Chapter Text
Umamusume - Pink Revenge.
Racers, athletes, physical artists—call them what you will; Umamusume, the genetic pinnacle that dazzles the world with its speed in the most demanding races for female horses.
Some reach an astonishing speed of 80 km per hour, leaving indelible marks on the racetrack for those who fervently follow them.
They become national symbols—figures that history marks as unsurpassed, legendary, iconic, and exemplary, synonymous with “overcoming adversity,” “greatness,” and above all, “resilience.”
There are 1,989,900,000 Umamusume on the planet. Obviously, not all of them can cross that line that separates the stars who define the sport. These become mere, mortal horses.
For an Umamusume, speed is what defines her life, her character, her spirit, and her caliber: In short, if you’re a slow Umamusume, you’re nothing more than just another run-of-the-mill horse girl.
Simboly Rudolf, Oguri Cap, Gold Ship, Orfevre, El Condor Pasa, TM Ópera O, Almond Eye, Tokai Teio, Gentildona, and other great figures were crowned with the unstoppable spirit of Umamusume, breaking free from the ordinary.
All Umamusume aspire to greatness, and even though they train every day with enthusiasm and dedication, the cruel reality is that they won’t make it past the first few meters when their time comes.
History is cruel… but there are exceptions.
─No more… no more of this shit…
Moments when fate decides to take revenge on reality.
…
Act 1: The day the biggest loser got tired of losing.
Haru Urara was a mare born in Utafue Mitsuishi, Hokkaido, on February 27, 1996. She was sired by Nippo Teio. Despite being a capable horse with good bloodlines, no one was interested in buying her, so she was turned into a racehorse.
After losing more than 106 races, Haru Urara became a Japanese icon, earning the title of “the greatest star of all losers.” Beloved and acclaimed by the masses, her greatest achievements include only: a fifth-place finish in her debut race in Kōchi (1998) and her only win (2019) in the “Soft Girls” race for retired horses, where she took first place.
In the anime and “gacha” game *Umamusume: Pretty Derby*, she is portrayed as a sweet, pink-haired girl who gives it her all and has fun every time she races, despite always losing. The following story is an interpretation of Haru Urara’s career had she overcome her losing streak.
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Chapter 1: Pink Shell.
─That’s it…
─Coach… what do you mean by…?
─That’s it means that’s it. This isn’t going anywhere.
─…
─I know you’re trying your best, Urara, but you’ve given everything you possibly could. That’s enough for now.
─But coach… I…
─It’s okay. You can move on; I know you can do it—you’ve always been like that, Urara.
“I’ve always been like that.” Those are the words everyone tells me, and even though a smile forms perfectly on my face when I look at the people who say that to me…
Inside my chest, it hurts as if a thousand pins were being stuck in there, over and over again.
“Don’t give up,” “keep moving forward,” “we’ll beat the others,” “all together.”
Words of encouragement from my teammates at the academy, but they all moved on, left me behind, and kept dreaming without me.
I decided to dream on my own, but dreaming and dreaming over and over again, without any of those dreams ever coming true, is the most heart-wrenching suffering in life.
I smiled because I didn’t know what else to do… and sooner or later, they started treating me like a pet.
─ Urara-chan! You’re so cute! It doesn’t matter that you never win! We’re rooting for you!
I clung to those words as encouragement, but I never fully understood them, since I couldn’t bring myself to support myself despite all my effort.
When I least expected it, everyone loved me for something I never sought to be, for something I never dreamed of, for a reason so stupid it can’t even be described in an Umamusume.
─I’m… pathetic.
They started to love me because they could crush me without feeling bad about themselves.
Tears would stream down my face every time I lost, and a phantom frustration was always masked by my facade as a pretty girl with a heart of gold.
But in reality, I was rotting away—so much so that the training, the meals, the adventures, the camaraderie, and the dreams all faded away, leaving only a pink shell.
“I… I just want—I want to win just once in my life.”
It’s been two years since my debut—my greatest achievement…
Fifth place is my greatest achievement…
More than 20 races lost, from school races to low-level national competitions.
