Chapter Text
The shower felt... nice. A rain of droplets streamed from above—an insurmountable barrage that Seiji welcomed without hesitation. He normally liked it hot, but right now he didn’t mind letting the cold water run along his back. It was just what he needed after an exhausting day. His eyes were closed as he bent his neck backwards, meeting the volley of droplets face-first. The cool water crashing against him was refreshing; it reminded him of—
—her feet kicking against the earth as she dashed forward. The wind was flowing past her, howling against her form as she gained momentum. The ever-changing scenery in her eyes—a high-speed slideshow of color and emotion—
He quickly shut the faucet off, eyes open wide.
It reminded him of nothing in particular.
He kept repeating those words to himself as he stepped out of the shower. The water that was rolling off his back and glistening on his skin reminded her of sweat after a hard long day of running—
He shut his eyes tight, a sharp inhale escaping his mouth. With gritted teeth, he shook his head and grabbed his towel that hung from the wall. The breaths he took as he dried himself off were short and shaky.
Nothing. In. Particular.
Night eventually fell. His apartment’s ceiling was painted a pure white, making it the ideal canvas for his mind to paint on as he lay in bed. Every time the back of his eyelids showed him those tantalizing sights when he tried to sleep, he would open his eyes, then immediately close them back.
He ignored the tightness in his right hand like always.
“Thank you for waiting! Here’s your katsu curry.”
“No carrots?”
“No carrots. No apples, either!”
“Thank you very much.”
It wasn’t the first time this exchange between waitress and customer had happened, and if Seiji had any say in it, it certainly wouldn’t be the last. After the waitress left the table, he looked at the plate before him: sliced potatoes and onions flooded by curry sauce on one side, and a clot of perfectly sticky white rice on the other. A chicken cutlet was placed vertically in the center, having been cut further into horizontal slices. If the aroma alone hadn’t made his mouth water, this sight certainly would have!
“Itadakimasu!”
With both a spoon and a fork in his hand, he dug into the meal with care, savoring everything it offered, the chatter from the other customers fading into the background. The rice was perfectly fluffy, with only a very slight chewiness to it. The curry sauce was both sweet and savory, and the vegetables absorbing its umami packed a burst of flavor in every bite. And the katsu... oh, the katsu! The crunchy panko breading gave way to tender chicken meat; he was positive you couldn't have one without the other! The only thing that could make things better was if a Certain Someone could stop staring at him.
After taking a look at his now-empty plate with satisfaction, his lips curved downwards as he squinted at his sister across the table. “Do you mind?”
The smug woman simply kept being smug, smugly sweeping her hair behind her ear as she maintained her smugness. “Juuuuuust a bit.”
“Why didn’t you order anything?”
“Because I’ve already eaten, duh. Right now, I’m just enjoying myself seeing you enjoying yourself. It’s like... trickle-down economics.”
He blinked, eyes still narrowed. “…You actually believe that sort of thing?”
“Of course not!” She cried out, raising her hands placatingly as she leaned back, “Just a completely different version of it that actually exists. The proof? It’s happening right now. I'd be even happier if you hadn't skipped the carrots, though. Skimping on your veggies?” She crossed her arms as she made a show of shaking her head, frowning. “For shame, Sei, for shame. They're good for your eyesight, you know? At least you remembered to thank the waitress.”
“I can do whatever I want with my food, Keiko.”
She put the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, woe is me! My own flesh and blood hath become rebellious and rowdy!” The hand went lower as she wiped away an imaginary tear. “How tragic.”
“The real tragedy is you acting like you're five years younger than me rather than the other way around,” he said before pointing his fork at her. “That means I'm calling you childish, by the way.”
“Good,” she shot back without hesitation. “That definitely beats being a grumpy old fart telling those darn kids to get off the lawn. Speaking of,” she smirked as she scratched her chin, “you haven't grown any gray hairs, have you?”
Seiji rolled his eyes. “No. But if that does happen, I already know who to blame.”
