Only One Year Left—I'll Become a Legendary Uma Musume!

Twilight Song crossed another day off in her diary.

Time crept by slowly. Honestly, as the Satsuki Sho drew closer, Twilight Song found herself increasingly overwhelmed with anxiety.

To the point where, for the first time, she coughed up blood twice in a single day.

Fortunately, it happened inside her room—discovery would have spelled disaster.

Habit truly was a comforting thing. The first time she'd coughed up blood, she'd panicked, scrambling madly toward the bathroom.

Now, she could elegantly wipe her mouth afterward with a tissue.

Of course, Twilight Song patiently washed the handkerchief herself—a habit she'd already repeated countless times.

Twilight Song smiled bitterly, carefully folding the stained tissue and slipping it into her skirt pocket.

She couldn't just throw something like this into the trash. Although she trusted her Mejiro sisters wouldn't be bored enough to inspect her trash, she preferred to be cautious.

What if? Just what if.

Even tiny details like this warranted careful handling. Keeping it in her skirt pocket, she'd simply toss it into a garbage can far away from the villa when she went out.

Of course, being in New York, she could probably just toss it on the street without anyone caring—but her conscience wouldn't allow it.

Descending the stairs, she found Ardan sitting quietly on the sofa, reading a book.

After all, this era wasn't quite so advanced; even wealthy households didn't spend their days glued to smartphones. For Twilight Song, this was actually a relief.

She didn't have to worry about losing control, wasting the final year of her life immersed in games.

Honestly, Twilight Song—your self-control isn't that strong.

"Oh, you're awake. You made the headlines, Ruka."

Ever since Twilight Song secured entry into both the American and Japanese Triple Crowns by winning the Gotham Stakes, the press on both sides of the ocean had been endlessly hyping this prodigious newcomer.

Being in the States, Ardan naturally kept up with the American media.

Nearly a week later, they'd finally settled on something major:

A nickname for the new star, Twilight Song.

Naming an Uma Musume was part of the racing culture, after all. Initially, many had suggested calling her "Caesar," implying she could be the next Emperor of the Turf—though this also aimed to avoid stepping on Symboli Rudolf's symbolic status.

But what did they settle on instead?

"Gotham King."

Right. This world didn't have a Batman, did it?

Or rather, it hadn't previously—but here she was, orphaned tragically, conquering Gotham (Stakes).

If I'm not the King of Gotham, who is?

For once, Twilight Song couldn't suppress the twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Fine. At least they didn't call me Joker.

The reasoning behind the nickname was straightforward. The opposition wasn't against calling her "Caesar" entirely—they simply thought it was premature.

What if she was just a flash in the pan?

Winning the Gotham Stakes alone didn't make someone a ruler of the racetrack.

Thus, "Caesar" was held back. Only if Twilight Song truly secured the American Triple Crown would she officially become this generation's new emperor.

In other words:

How many championships have you won?

Twilight Song set down the newspaper, her eyes casually flicking to a small headline in the corner.

[Festival Glory swears revenge against the Gotham King, qualifies for the Kentucky Derby!]

Festival Glory?

Who?

"Well, how about it, Your Majesty of Gotham?"

Mejiro Ardan's tone held no teasing—she wasn't that kind of person, after all.

Still, the nickname caused Twilight Song's expression to waver uncomfortably.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing. I just felt like going outside."

The two didn't linger further and soon headed to the training grounds as scheduled. At the bus stop, Twilight Song discreetly discarded the tissue from her pocket, drawing a curious glance from Ardan.

Yet, Mejiro's gentle second lady said nothing.

Feeling guilty, Twilight Song avoided her gaze, acting as naturally as possible.

"I just realized I forgot to throw it away earlier."

Ardan merely nodded without pressing further. Such minor details weren't worth fussing over.

They boarded the bus, reached the training ground, and only afterward walked past the snack street.

Truthfully, Ardan was quite skilled at cooking and usually handled their meals at home. But due to time constraints, their lunches typically involved quick bites from the street stalls.

Yes, eating from American snack stands often felt like navigating a minefield.

Ardan had an odd sense of déjà vu.

Is it just me, or is Ruka getting pickier these days?

"Oh, right, Ardan-neesan, I'd like to buy a fluffy, comfortable cushion."

A cushion? What for? Doesn't Ruka's house already have carpeting?

Though puzzled, Ardan saw no reason to object. She gently held Ruka's hand, guiding her toward the nearest home goods store.

Support first, ask questions later.

"Sometimes, I just want to sit on the floor. It feels like something I'll use pretty often."

A blatant lie.

Occasionally sitting on the floor was nonsense—just an excuse. However, frequent use wasn't entirely false.

After the Satsuki Sho came the Japanese Derby, the Kikuka Sho, perhaps even the Arima Kinen—though that one might be too late.

Ah, the Takarazuka Kinen. Yes, definitely that one.

And that wasn't all.

She'd also received an email from the organizers of the St. Leger Stakes—not an official invitation, but simply inquiring about her schedule and whether she might visit England.

Gulp.

Either way, this cushion was about to become a trusted companion through thick and thin.

Twilight Song even briefly considered bringing it along into her coffin.

After careful consideration, she chose a soft, fluffy, long-haired white cushion—warm enough that kneeling on it wouldn't feel so harsh.

I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I'll do anything!

She already had her apology fully rehearsed.

Holding her new cushion as the bus approached, Twilight Song suddenly looked straight at Ardan.

"Ardan-neesan, will Ramonu-neesan still be this busy next week?"

So busy she'd practically never come home.

"Ah, yes. But next week should be the last of it. Once the American Triple Crown is finished, how about we return to Japan?"

"Mhm, sounds good to me."

Sorry, Ardan-neesan. But at that time, I might already be flying straight to England. After all, the Kikuka Sho was quite far off, and the Japanese Derby clashed with the American Triple Crown—she might not even make it.

Either way, if Ramonu-neesan stayed absent next week, that would be perfect.

Of course, it wasn't that she didn't want to see Mejiro Ramonu. But if she ran away briefly, disappearing for a couple of days would still fall within a manageable scope.

When she returned, she could play cute with Ardan. If Ramonu was away, maybe she'd never even know it happened.

Stepping onto the bus, Twilight Song closed her eyes quietly.

I'm sorry, Ramonu-neesan. I'm truly a bad kid.