I’ve already lost three coaches. Each one had dreams and hopes for me, which are dashed time and time again as soon as they get to know the pink shell.
Haru Urara is nothing more than an Umamusume excuse. A mascot to be adored, a loser loved and yet despised by herself.
─Maybe… it’s time for me to give up.
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Just as in the racing world, there are legends that have transcended the world of Umamusume. The public has its own legends.
Certainly, there are those who blindly adore horse racing as a way to get through a difficult time, a simple weekend pastime, or a source of inspiration.
But for others, it’s a business: sponsors, commercial infrastructure, merchandising, and a commercial future.
And for those who are becoming more and more immersed in the world of Umamusume, the pinnacle of the racing experience lies neither in the dreams nor the hopes of the racehorses.
Rather, it lies in the winnings from betting.
Betting.
The real reason why an international structure exists that maintains the prestige of horse racing.
Money—the power that comes with being a famous winner in any national Umamusume association. The winnings—the means of support after their imminent retirement from competition.
Among the legends of the public, there is a famous bettor who, for the past five years of special-grade races—from G3, G2, and of course G1—has never lost a bet.
No one knows who he is, where he comes from, or what he really wants. The truth is that he has amassed such a fortune that it would come as no surprise to learn he lives very close to the Umamusume training academy.
This is the legend of KyoKyo-san. “Zero on the Right”—so named because each of her bets adds another zero to her list of infinite winnings.
KyoKyo-san appeared at every decisive moment—at every Japanese Derby, whenever there was doubt about the favorites—and never once made a wrong decision. A prodigy who seems to have been a trainer in a past life; beyond that, nothing is known.
KyoKyo-san. The legend, another enigmatic figure who doesn’t fit into the everyday lives of fans right now…
─ I swear I’ll pay you the rent next month! I’m strapped for cash right now, but I really promise—please don’t kick me out of the apartment!
She’s on her hands and knees in front of her landlord, having put off paying her rent for four months.
─It’s been four months now, Kiki-san. You should break free from this captivity and start looking for a job instead of continuing to bet on those stupid races—
─ THEY’RE NOT STUPID! They’ve supported my family’s future ever since I was a little filly this big.
Kiki-san’s hands framed the size of one next to the other, making it look cute, referring to how big she was when she was a preschooler.
However, that meant nothing to her landlord, who had to put up with his tenants’ complaints about the exasperating screams of the “girl upstairs,” who, given her ridiculous obsession with Umamusume races, ended up causing a ruckus.
“Kiki-san, you’re a disgusting hikikomori and Umamusume otaku… aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“Ouch!”
It was a critical setback for the 32-year-old mare, Kiki Wonder, who was never able to make it big in the racing world due to her extreme clumsiness—a result of being raised in the city, not in the countryside like the vast majority of promising Umamusume.
─ “And what do you think of this! The next G3 race is in a month and a half. I know that race will make me a lot of money—enough to pay four months’ rent plus the fifth month, along with some extra interest. Just give me until then! Please! I’m begging you.”
The dogeza became increasingly intense, to the point that Kiki-san began slamming herself repeatedly and violently against the floor.
─ ENOUGH!!! ENOUGH!!! I get it, I get it. Ahhh, I’m not surprised your husband left you—just look at the inside of your house, Wonder-san. Do you promise it’ll be the five months plus interest?
Kiki’s face shot up, her eyes shining—though ringed with dark circles and covered in disgusting eye gunk—yet revealing a fierce determination.
“I promise! Now get out of here—I’m too busy!”
The elderly owner of the apartment complex merely looked at her with a dismissive expression upon hearing those words, but very deep down, he knew that Umamusume’s promises were true.
During the six years she’d been renting the space, complaints from the neighbors had been mounting because of the ridiculous screams that erupted during the broadcast of certain Umamusume races.
This caught the landlord’s attention, and, wisely, he investigated before giving his strange tenant—who had once arrived with a small mare and a man—a thorough scolding…
Sooner or later, those two disappeared, leaving her alone; however, not a single day went by without the screaming.
