"America doesn't look all that different from Japan… oh, good morning, Miss Song."
"Good morning, Donna. Really, you worked hard coming all the way to America like this."
Gentildonna shook her head. Even after stepping off such a long flight, this strong-bodied Uma Musume showed not a hint of fatigue—in fact, she seemed full of spirit.
In truth, Gentildonna had always been the quietest of the Uma Musume around Gotham Song.
It wasn't just that she didn't want to talk. She deliberately chose not to.
Easy enough to understand. Gotham Song often noticed Gentildonna watching her silently, eyes fixed on her with a careful, measuring look. And of course, their relationship explained it.
Gentildonna wasn't someone close in the intimate sense. She was a pursuer, bound to Gotham Song as the one she sought to overtake.
Gotham Song had never forgotten why Gentildonna had chosen to approach her in the first place—drawn by strength, by the unreachable, by the one no one could catch.
Why am I strong? Why is no one able to chase me down?
Even I don't know the answer to that question.
"This is only what I should do, as support staff. And as for all that about supplements boosting horse girls—"
For once, Gentildonna's face showed raw, open emotion. Disgust. Disdain.
It was clear enough. As an Uma Musume who sought to embody absolute strength, Gentildonna could never accept such weakness.
Even if half of America's Uma Musume had already fallen into that fad, Gentildonna never would.
A horse girl should race with the body she was born with, with her spirit and willpower. Miracles should be drawn out by one's own running—not by skipping the work and leaning on human technology.
Gentildonna would never forgive such cowardice.
"From the bottom of my heart, I despise it. So, at least in this, let me lend my strength."
"In that case, I'll gratefully take it. Mm, shall we talk as we walk?"
Gentildonna had come to New York with little more than a small suitcase. Together, they walked toward the waiting car in the lot.
But as soon as the engine started, Gentildonna hesitated, glanced at the driver's seat, and shot Gotham Song a questioning look.
Gotham Song's answer, of course, was a small, light nod.
Gentildonna had seen many legends already, staying at Gotham Song's side. From long-retired greats to recently active champions. From Japanese hall-of-famers to international icons. And yet, each new one still left her quietly amazed at just how vast Gotham Song's connections ran.
As if she herself were already a living legend.
And the driver this time—who else could it be but Seabiscuit.
Gotham Song had originally planned to mooch off Secretariat's car. But when Seabiscuit heard another Japanese Uma Musume was coming, she volunteered, bringing her own sedan to pick them up at New York International Airport.
Of course, it wasn't just kindness. She also had things to say.
"Hm? Oh, surprised to see me here with Miss Song?"
Relaxed in the driver's seat, Seabiscuit was a different sight entirely from the motorbike-cowgirl look she'd sported when they first met. Driving, she was neat, proper, not gunning the engine with wild abandon.
"No, it's just… seeing someone I once knew only from books. I didn't know how to react, Seabiscuit-senpai."
"What a good kouhai. Not like that little brat at Secretariat's place… speaking of which, Miss Song?"
"Yes, what is it, Biscuit-san?"
Leaning forward between the seats, Gotham Song rested her chin on the headrest, peering ahead. Her curious little face was so close Seabiscuit almost wanted to grab it, to keep it there beside her. She couldn't even say why—maybe because Song, glowing with curiosity, was simply too cute.
In any case, she fought the impulse back with all her will, cleared her throat, and continued.
"You spent all yesterday at home, didn't you?"
"Yeah. Too many fans outside. I didn't dare."
Seabiscuit nodded, then spoke as if offhand.
"I see. I only wondered, because I thought I saw a horse girl on the street yesterday. Looked exactly like you. And I know you aren't the type to just go wandering…"
"Cough—cough. You make it sound like I'd die if I stepped outside. But… a horse girl on the street? Looked like me?"
Looked like me? No, that wasn't it. It wasn't just looked like.
Seabiscuit knew well enough. Among younger Uma Musume, a subculture had grown up called cosplay. Girls who hadn't debuted, or were fresh to the track, would dress up as fictional characters—or even imitate horse girls they adored. Makeup, wigs, clothes, all to copy an image.
But no matter how good the cosplay, it was never perfect.
