Hachiman's Perspective
"I'll say it one more time! If you have the guts to hurl abuse at my trainee, Rice Shower—then have the guts to step down here and do it to my face!"
The stadium fell into a sudden, suffocating silence. Honestly, at this point, I didn't care about the consequences. This was a outburst. Pure, unadulterated selfishness. This was Hachiman Hikigaya's self-righteous, one-man war against the world.
"Well? I'm waiting! If you're so brave when you're hiding in the stands, surely you can come down here and say it to me! Or what? Is it that you can only bark when you're part of a pack?"
Naturally, no one moved. I knew they wouldn't. No one is stupid enough to volunteer for a public flaying when they can stay anonymous. And that was exactly why this was so easy to do.
"...That's what I thought. You won't come down, will you? You're too obsessed with your own skin. You don't want to be the one person singled out and screamed at in front of thousands. But tell me—who the hell do you think you are?! Just because the future you 'believed' in didn't happen, you think you have the right to slander the girl who actually did the work? I bet it wouldn't have mattered if it was Rice or someone else—anyone who beat McQueen would have been your target. You're all pathetic."
The silence finally broke, replaced by a wave of defensive, ugly shouting.
"Shut your mouth! It's not like that at all!"
"I came here to support the race, you damn heel-trainer!"
"Stop making accusations! You're the one being unreasonable!"
Yeah, yeah. Bark all you want. I knew they'd start making noise the moment they felt attacked. It was all going exactly according to my script.
"Let me ask you 'supporters' something," I said, my voice cutting through the din via the speakers. "You're making a lot of noise saying I'm wrong. If that's true, then answer me this: Why did you just spend the last five minutes tearing down my trainee? Why was your first instinct to insult her?"
Again, silence. There were murmurs, but no answers. The reason was simple: I'd hit the bullseye. The ones who claim they "just came to support the sport" are the least trustworthy of all. If you truly supported the sport, you'd be applauding the winner for a record-breaking performance.
"What's wrong? Can't even answer a simple question? It's a logic puzzle a primary schooler could solve. You claim you're here for the sport, yet you attack the victor. I know why you can't answer. Shall I say it for you?"
The murmuring died out completely. They were waiting for my answer, and the sight of them—thousands of people hanging on my words after they'd just spat on Rice—made my stomach turn.
"You don't have a reason. You did it because it was easy. You did it because Rice is the girl who 'spoiled' Mihono Bourbon's Triple Crown last year, so she was already an easy target. Rice and I broke the dream of a Triple Crown, and today we broke the dream of a 3-peat. In your eyes, we're the 'Heels' who ruined a historic epic. But newsflash: we came here to win! There are no 'villains' on a racetrack! We put in the blood, the sweat, and the tears every single day. We analyzed, we strategized, we pushed her body to the absolute limit just to earn this victory! Don't you dare act like you have the right to judge her when you haven't seen a fraction of the effort she's put in!"
I gripped the microphone tighter, my voice shaking with raw anger.
"None of you—not one of you—has the right to mindlessly badmouth Rice Shower while she's out there running her heart out for the sake of a victory you couldn't even imagine! You're not critics; you're just bullies!"
Behind me, I could hear a soft sobbing. Rice was crying, her shoulders shaking as the weight of the last year finally began to crumble.
These people were the worst. Self-centered, fickle, and cowardly.
"It's people like you who leave scars on these girls that never heal," I spat. "And if this is what racing has become, I'll make it my mission. I'll go straight to the URA and demand they cancel public race viewings entirely to protect the Uma Musume from people like you!"
"DON'T YOU DARE!"
"That's a completely different issue!"
"Take that back!"
"Don't drag the rest of us into this!"
"I actually enjoy the races, you can't do that!"
The crowd was losing its mind now, panicking at the thought of losing their entertainment.
"That proposal actually sounds quite interesting!" a new voice boomed.
"?" I turned.
A woman walked out onto the turf, her presence radiating a quiet, terrifying authority. "I've always thought you were a bold trainer, Hikigaya, but to say something so audacious… haha! How delightful!"
Another woman joined her, a sharp smile on her face. "And look at these ladies here—they seem just as pleased as I am. Are our thoughts aligned?"
"Heh… it would seem so," a third voice replied.
I recognized them instantly. You'd have to be living under a rock not to. These weren't just Uma Musume; they were the titans of the industry. But they weren't the only ones appearing.
"If there's a chance my girls could end up facing this kind of treatment, I can't exactly ignore the Trainer's words, can I?" said one.
"...As the head of my house, I cannot overlook this," said another.
"As an Uma Musume myself, I cannot let this pass. I, Mejiro Asama, head of the Mejiro family, officially support his claim."
My heart nearly stopped. The turf was becoming a gathering of legends—heads of the most powerful families, the ones who funded Tracen Academy and sat on the boards of the URA. Mejiro Asama—the patriarch of the family Rice had just "offended" by beating McQueen—was standing right there, backing me up.
"Mejiro-san beat me to the punch," another woman laughed, "but as the head of the Victory Club, Sakura Shingeki also stands with him!"
"Count me in as well," added Agnes Lady. "I, too, concur with his sentiment."
"Hishi Masaru is with you too! This kind of thing shouldn't be tolerated!"
"I, Hagino Top Lady, also support the Trainer. When I consider the future of my own daughters and the other girls, this is the only logical path."
And then, the final hammer fell.
"I, too, view this matter with the utmost gravity," said a woman with a voice like cold iron. "Just as the others have pledged their support, I, Speed Symboli, Vice-Chairman of the URA, officially support Hachiman Hikigaya's position. Furthermore, Sweet Luna, the current head of the Symboli house standing beside me, offers her support as well."
The stadium was no longer just silent; it was paralyzed. The most powerful families in Japan and the top brass of the URA had just collectively sided with a single trainer and his "villain" trainee.
Speed Symboli stepped forward, her eyes sweeping over the stands like a hawk. "We will not permit another word of slander against this man or Rice Shower. If anyone still has a grievance they wish to air... then I, the 'Old Hero,' will be your opponent. Well? Who's first?"
The crowd, which had been so loud only moments ago, couldn't even manage a whisper. The sheer pressure coming from Speed Symboli and the other matriarchs was enough to crush the will of ten thousand fans.
"It seems the members of your Japanese organizations are quite sensible after all," a voice rumbled from behind me. Man o' War walked up, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I'm relieved. If the URA had turned out to be your enemy, Hachiman, I would have simply scouted you away to America on the spot."
"We aren't politicians," Secretariat added, standing on my other side, "but as Hachiman's mentors, we stand by him. Man o' War and Secretariat—the 'Big Reds'—will not see our student insulted."
It was over. There wasn't a soul in the stands with the courage to speak up against the combined weight of the Mejiro, Symboli, and Agnes houses, the URA leadership, and the greatest legends of American racing.
"...Let's go," I whispered, the adrenaline finally starting to fade into exhaustion. "They don't have the spine to say anything now."
"Too true!" Hishi Masaru laughed. "Right then, we're off too!"
"McQueen, Palmer," Asama called out. "We are leaving."
"Y-yes, Grandmother..." McQueen stammered, looking humbled.
"Coming!" Palmer squeaked.
"Rice," I said softly, "let's get back to the room."
"O-okay..."
Ignoring the heavy, frozen atmosphere of the stadium—an atmosphere that felt nothing like the aftermath of a Grade I race—I led Rice toward the tunnel. We weren't alone. We were surrounded by the heads of the great houses and the legends who had taught me everything.
Rice Shower had won the race, but for the first time, she wasn't walking into the shadows alone.
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