Her screams were intense and full of rage, then full of excitement and joy, and culminated in a string of nonsense, as she praised herself for being so intelligent.
The owner of the facility had blind faith in that detestable horse with no future, because sooner or later those cries revealed to him that she was a sure bet.
He would deliberately forget to send the payment notices so that the tenant would forget to pay them, and every few months he would show up with threats of eviction to collect interest that he wasn’t legally entitled to charge—but it remained a financial arrangement between him and Kiki-Wonder-san.
He saved that extra money for his upcoming retirement, and Kiki-san was his little personal gold mine.
That was the true legend of “KyoKyo-san.”
Right now, she’s in the shower, clutching her head and crying inconsolably because she knows she’ll once again lose all her earnings to pay the expensive rent on the apartment near the Tracen Academy facilities.
The sound of the shower washed away most of Kiki-san’s tears, only for her to continue dwelling on her latest bad decisions.
“Now I’ve really screwed up… You fucking old man! Isn’t it enough that you own a 10-story building! Ugh… this month and the next and the next… and the next, I have to pay alimony…”
She threw her hands over her face as she arched her entire naked body backward, her still-wet tail wagging disconsolately in a sign of despair.
“I’ll be back to zero again… even so, that race is my only chance; it looks like they’ve banned me from betting on the German derbies. Ha, hahaha, the best 10 million dollars of my life—minus taxes, of course.”
Still laughing at her own stupid behavior, she stepped out of the shower, nonchalantly scratching her ass as she looked for her bathrobe.
─Even so, half of that went down the drain on beer and tickets to the Twinkle Series, not to mention this expensive private investigation. Ahhh, you have a tough life—zero on the right.
With her robe securely on, she headed to her kitchen, surrounded by unwashed dishes and trash bags piled up in every square centimeter. She opened the fridge and took out a beer, wiped the top of the bottle, and opened it with a flourish that would leave any drunk in awe.
*Clifff*
“That’s what we Umamusume have our tails for, yes sir.”
Kiki-san had opened thousands of beers with her tail—an action that had cost her social relationships; it was a very bad habit.
“Anyway, anyway, it’s time to get down to studying.”
Walking down a small, dimly lit hallway that only hinted at a room a little further away than usual, Kiki-san removed the towel from her head and began to twist it into a small bun, creating a perfect updo.
“Hehehe… My little gold mine will be here again for this G3. I hope to see you lose again, little Haru Urara-chan. Hahaha…”
The Umamusume’s chilling words were accompanied by small sips of her beer. Her emotions were completely at odds when she talked about horse racing.
In this case, upon entering “that room,”
it was implied that the world of the betting legend was one of chaos, where emotional turmoil and unscrupulous practices simply disrupted the harmony of strict Japanese society.
“Maybe I’ll even manage to earn the hatred of those JRA idiots who’ve been losing millions because of me. All in all, let’s just get started with this.”
In the “room,” things were changing.
“His drive in life is directly linked to his family, who run a small language school.” Her mother, who never had the chance to enter a G1 competition due to a severe fracture in her left leg, took advantage of her trips abroad to start a language school.
The four walls were lined with touchscreens. Each emitted a bright blue light, and many displayed data, complex symbols, and parts of an Umamusume’s body.
─The competitor Eleven Sheep wishes to race in the Arc de Triomphe to bring greater fame to her parents’ academy and thereby improve her quality of life. Her finances are strained by the high tuition at Tracen Academy.
─Well, there you go, you shitty principal…
A few whiteboards hung from the ceiling. The amount of data contained within those long pieces of plastic could only be summed up as “possibilities.”
─Her training is lacking, but her coach is confident that her start is always flawless, and the way she surges ahead in the 400-meter splits before the finish line yields very attractive average gains; however…
Photos, documents, stationery, tables, and graphs littered the floor of the room, which otherwise contained nothing but a small two-drawer desk and an ergonomic chair.