Hair and eye color might be changed with tech. But height, frame, stride, aura? Those could never be faked.
And that was what troubled Seabiscuit.
Even from a distance, she couldn't forget what she'd seen yesterday afternoon.
A girl of startling beauty. Face so natural, so unpainted, it looked identical to Gotham Song's. Silver hair smooth and lustrous as living silk, no trace of dye.
Slightly smaller in build, yes. But otherwise—she had been too much like her.
Too much.
And worse—her aura. In just a few seconds of watching, Seabiscuit had felt it clearly. That tiny girl radiated a pressure that could terrify any horse girl.
She was strong. Truly strong. Terrifyingly so.
Even as one of the world's legends, Seabiscuit knew: at her peak, she might not have beaten such a rival.
So then—what were the chances? Another Uma Musume in New York, with Gotham Song's face, Gotham Song's body, and such terrifying strength?
"Miss Song. Can you truly swear you never once stepped outside yesterday?"
Strange. Too strange.
Hearing the description, Gotham Song was baffled. She studied Seabiscuit's firm expression, her certainty, and for a moment even doubted herself.
Could I have… gone out without realizing? Could my body have gone to a convention or something, while my mind stayed behind?
No! Unforgivable! If my body's going to embarrass me, at least bring my mind along! …No, wait, what am I even saying.
She remembered clearly. Yesterday afternoon, she'd been training with Vernal, helping her feel out the foreign turf. By evening, she was with McQueen, Ardan-neesan, and Neo Universe, playing family games.
Oh, and Cafe-nee had been reading off to the side.
Unless every last one of them had been conspiring to deceive her, it was impossible.
"No, no. That definitely wasn't me. But maybe… well… some younger, gifted horse girl who just happens to look like me?"
Yeah. That had to be it. Her lips twitched as she said it, not convinced herself.
It wasn't that she doubted Seabiscuit's sincerity. But the story was so bizarre she couldn't possibly confirm it. Common sense left her only this weak explanation.
Still… the déjà vu.
Wait. Haven't many around me thought the same, once?
That what they were seeing was just a stranger who looked alike? That it couldn't possibly be Twilight Song?
Oh no. I've become Ardan-ne-san.
Anyway—whatever. The real Gotham Song was right here. Whoever that girl was, no matter how alike, she was just a passerby. Nothing more.
"Is that so. Then I really ought to pay closer attention to these 'unknowns.' We can't let such talent slip through unnoticed."
Seabiscuit seemed satisfied. But Gentildonna, who knew more, gave Song a strange look.
She didn't know the full picture. But from her time at Mejiro Manor, she'd absorbed bits and pieces of secrets. Enough to put things together.
Why did Gotham Song look so flustered? As if she'd lived this exact scene before?
She wasn't lying—that much was clear. Which meant only one conclusion.
Miss Gotham Song must once have been mistaken for another horse girl.
And considering the possibilities… she must once have been mistaken for Twilight Song's reincarnation.
And since the Mejiro horses were no weaklings—they themselves must have demanded she return to them.
Which meant…
Miss Gotham Song really was Twilight Song.
No other way.
It explained everything. Why she'd been welcomed so smoothly. Why no resistance had ever shown.
More than welcomed—demanded.
It was an extraordinary thought. And in that instant, Gentildonna felt she'd seen the whole truth.
Which only deepened her respect.
Twilight Song's name needed no elaboration. Gentildonna herself had grown up on her legend. To her, the miracle runner Twilight Song, and Gotham Song—the Augustus who had returned—were two titans, impossible to rank, impossible to resolve.
She'd even looked forward to the Dream Cup, thrilled at the thought of seeing the two collide.
And now?
If they were one and the same, there was no collision to be had.
No matter. For Gentildonna, in raw running power, Gotham Song seemed greater. Twilight Song's true edge had only ever been that will to run as if for her life.
But in the end—that didn't matter. Who cared? Running strength belonged to Gotham Song now. Twilight Song, in comparison, would be utterly eclipsed.
Gentildonna believed this deeply. So deeply that no matter who tried to contradict her, she would not be swayed.
And really—who, once they knew the truth, would still claim Twilight Song outshone Gotham Song?
Who would dare?