“Attention please. The Super Express Hayabusa number 235, bound for Tokyo, is now boarding at platform number 14.”

  Normcore abruptly stands. The station bustles around her with a droning, muffled chatter, though her head pounded with a feverish rage. She was forced to wake at six for the trip given that she had a four hour ride ahead of her, though Masaru had surprisingly agreed to come along.

  “You don’t look fit to race, Norm.”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, the sound of a soul escaping the mortal constraints of its body. She kept repeating the phrase over and over- at the academy, on the taxi ride, through the gates of the station, and now, as she stiffly lumbered towards the platform; as if she could wish it into existence and somehow convince herself she was fine. One of her ears was permanently stuck drooping to the side, the other buried in a bird’s nest of frayed silver locks. She hadn’t even properly combed it.

  “Well, it’s too late to cancel now.” Masaru was, by far, the one in better condition. She was beyond the point of mad or exasperation, picking up Norm’s suitcase with the quiet resignation that her friend had simply decided to jump off a cliff into pure lunacy. Some part of her still wonders if she should’ve stopped Norm when she made the decision. Another part of her wonders if it would’ve even made a difference, and the last part tells her to simply go along with it.

  “Thanks, Saru.” Norm gazes into the distance with a thousand-yard stare.

  “No thanks to the academy.” Masaru replies with a bitter chuckle. “Nobody ever came and looked after you after Kentaro got the sack, and now they’ve just let us both waltz out of the gate without so much a-”

  “You two.” A stern voice comes from behind the two, causing them to freeze. “This is absolutely unacceptable.”

  Masaru’s eyes widen- She didn’t expect him of all people to show up here. Norm’s ears perk up slightly in joint recognition, though it was more in surprise than fear. The two turn in unison to find Goutarou standing at the terminal, a look in his eyes that made Masaru’s blood run cold.

  “I am not impressed. Especially with you.” He turns his gaze to Masaru, who immediately shrinks with a whimper. “You should’ve known better. The both of you- should’ve known better. An unauthorized departure of school premises for a race across the country is a liability neither of you can afford to handle. I am, to put it bluntly, very, very disappointed.”

  His voice was not loud. He did not shout like Kentaro, but there was a hint of anger catching in his voice that made Normcore’s head pinball with second thoughts.

  “Have you considered the implications of two minors travelling across the country without a chaperone? Where did it get into either of your heads that this was a good idea?”

  The two slowly look at each other, then back at Goutarou, neither able to meet his gaze. Masaru opened her mouth, but there was no response. There was, well, no answer.

  “After Takahashi was suspended, I submitted the requisite forms to assume temporary oversight. The principal, preoccupied with containing a possible scandal, failed to approve them. I operated on the assumption that even without formal authorization, one of you would recognize the necessity of assistance and seek guidance with me, or to give up on the notion of running a National-level race in lieu of a trainer’s assistance. It seems my faith in your judgments were severely misplaced.”

  Normcore shuffles uncomfortably on her feet, her gaze hung low. She slowly pulls her suitcase up to her chest, trying to cover the burning sensation in her face.

  “For a week, I watched from the sidelines to see how either of you would operate on your own. I believed that not intruding in the time of a delicate matter like this, to trust in the system, would let you heal from the damage Kentaro has caused. It appears that I was wrong. You have, in your self-contained impulsive delusion, sought to prove his philosophy wrong in the most destructive way possible.”

  Goutarou slowly pushes his glasses in, a glint of sunlight catching in the lens and turning them opaque. The two gulp in unison, awaiting his verdict, Normcore already mentally taking her luggage back through the terminal knowing the gig was up.

  “However irresponsible this decision is, it is yours to make.” He finally speaks up with a loud, profound sigh. “While I am highly disapproving of this course of action, I cannot, and will not change your mind. While the wisest decision is to not be where we are today, the time to make the correct one has long since been behind us. I will respect your choice the same way I have honored Katsura’s wish to stay at this academy.”

  Normcore blinks slowly- she wasn’t quite sure what to do now. Slowly she raises a finger, pointing towards herself, then at the terminal gate, before tilting her head as if to ask permission.

  “Go.” He responds tersely. “Watching you two willingly walk into disaster is a responsibility which ultimately lies upon my shoulder. I will not see it happen.”

  Without another word, he picks up his suitcase, briskly walks past the two, and heads towards the boarding terminal. The two look at each other, bewildered, before scurrying after his retreating silhouette.

  The Shinkansen briskly whistles past trees and open fields in a blur. Goutarou was three rows ahead of the duo, typing into his laptop. Masaru wakes from her nap and turns towards Norm, only to realize she had turned even paler than she had been this morning.

  “A-Are you alright?”

  “Train sickness.” Norm mutters, burying her face in her arms whilst lying through her teeth. She turns to look out the window, letting out a low groan in the process. “It’ll get better once I get off. I promise.”

  Her body’s protesting sounds were masked by the low, constant hum of the train, a bass note beneath the gentle hiss of air conditioning.

  “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t think this is a good idea anymore.” Masaru frantically nudges her. “Maybe we should get off at Tokyo and not board the connection for Osaka. You’re sick.”

