbed, and Tremonia immediately pulled her into her arms.
She held Westfalia warmly and firmly, one hand on her head between her ears, the other on her back.
Westfalia clung to her the way she had not done in years.
Her father wrapped his arms around both of them.
Westfalia sobbed again and hated herself for it.
Even though she was quite sensitive, she hated showing her emotions so openly.
But right now, she could not hide behind her sarcasm.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”
“No,” Tremonia interrupted in a firm voice. “You are absolutely not apologizing for that.”
For a moment, the three of them simply stood there and held one another.
Then Tremonia pulled back slightly and took Westfalia’s face in both hands.
Her own eyes were shining.
“Listen to me carefully,” she said.
“You’re not going there because you have to prove something to anyone. Not to me. Not to your father. Not to the DPMB. Not even to yourself. You’re going to Tracen because you want to run. Because you love what you do. Don’t forget that.”
Her father cleared his throat. His voice was rougher than usual, and his eyes were damp.
“You can always call us, you know that, right? No matter what the time difference says. Call, FaceTime, messages — anything. Whatever it is. Even if you just want to rant about a BVB loss.”
Now Westfalia did laugh through her tears, and then her father pulled her into his arms.
“We’re both so proud of you. Not only once you win something. Already. Right now.”
Westfalia said nothing, only nodded against his shoulder.
“I may not know as much about racing as you two” he said. “But I do know it would’ve been easier to stay and run G1s here in Germany.
But my daughter was never one for the easy path. It takes incredible courage to take this step and go to Japan, and I admire you for that courage, Wesfi.”
After a few moments, the embrace loosened, and Westfalia stood before her parents again.
She wiped her wet eyes.
“Make sure you take Mama to the stadium often enough. If I come back and my season ticket has cancelled, I’m finding myself new parents.”
Her father laughed, and her mother rolled her eyes.
Then Tremonia stepped in front of her once more and kissed her on the forehead.
“Run the way your heart wants you to, and as far as your legs will carry you. Become the Horsegirl you’re meant to be.“
Westfalia nodded.
Her father placed a hand on her head, carefully between her ears.
“And come back safe, Wesfi.”
Then Westfalia turned around and took two steps toward security.
Then she turned back one more time.
“Mama, Papa… I love you both.”
Her parents stood there, arm in arm.
“We love you too.”
And before Westfalia could start crying again, she turned around and walked toward the security checkpoint.