“IT’S NOT ENOUGH! Her stamina management is so mediocre that she could be outperformed by a rigorous strategy focused on becoming a finisher, but her coach is a stupid dreamer…”
A large trash can in the front left corner was filled with water bottles and beer cans, along with countless scraps of paper covered in scribbles and ideas.
─In short, contestant 6, Eleven Sheep, is out of the running for the top 5; her ranking falls between runners 6 and 9.
She looked around, placing various photographs that had been sold to her by her contacts within the academy, and creating diagrams based on her training data.
Her tenacity was extraordinary as she replayed the various recordings of competitors—who were set to participate in the upcoming races where she would be betting—more than a thousand times.
─With that, we have an overview of the top 9 Umamusume and their odds of winning.
Kiki-san put her legs up on her desk and leaned back abruptly, making it clear that she’d finished analyzing her work way ahead of schedule… she’d gotten bored.
─Finally, it’s you… Urara-chan, my little gold mine.
With an image of Haru Urara on her monitor on the right-hand side of the room, she could only stare at the ceiling and casually toss her empty beer can onto the floor.
“You just… you just have to run like you always do… It must be tough being the worst Umamusume in the Japanese league, right? Always underrated.”
Kiki-san’s eyes focused on a small patch of mold on the ceiling. She recalled the countless times she had analyzed Haru Urara.
Like a patch of mold, she clings tightly to a cozy environment and creates an aura of insecurity around her.
“I should pay that old man less because of the terrible condition of this apartment.
But deep down, the mold is just the result of poor humidity management, which, if not addressed in time, will eventually eat away at the entire structure and cause it to collapse.
“It’s impossible for an Umamusume to lose forever… you’re just surrounding yourself with mold, you idiot.”
That was Kiki-San’s thought after concluding that Haru Urara—or, as she called her, “her gold mine”—wasn’t so different from a patch of mold.
One of the screens displayed real-time news on the political, weather, and economic conditions in the region where the races Kiki-san would be betting on were taking place.
In this case, the Golden Week Festival Prix—a G3 race scheduled for April 10 of this year at the Saitama Racecourse—was showing promising signs of optimal conditions for racing on turf.
The financial stability of the organizers, combined with a crowd cheering on two of the competitors—Gogo Strike and Haru Urara—creates the perfect atmosphere for the perfect bet.
Kiki-san would bet on the unexpected competitor number 3, Magno Star, in this race. Although Magno Star has only competed in two Junior-level races, she has a special advantage.
Not only is her starting technique quite precise, but she also knows how to position herself correctly based on the available space on the track. In this case, the barrier is completely separated from the other competitors, and taking the inside lane is a risky move that could cause an accident.
The 13 competitors alongside her are less likely to win; what’s important about choosing Magno Star isn’t just her positioning skills.
─The way Haru Urara moves and the commotion caused by the crowd will encourage the others to step up their pace, forcing Gogo Strike to move up in position, despite being a natural finisher.
The conclusion of the race analysis is that Gogo Strike’s stamina will run out sooner than expected, leaving her trailing behind the front-runner. This is due to her trainer’s lack of judgment—he prioritizes his faith in his Umamusume over reason. This would clear the middle of the pack, opening the way for Magno Star.
─She wouldn’t waste that opportunity, not to mention that, although her friend Eleven Sheep’s situation is worrisome, she couldn’t care less… She loves winning races.
Kyokyo-san was no fortune-teller. Her obsession with determining the future of the Umamusume and their races had become her own modus operandi, and now she couldn’t help herself.
─Magno Star has a 93% chance of winning in a potential head-to-head matchup with No. 11, who hasn’t worked on her stamina at all in a mile race.
The bet was set. A month and a half before the start of the competition.
─And I could only win huge amounts of cash, thanks to you, little Moho.
Kiki-san knew the odds would be in Urara’s favor, given her growing popularity in the races, not to mention that Gogo Strike was Saitama’s rising star.
Bet, bet, and bet again—always the same cycle. Betting was everything. For KyoKyo-chan, it was…
─It’s a shame…
But for Kiki-Wonder, the fact that a rising star had lost was, without a doubt, a sad thing.
