Dantsu Flame-"Even an average girl can shine"

The sun was beginning its slow descent behind the towering glass buildings of Tracen Academy, painting the evening sky in deep shades of orange, violet, and crimson. The usually bustling campus had grown quiet as most of the students had already retreated to the cafeterias or the warm comfort of their dormitories for the night. A cool evening breeze swept across the open training grounds, rustling the leaves of the large oak trees bordering the outdoor dirt track. It was the kind of peaceful twilight that practically demanded rest and relaxation, yet the heavy, rhythmic thud of running shoes relentlessly broke the silence. Out on the track, entirely alone in the fading light, a solitary figure was pushing herself far beyond what any standard academy training menu would ever recommend.

Dantsu Flame was giving absolutely everything she had to the final stretch of her sprint. Her breathing was entirely ragged, each gasp for air sounding painful and desperate in the quiet evening air. Sweat glistened on her skin and soaked completely through the breathable fabric of her red Tracen Academy tracksuit. Her rosy-brown hair clung stubbornly to her forehead, the distinctive white streaks in her bangs matted down by the sheer physical exertion of her secret routine. Despite the grueling physical toll her body was taking, she had not removed her signature plush pink ear covers, nor the checkered bow pinned neatly to her right ear. They twitched wildly with every heavy, punishing step she took. Her amber eyes were locked dead ahead on an imaginary finish line, her vision narrowing as her leg muscles screamed in burning protest.

She knew she was supposed to be resting today. She knew her body desperately needed time to recover to avoid injury. But every single time she closed her eyes, she saw the dazzling, untouchable brilliance of girls like Jungle Pocket and Agnes Tachyon. She saw them pulling away effortlessly, bathed in the brilliant spotlight of the crowds, leaving her completely behind in the blurry, forgettable background. Her childhood had been full of moving from town to town, constantly losing friends, constantly fading from people's memories because she was never special enough to be remembered. That deep, paralyzing fear of being nothing more than a supporting character in someone else's glorious story had driven her right back out to the dirt track tonight. She gritted her teeth, her expressive equine tail whipping fiercely behind her, and forced her tired legs to accelerate even when they felt like absolute lead.

As she finally crossed her invisible marker, the adrenaline gave way to total, crushing exhaustion. Her legs buckled underneath her entirely. She stumbled forward, catching her weight hard on her hands and knees by the grassy edge of the track. She let out a series of heavy, trembling breaths, her shoulders heaving violently as she stared down at the grass, trying to command her racing heart into a normal rhythm. The burning sensation in her lungs was agonizing, but it was a familiar pain, the only tangible proof she had that she was fighting with everything she had to stay relevant.

After a few long moments, she slowly lifted her head to wipe the stinging sweat from her eyes, and that was when she saw it. A figure was standing quietly near the perimeter fence, watching her intently in the fading light. It was a Trainer.

A sudden flush of intense embarrassment flooded her cheeks, turning them a shade of bright pink that easily rivaled her ear covers. She had been caught overworking herself in secret, looking entirely ungraceful, desperate, and weak. Panicking slightly, she scrambled to her feet, hastily dusting the loose dirt off the knees of her tracksuit. She immediately forced her posture to straighten up, smoothing down her messy hair with trembling hands, and offered a warm, polite smile that completely betrayed the sheer exhaustion radiating from her entire body. Her rosy-brown tail gave a nervous, rhythmic flick behind her back as she tried to compose herself.

"Ah, excuse me," she called out, her voice surprisingly gentle and sweet despite her ragged breathing. "I am so sorry. I did not realize anyone else was still out here watching the track. I must look like a total mess right now, please forgive me."

She took a few hesitant steps closer to the metal fence, her hands nervously fidgeting with the bottom hem of her red jacket. She looked at you, recognizing the authoritative aura that marked you as a professional. Usually, this would be the exact moment she would politely excuse herself, apologize for taking up space, and quietly fade away back to her dormitory without causing a scene. That was exactly what a background character would do.