  “No. It’s fine.” The vibrations of the train seemed to travel right through her. She presses her forehead harder against the plastic of the tabletop as if to steady the spinning in her head. “We’ve come too far. I’m not going back now.”

  “Are you worried about the race? Look, we can always tell the JRA you got sick and I’m sure they’ll understand…” The soft ding of a passing food cart further down the aisle punctuates Masaru’s plea, a cheerful sound that felt utterly alien to their tense little bubble.

  “He believes in me, Saru.” Norm finally manages to pull her head up, her blue eyes bearing deep into Masaru’s. “I don’t want that to be for nothing. If he wanted, he could’ve easily dragged us both back. He didn’t.”

  “I’m sure he would agree that you should turn back!” Masaru snaps back, a little too loud. Several passengers in the cabin turn, Masaru’s hair puffing out frantically as she turns a light shade of red. The two frantically look towards Goutarou, though the man was entrenched in his work.

  “I-I mean…” Masaru’s voice drops to a frantic hiss. “Look, I won’t stop you if you insist, but you really don’t look the best right now.”

  “No. I’m fine. I’ll get through it. I’ve been through worse.” Norm’s voice was thin, a thread of defiance stretched taut over exhaustion. She reaches a trembling hand for the miniature bottle of water in the seatback pocket before taking a gulp, the plastic crinkling loudly in the cabin. Her eyes were fixated with a determination that Masaru could only describe as the cold, burning fire of a madman, and she decided it wasn’t worth it to press more.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  The train hisses to a stop at Tokyo. Normcore stumbles out on two legs, a bottle of water, and four biscuits; crashing into a nearby wall with her vision swimming.

  “Norm?!”

  She bounces back almost as quickly, letting out a whimpering stretch before ignoring Masaru’s shriek and turning towards the next terminal. The familiar sight of the station comes into view, a bustling behemoth of a transportation center packed to the brim with travelers. She could practically see Tracen now, the academy majestically perched atop a hill to the right of the station. Her eyes glimmer brightly as she wistfully gaze into the distance, only to be abruptly interrupted by Masaru’s voice.

  “Norm! The connection!”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”

  She takes one last look at the terminal before tugging her suitcase behind her. A longing sigh escapes her as her mind departs her body once more. Truth be told, she wished she could stop at Tokyo and just stay the night there once she had finished the Unicorn Stakes. What was the point of going back to Tohoku?

  “Please wait for me, Tracen. I’m coming home.” She plants a fist onto her chest. “I promise.”

  Normcore hears the distant, muffled roar of the crowd long before the racecourse itself came into view. The taxi didn't head for the grand public entrance with their flowing banners and bustling plazas. Instead, it takes a sharp turn towards a quieter ward, slowly coming up to the back entrance.

  Her mind still swims. Goutarou had approached her on the second leg of the train.

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “...Huh?”

  She remembers the throbbing. The delirious groan she had let out. Goutarou said nothing; he simply turned his laptop around.

  “Judging from what your friend told me, you need to secure a top five finish in the Unicorn Stakes.” He pushes in the glasses. “If I am to know Kentaro as well as I think I do, he has not given you anything. As I am your temporary trainer, it is my responsibility to ensure you have the best chance even something like this. While I do not know your strengths and weaknesses enough to formulate a plan, I have, at the very least, conducted research on the track and your opponents.”

  She slowly comes back to the present. The sunlight is blinding. Masaru had run off to secure seats in the stands, leaving her alone with an unbearable headache in the tunnels.

  “The track is a 1900 meters right-handed dirt track. It is a mile race in name, but for you, the lack of familiarity to the surface will be more akin to a medium race. You’re also fairly lucky; the weather’s sunny and the ground’s firm.”

  She pushes off the walls with a sigh, her ears twitching. Her eyes scan over her contemporaries, her eyes settling upon a brown-haired umamusume numbered 14. Her expression was ice cold, her gaze slowly locking with Norm’s.

  “The one you must look out for is Le Vent Se Leve.”

  Most distinctly, however, she had a pair of ears that were rather distinct, curving upwards almost like a rabbit’s. Normcore had only seen those ears on one other runner. Symboli Kris S.

  “She’s by far the favorite to win this race. You must not tussle with her for a position; she’s a dirt specialist through and through. You won’t win. If she looks to pass, you will let her pass.”

  She didn’t have any arguments there. Finishing first place against a member of the Symboli clan was out of the question, but top five was more than doable if she played her cards right.

  “Norm!” Masaru’s voice came from behind her, causing her to jolt. She jogs up, her light-brown hair bouncing, a can of coffee in her hands. “Here. I read somewhere that caffeine helps with headaches.”

  “I-” She blinks in shock, rooted to the spot, stuttering. She hadn’t expected this of all things. “Saru. You’re not meant to be here, you’re not running.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll take my leave then!” Masaru laughs and presses the can into her hands. She waves before running off. “Drink it quickly!”