“Come on, what’s wrong with a little light ribbing?” Her eyes suddenly shifted their focus away from Seiji, hand still on her chin. “That reminds me, the sign outside said they just added ribs to the menu, I could go for some sometime—”
“Not with our current savings, you're not.”
Keiko waved him off. “Relax, Sei, I’m not gonna splurge immediately! Again, sometime.”
He could only raise an eyebrow at that. “And when is this ‘sometime’, hm?“ he asked.
There was a brief pause—a few seconds of silence that stood out glaringly among the bits of banter. And then—
“After I get my first paycheck from Tracen, I guess,” she answered. The way she said it was nonchalant, but the goading look she was giving him told another story entirely.
Seiji’s eyes went as wide as his crumb-free plate. “Wait. You don't mean…”
“Yeah.“ She gave a quick but vigorous nod. “I passed. I actually passed!”
He pulled out his phone without missing a beat, its screen waking in an instant. He quickly gave it a few taps—fingerprint, browser, then bookmark—and zeroed in on one face among several. Right below the professional head shot was a name: Keiko Hongo.
“You… you did it. You actually…” A smile found its way onto his face as he shook his head, releasing a breath he didn't know he had been holding. “Truly, it is a privilege for me to be mocked by one of Tracen’s up-and-coming trai—” He held his tongue—no, no, this wasn't the time to be witty, he thought—and maintained his smile. “I'm happy for you, Keiko,” he said, the words coming out of his mouth genuine instead of convenient, “I really, really am.”
She gave a smile of her own. “Yeah, I know.” The way she said it wasn't dismissive, nor was it tired. It was… matter-of-fact. She then spread her arms wide, immediately switching gears. “Now c’mon, give your big sis a biiiiiig hug!”
“…I don’t think any of the staff will appreciate either of us climbing on the table, let alone tolerate.”
“I’m sure Megumi’d be able to vouch for us.”
“She wouldn’t. Besides, she only does shifts on weekdays.”
Keiko put a hand to her chin once again. “You do have a point...” she said, trailing off into her thoughts—a trail that was upended only a few seconds later as she shrugged. “But enough about her! Or me!” Her hand shot forward, palm up as she winked at Seiji, seemingly inviting him to an imaginary stage. “How’s my favorite [artiste] doing?”
His first instinct was to sigh. “Work has been steady. And ‘[artiste]’ isn’t just a fancy way of saying ‘[artist]’, you know,” he answered. “It specifically refers to professional entertainers, like singers or dancers.”
“Even so!” she said, still smiling, “I’m sure you could sing and dance like crazy if you put your mind to it.”
“Why yes, they certainly would send me to the asylum if I did that.”
“Really? Straight for the self-sabotage?” The smile on Keiko’s lips faded. For once, the stare she gave him was flat and unexaggerated. “Veeeery funny.”
“I agree. Me, singing and dancing? Perish the thought.”
He tried not to notice his right hand twitching ever so slightly.
Now it was his sister's turn to sigh. “You gotta have more confidence in yourself, Sei. I don’t know what's eating at you, but being humble doesn't mean a lick if your self esteem’s down in the dumps.”
“What are you talking about? I have confidence in spades, I wouldn't be drawing for other people if I didn't.”
“Not what I meant, and you know that. Look, I know I get on your nerves sometimes, but if you wanna get real…” She furrowed her brow, her lips compressed into a straight line. “I can make time for a talk; you can tell me whatever it is that's been keeping you down without me dicking around. That's a promise.”
‘It’s fine.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘There’s nothing to worry about.’
Seiji’s mind had already come up with a few possible answers by the time Keiko tossed the ball into his court, and a part of him didn't want to use any of them. The tone of her voice when she spoke wasn’t matter-of-fact; it was practically bleeding concern and compassion. And that was without getting into the near-pleading look in her eyes.
She was inviting him again. This time, it wasn’t for laughs.
What a merciless weapon, he thought, despite knowing full well it was an attempt at mercy.
“Maybe sometime.” He tried not to come off as dismissive as he said his answer. He knew that that alone wouldn't be enough to shift the conversation, so he switched the topic. “Again, congratulations on the job, Keiko. Mom and Dad… would have been proud.” Was he being too quick with his delivery? Or too loud? He had no time to consider that. What he did know was that this deflection was as flimsy as the last one.