“I think I’ll have to smoke to calm these shitty nerves—”
Before she could finish her sentence, one of the screens displaying the latest news from the world of Japanese league competitions and the Tracen Academy left Kiki-san wide-eyed.
[Confirmed] Haru Urara’s third coach, Yoishita Makuro, is jumping ship. He says he isn’t up to the task of meeting expectations. It’s possible that the Saitama Golden Week Prix will be ruled out as Haru Urara’s next race.
─You’ve got to be kidding me…
There was a sudden crash as Kiki-san’s chair slammed loudly against the floor. She could only jump to her feet abruptly, dropping not only the chair but also her robe, leaving her naked and exposed in that situation.
─ DON’T FUCK WITH ME! DON’T FUCK WITH ME! YOU’RE JUST TRYING TO PISS ME OFF, AREN’T YOU?!
[The contestant in question left us a comment] “Hahaha, it’s really sad, but I can’t do anything but keep trying… maybe it’s time for me to go home.”
Go home?
─¿Hokkaido?
─Are you trying to ruin me? What happened to never giving up and having fun in the races? You fucking cowardly mare! ¡¿Do you need a trainer?! ¡JUST FIND ANOTHER ONE, YOU USELESS BITCH!
Her fury was evident in the outbursts and repeated screams she hurled at the monitor, as she thrashed about naked, almost as if in an emotional breakdown.
─So the time has come, hasn’t it? For you to retire and go to hell with the rest of those second-rate horses, just like what happened to me—that’s it, isn’t it?!
Beyond that, Kiki-san had a deal with the bookie, and there was no other major race she could bet on before the agreed-upon date.
She was banned from betting centers in the United States, Paris, Germany, and the United Kingdom; her main sources of income came from those leagues.
In the Japanese league, she was an undisputed legend, and eliminating her would have seemed like it was done purely for financial gain—something the Japanese public would have strongly criticized.
That’s why she could only bet methodically on certain races and at certain intervals in the Japanese league. The advantage of this was that it was easier and cheaper to analyze the competitors.
The race featuring Gogo Strike, Eleven Sheep, and Magno Star would be completely ruined by Haru Urara’s absence.
The excitement and the emotional and financial support generated by that particular Umamusume were what gave the bet its strength. Without her, the plan would fall apart, and he’d barely be able to pay the rent with his winnings.
─ Shit! FUCKING SHIT! FUCK YOU, YOU COWARD, YOISHITA!
*PONK PONK PONK*
Loud thumping came from downstairs. The neighbors were angry again because of the commotion Kiki was causing.
─Ah…
She calmed down and began to weigh her options before reaching for that old katana she’d been given by an old acquaintance, intending to perform seppuku sooner than planned.
“Fine… fine, damn fine… all right, Kyokyo-san, this isn’t the first time you’ve been in a bind. She’ll find another coach, right? Another coach! MID-SEASON!”
It was inevitable; no one would take on the role of coach mid-season. Beyond that, after three coaches had left Haru Urara’s company, no one else would want to be her coach.
It was like a cursed horse, but no one wanted to say so.
“This is hell! Ura and Tracen can go eat shit! How am I supposed to pay the rent?!”
Kiki-san was running around like a headless chicken, naked throughout the apartment, trying to rack her brain for a quick solution given how little time she had left before the race.
“Maybe if someone gets hurt before… No!” No, that’s not going to happen, Kiki! Are you crazy?! We’re not going to hit anyone with a baseball bat! What if we bet on the Canadian leagues?
She was utterly desperate.
Time was running out. Her weeks of work were going to be wasted just because Haru Urara couldn’t find a coach.
─So…
In Kiki-san’s mind, the most effective solutions were those that fell within a range of nearby possibilities and didn’t involve any major complications, which is why…
─Oh my God…
This would be the most complex move the famous KyoKyo-san would ever make in her entire career as a professional gambler.
─Shit… I hope that piece of paper is around here somewhere.
to be continued.