Gold City

It was early morning — early for most Uma Musume, and far too early for Gold City.

You stood in front of her dorm room door, the faint blaring of an alarm clock leaking through the thin wood. It had been going off for at least five minutes.

You knocked once. No response.

Twice. Still nothing.

You sighed, twisted the doorknob, and stepped inside. (the door is somehow unlocked?)

The room was neat — stylish, clean, and unmistakably her: perfume bottles arranged like trophies, gold accents on the vanity, clothes folded in perfect symmetry.

Yet in the center of it all was Gold City, face buried in her pillow, blanket tangled around one leg, one arm lazily reaching toward her alarm clock to smack the snooze button again.

You called her name.

“...Five more minutes.”

Her voice was muffled, smooth, and too calm for someone already late. You walked closer, arms crossed.

“You’re not serious... are you timing me?”

She peeked from under the blanket with one eye open, her platinum hair falling messily over her face. She was still beautiful, even half-asleep and grumpy. You told her training started in twenty minutes.

“Mmm... I can run in my dreams just fine, Trainer.”

When you threatened to open the curtains, she groaned, burying her head again.

“No sunlight, please... I’m still in the skincare phase of the morning...”

You didn’t listen. Pulling the curtains wide open, golden sunlight poured into the room. She hissed like a vampire, clutching her blanket tighter.

“You’re heartless. Absolutely heartless.”

You gave her one last warning. Still no movement.

So you leaned over and shook her shoulder lightly. She resisted. A second shake — her tail flicked once in protest. The third time, she finally sat up with a long sigh, hair sticking out in every direction, eyes half-lidded.

“Fine, fine... I’m awake. But if I trip during training, I’m blaming you.”

You reminded her that it’s her own fault for sleeping through seven alarms. She blinked, frowning slightly.

“Seven? Oh... I thought that was just one very committed one.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, which earned you a light glare — the kind that couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at her lips.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You were enjoying one of those rare day off, without any race, any training or planning on mind, just relaxing— at least, that’s what you thought until Gold City appeared at the your door.

Uninvited, unannounced. Sunglasses on, coffee in hand, and a garment bag slung over her shoulder.

“Morning, Trainer. Hope you’re free — because you’re coming with me.”

Before you could protest, she’d already handed you a clipboard, a tote bag full of accessories, and her signature smirk that meant refusing isn’t an option. Apparently, today was her magazine photoshoot, and you, somehow, had become her assistant.

---

[At the studio]

The studio was bustling with activity — flashing lights, makeup artists, stylists, and chatter echoing through every corner. Gold City fit in perfectly, greeting the crew with an effortless confidence that only years of modeling could bring. Cameras turned the moment she stepped into the light.

You, however, found yourself standing awkwardly in the corner — holding three different dresses, a makeup pouch, and what you were told was a “backup choker.”

Gold City, striking a pose in front of the backdrop, caught your expression between shots. Her lips curved into a teasing grin.

“Don’t look so lost, Trainer. You’re doing great. That one in your left hand? That’s the evening look — don’t wrinkle it.”

You sighed, carefully adjusting your grip on the silky fabric. She turned her head toward you again, one eye half-lidded, the faintest spark of amusement in her voice.

“You know, holding my clothes suits you. Maybe I’ll make this a regular thing.”

The photographer called for a wardrobe change, and before you knew it, she was walking over — still graceful, even in heels. She handed you her jacket mid-stride and leaned in just slightly.

“You look more nervous than I do. Relax. It’s just another kind of race, right?”

As she disappeared behind the curtain, the stylist whispered something about how “her trainer really spoils her,” which made her chuckle from inside the changing booth.

When she came out again, dressed in a shimmering golden outfit that matched her name, the studio fell silent. Every flash of the camera seemed to catch the spark of her ambition — that same intensity she carried on the track, now transformed into effortless poise.

You watched quietly, arms still full of her things, as she finished her set. When it was finally over, she approached you, a towel draped around her shoulders and a soft glint in her eyes.

“Thanks for tagging along, Trainer. You handled my wardrobe better than I expected.”

She winked, then added in her usual cool tone.

“Next time, though, I’m not paying you in mint candy.” She takes some of the clothes off your arms. "Now, follow me, i'll treat you to a drink."

The day at the beach started with sunlight spilling across the waves — bright, warm, and glittering like gold dust on the water. You hadn’t even had a chance to take off your shoes before Gold City had already taken your hand.

“Come on, Trainer! You’re walking like we’ve got all day — move it!”

She laughed, the sound blending with the rush of the sea breeze. Her hand was firm but warm, fingers wrapping around yours as she half-dragged, half-led you toward the shoreline.

She was dazzling in the outfit she’d chosen — her black cropped top shimmered softly under the sunlight, the tassels swaying with every step. The flowing skirt, patterned with palm leaves and sheer fabric, danced around her legs like sea foam catching the wind. A few golden accessories glimmered along her arms and waist, each sparkle catching your eye whenever she turned toward the light.

The moment her feet touched the sand, she spun once, letting out a playful whistle as the wind lifted her hair — strands of pale gold swirling around her face. She turned back to you with that confident, radiant grin.

“You’re too slow, Trainer! You’ll miss the best light if you don’t keep up.”

You barely had time to respond before she tugged again, leading you toward the water’s edge. The waves lapped over your ankles, cool and gentle, while she looked out at the horizon. The sunlight framed her perfectly — golden hair, golden hour, golden everything.

She glanced sideways at you, noticing the way you were watching her.

“What, never seen beauty and speed in one package before?”

Her teasing tone was lighthearted, but there was a hint of shyness behind it — the faintest pink coloring her cheeks. You laughed, and she flicked a bit of water your way in retaliation.

“Hah! Don’t laugh, I’ll get you drenched next time!”

The rest of the day flowed like a photograph come to life — the two of you walking along the shore, sometimes talking, sometimes just listening to the waves. When the sun began to set, Gold City slowed down, the light catching in her blue-gray eyes as she looked toward the horizon.

“You know, Trainer… I think I love this kind of race the most.”

You asked what she meant, and she smiled softly — genuine, almost nostalgic.

“The kind where you don’t care about winning. You just keep running… because it feels good.”

The wind tugged at her skirt again, and before you could reply, she took your hand once more — lighter this time, not pulling you forward, but simply holding on.

“Alright. Let’s walk until the stars come out. You don’t get to say no.”