She kept her eyes on him for a few seconds before they closed. “Maybe,” she whispered in a hushed tone, the first and only time she had done so in their entire conversation. “Maybe.”
Was she referring to his answer or to the mention of their parents? He didn’t know.
He didn’t want to, either.
Seiji's room was a mess; both he and his sister agreed on that. What they disagreed on was whether to call it cluttered or not. Keiko once compared it to playing Minesweeper on the highest difficulty, which he also disagreed with; he didn't need the help of any numbers or flags. After all, he knew every nook and cranny like the back of his hand.
Said hand was currently holding a stylus pen, the newly replaced tip scratching against the drawing tablet it belonged to as it moved. As the pen was lifted, his other hand reached for the button he had programmed to undo. Between those two moments, his eyes had registered the drawn line on the monitor in front of him; it was unsatisfying, so it had to go. The pen met the tablet’s surface again.
His current commisson was to draw a well-known umamusume—the task of finding references of her from various angles was a cinch—who made her mark on Japan’s uma racing history with seven G1 wins under her belt, including the Triple Crown. The ‘Emperor’, they called her.
She was still a part of the sport’s administrative side as the student council president of the Japan Umamusume Training Center Academy, but that currently meant little to him, although he did briefly worry about Keiko making a bad first impression on both her and Tracen’s chairwoman with her antics. In the end, he knew he was worried for nothing. His sister could get serious when she wanted to, as their dinner that evening had shown.
As he leaned back in his chair, Seiji took the chance to take a couple of deep breaths. He had made a decent amount of progress on the commission. As a sketch, it was basically finished. The next step was, of course, to fill in the details.
He decided to begin with the Emperor's clothes. Unlike the folktale, they were very much real, and the praise people gave them were genuine. The jacket she donned was the most prominent aspect of her appearance, so he started there. It was mainly dark green, its adornments breaking that dominant color up with their own hues—the gold of the patterns on the sleeves, for example. Or the silver of the buttons, some medals, and the buckle that was the centerpiece of a light brown belt. Other parts of the outfit used different shades of brown, like the sash that went over the jacket and the metal-tipped cord that was worn over the shoulder—an aiguillette, he believed it was called.
That aiguilette shared a shoulder with a fringed pad which bore yet another shade of brown and another name he would have never gotten right without a web search: an epaulette. It was complemented by what he considered to be his favorite part of the Emperor’s racewear: the red cape. It may not have been full-sized like the ones he saw in various manga, but it sparked his imagination all the same. He wondered what it would be like to have one flowing behind her as she ran. Would she be able to feel it flapping in the wind? Would it tug at her shoulders? Would that be unpleasant or thrilli—
He shook his head, eyes darting; he needed to focus on something else, like maybe her eyes—
—that were fiercely glaring at any obstacle that got in the way between her and her rightful place: the throne. Her glare was wild, but not savage; it was controlled. It commanded respect, for those eyes belonged to the Emperor. It was like a part of her spirit had been embedded into the drawing… or maybe she was just seeing things. Either way, as she looked into those sketched eyes, she felt not fear, but curiosity.
What did she herself look like from the outside while running? Did her eyes command respect like any respectable ruler’s would? Or were they untamed, reflecting whatever savagery lay within her soul as she pushed forward against everything: the competition, the wind, the odds—
He was looking at nothing in particular and he was thinking of nothing in particular. Nothing in particular. Nothing in particular. Nothing in particular nothing in particular nothinginparticular—
“Nothing!” Seiji yelled out to an audience of one: himself. His body was sweating despite the air conditioning, his breathing had become erratic, and his hand was twitching again. He didn’t close his eyes; he was staring down at the floor, his stylus rolling away from him.
He needed to take his mind off of things.
He needed to take a walk.
Not a jog, not a run—just a walk.