  Her tail slowly swings around as she cracks open the can. The cold liquid slides down her throat, a slightly bitter yet foamy sweet sensation rushing down her body. The headache doesn’t get better quite yet, though there was now a light buzz in her head that echoed alongside the aftertaste of coffee.

  “Who’s graycoat over there? Do you know her?”

  “She looks like a ghost. I thought I had it bad when I rolled my ankle the other day.”

  Her ears perk up and turn behind her. A few of the other racers, ones that seemed to know each other, were huddled together with hushed whispers.

  “My brother’s the organizer. He said she’s an invite from the regionals.”

  “Regionals? Wow. Who’d her parents pay to get her here?”

  Crink. The can crackles between Normcore’s knuckles as a jolt of white rushes up her head. She takes in a deep, deep breath, first counting to ten, then to twenty. Even so, she can’t stop herself from violently shuddering. She was one misstep away from hurling the can at the snide city girl, stopped only by the sentiment that Masaru had bought it for her.

  Her ears give an irritated twitch as she walks forward in the tunnel, trying to recall the advice Goutarou gave instead.

  “As per usual, there’s a surplus of pace chasers and late surgers in this lineup. Try to settle into a good position early on, but make sure you aren’t boxed in. The best we can hope for is a good final spurt that lets you overtake the opposition. Try and chase the pace if you can, stick right behind the leader; but if you find yourself slipping, drift out wide and settle in for a late spurt. You might be lucky enough to snag fourth or fifth if you let the pack wear itself out.”

  Normcore lets out a loud, long sigh. The strategy was wishful thinking at best. From every perspective, she was at a massive disadvantage. She couldn’t generate traction like she does on turf, and trying to force the issue would only burn through her stamina faster. “Okay, that’s settled then. As soon as the race starts, we’ll go ahead and box her in-”

  Her ears spike up again. The city girls were gunning for her specifically. The headache comes pounding back, causing her to knock back the can. Any hopes of sticking to the plan had gone up in smoke- if she gets boxed in by a wall of bodies, there was no chance of her getting off a good spurt on the final straight.

  However…

  “Hey! Greycoat!”

  She ignores the provocative call. The can clatters into the trash as she starts tying up her hair, leaning back as she makes her way further down the tunnel.

  “Hey, hey! I’m talking to you! Don’t ignore me!”

  A small smile cracks on her lips. She needed to get into their heads, to turn the script around before the race started. Once they were focused on her, she could set her plan into motion. She forces herself into the blinding light, out the tunnel and into the deafening roar of the crowd. She slightly turns- the ringleader of the girls was barking something at her. Norm catches a few words like “you” and “dead”, though she couldn’t quite make out the rest through the muffled pounding sensation in her head. She got the gist of it.

  She turns towards the stands, where Le Vent Se Leve was greeting her fans. Reporters were swarming her, camera flashes blinding out even the sun.

  "Vent-san! Any words for your competitors?"

  "I’ll simply run my race.” She doesn’t even glance at the pack, responding in a cold, detached tone. “The result will speak for itself."

  The crowd bursts into a frenzy, whistling, clapping, dozens of people trying to ask questions at once. Not a single one was looking in her direction- she was a footnote. A faceless no-name destined to be trampled underfoot by the triumphant champion. The fact she had come all this way from the countryside meant nothing. She hadn’t won yet, and thus, in their eyes, she wasn’t worth even a single question.

  A wave of scents hit her as she moved further onto the track. Her stomach churned with the smell of turf

  “Norm! Norm!” She snags Masaru waving at her frantically in her peripheral. Her friend was practically hanging over the railing, her own ears flattened against the roar. She turns and smiles, only to catch Goutarou’s stern gaze in the process. The man’s arms were crossed, and his face bore an expression that suggested he was not confident in her chances. And to a degree, he was right.

  Even the simple act of lifting her arm felt like a chore. Recovering from being overweight in such a short amount of time had put immense strain on her body; that, coupled with running herself ragged on the dirt track for an entire week, meant she wasn’t in the best condition. That didn’t matter, however.

  She had an ace up her sleeve, one that made an otherwise impossible task- taking up a good spot in the first third- almost laughably easy. Her eyes slowly drift towards the paddock, where a few had already entered and were idly chatting, then forward.

  Yes, the track itself was a 1900 meter dirt track. Stretching from the starting gate to the first corner, however, was a long patch of lush green turf, bustling with the sharp scent of wet rubber and glistening in the sun.

  That’s right. From the starting gates all the way to the first corner, no one- nay, not even Le Vent Se Leve- had a pipe dream’s chance of overtaking her. That was her domain.

  “Okay, everyone into the gates!” A track worker calls out and begins herding the runners towards the paddock. Norm feels piercing glares glance off her back as the city girls huddle amongst each other, whispering. Le Vent Se Leve separates herself from the swarm of reporters and enters her gate. She, too, enters. The metallic latches close behind her with a click as she stretches her legs.

  The bid for her future was now.

  "The eighth favorite for this race is number 5, Normcore.

  This is a somewhat difficult matchup, but I'm hoping she does her best."

  Mood went down.

  inflicted with Migraine.

  Wit decreased by 5