Seiji walked under the street lamps alone, sporting the orange hoodie he wore just in case something happened; the hood had already been pulled over his head before he stepped out of the house, its drawstrings having been tied tightly. It was bright, loud, and an eyesore to look at. His opinion of it had never changed ever since he first laid his eyes on the thing. It ate a majority of his allowance at the time—a purchase that was both secret and spontaneous.
His hands were in its pockets as he watched his feet move. Right, left, right, left, right, left—he supposed it was something that he found enjoyment in, especially when his right foot took the last step before he stopped at whatever his destination was. Tonight’s destination, like many nights before, was nowhere.
He took a closer look at his shoes: they were in good condition. Back then, his parents would praise him for keeping them like that; they would always remark that they looked practically brand new. That was because they were.
His hoodie was far from the only secret purchase he made, although he made sure his urges wouldn’t get the best of him for more than once a month. Nevertheless, it always took a sizable chunk of his monthly allowance without fail, and this month had been no exception. He once briefly entertained the idea of getting racing shoes meant for umamusume, but he quickly shut it down. They weren’t meant for him, after all. Not one bit.
He continued to walk, his breathing composed. His mind wandered from one place to the next without much time spent on any of them, not unlike his body. This was… right, he thought. It was the way things should be. He didn't need to worry about anything; his work was steady, and Keiko had landed a prestigious job. He was sure that their parents would have approved of both of them, even considering the subject matter. He could imagine them expressing their sympathies, following it up with a lecture on learning to live with ‘undesirable factors’ in the job market, and then ending it with a plea to ‘look out’.
He didn't want to think about whether that was right or wrong. All he wanted to do was to walk—right, left, right, left, right, left…
His mind sunk like a stone into numbing bliss. Or at least, it would have.
A noise stood out from the nighttime ambience he was used to, and his head turned to the direction it was coming from. Just before his head stopped turning, he realized what the noise exactly was: the sound of crying.
His eyes found two umamusume in the distance, standing in the middle of a track. One of them stood tall and proud, basking in the moonlight and literally looking down on the other.
“I know losing sucks, but do you have to be such a crybaby about it?” the first one asked—rhetorically, no doubt—before sighing. “Well, at least you know your place.”
The voice she used was playful, but it was nothing like when Keiko used the same tone. If he had to describe it, it sounded like that of a sore winner’s.
The other uma didn't say anything—not verbally, at least. Her head was downcast, obscuring her face from Seiji’s view, although he didn't need to see it to tell how she was faring; the barely restrained sobbing said it all.
He moved his gaze back to the prideful uma and noticed something in her hand. It was barely noticeable within her grip, but the light from both the moon and the lamps reflected off whatever material it was made of.
He continued to stare from afar just as the uma sitting on the ground continued to cry, her legs splayed apart.
“It's all on you, really. I mean, you could've just said no to my challenge. Was that really so hard to do? But you didn't, and now you've lost both the race and—” She held out her hand and loosened its grip, showing off a metal emblem of a carrot hanging by a chain of tiny silver beads—a necklace. “—whatever this thing’s supposed to be.”
She didn't answer. She just kept crying.
…This wasn't right.
His parents told him many things, and one of them was to help people. Donating to charity, giving up your seat to someone who needs it more… helping the crying uma would be no different. He had to do something, but what? He could walk in and try to intervene, but it wasn’t like he could return her keepsake to her, be it by persuasion or force. There was, of course, another possible course of action: he could do that.
He pulled his hands out of his pockets. He never thought he would have ever considered something like this, especially after everything he had done to push it away. But this wasn't ‘nothing in particular’ now, was it? It was something.
Something important.
Seiji’s right hand started to twitch once more.
The street lamp above him started flickering at the same time.
Bright, dark, bright, dark—it kept going back and forth between the two states, seemingly in sync with his hand.
Every other time the light shined on him, he could feel the differences.
Ears postioned closer to the top of his head rather than the sides. Something sticking out slightly above his bottom. Strength coming out of nowhere.
His hand continued to twitch, quickening by the second, along with the flickering lamp.
A weight on his chest. A slower heartbeat. A sudden hunger.
They continued to pick up the pace, increasing in speed until—
—she clenched her hand into a fist, grasping something that only she knew.