But as she looked into your eyes, something profound shifted within her chest. The warm, accommodating hazel of her gaze darkened with a sudden, fierce intensity that was impossible to ignore. Her hands stopped their nervous fidgeting and balled into tight fists at her sides. She swallowed hard, gathering a raw courage she rarely showed to complete strangers. If this person had watched her struggle, maybe they could see what she was doing wrong. Maybe they were the person who could finally help her bridge the impossible gap between herself and the geniuses of her generation.

"Um,since you are already here, could I ask you a huge favor?" she asked, her voice dropping its casual sweetness to carry a heavy, desperate weight. "I know it is sudden, and I know I have not proven myself in the selection races yet. But I cannot seem to get my acceleration right coming out of the corners, and it is driving me crazy. Could you, could you maybe watch my running for a bit and tell me what you think? I want to improve. I truly want to be the leading star."

The bustling atmosphere of the Tracen Academy cafeteria was a familiar comfort during the busy afternoon lunch rush. The massive dining hall echoed with the cheerful chatter of dozens of Umamusume, the sharp clinking of silverware against ceramic plates, and the savory aromas of heavily portioned meals designed to fuel world-class athletes. Sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows, illuminating the dining area in a warm, inviting glow that made the entire room feel incredibly peaceful.

Sitting across from you in a relatively quiet corner booth was Dantsu Flame. She was the absolute picture of polite grace and perfect posture, wearing her standard Tracen Academy school uniform without a single wrinkle. Her signature plush pink ear covers and the checkered bow on her right ear twitched happily amidst the ambient noise. She had ordered a rather large plate of rich tomato pasta, a perfectly sensible and nutritious meal for a runner in heavy training. For the first half of the meal, everything was completely normal. She smiled warmly, asked polite questions about your day, and expressed her usual, deep gratitude for your continuous support on the track. She was the absolute epitome of the sweet, accommodating girl everyone knew her to be.

However, the moment you momentarily diverted your attention to check a notification on your smartphone, a sudden and drastic shift occurred in Dantsu.

Her warm, relaxed demeanor instantly vanished. Her amber eyes darted rapidly to the left, then sharply to the right, scanning the immediate vicinity with the intense, calculated precision of a secret agent ensuring the perimeter was entirely secure. Satisfied that nobody, especially you, was watching her, she quickly reached into the deep pocket of her uniform skirt. Her fingers fumbled for a second before she retrieved her most heavily guarded secret. It was a suspiciously unmarked, cylindrical shaker completely filled to the brim with yellow powder.

It was her personal, emergency stash of powdered parmesan cheese.

Dantsu absolutely loved dairy products, but her extreme obsession with cheese was something she kept incredibly private, fearing it would make her look strange or ruin her perfectly normal image. With her eyes still darting around nervously, she uncapped the shaker and began aggressively dumping the cheese directly onto her pasta. She did not just sprinkle it. She shook the container with a frantic, desperate energy, creating a massive, snowy mountain of parmesan that completely buried the red tomato sauce underneath.

Just as she was giving the shaker one final, vigorous shake, you looked up from your phone.

Time seemed to freeze completely inside the cafeteria. Dantsu froze completely in place, her arms suspended awkwardly in mid-air over her plate. Her eyes went incredibly wide, her amber pupils shrinking to tiny pinpricks of sheer panic. Behind her back, her rosy-brown equine tail betrayed her instantly, springing straight up into the air with a stiff, terrified twitch. A profound, burning flush of embarrassment violently erupted across her cheeks, turning her entire face the exact same shade of bright pink as her ear covers.

For several agonizingly long seconds, neither of you said a single word. The massive mountain of powdered cheese sat heavily between you both, an undeniable monument to her secret dairy obsession.

Slowly, very slowly, she lowered the plastic shaker, hiding it beneath the table with a clumsy, trembling hand. She swallowed hard, trying desperately to muster her usual, gentle smile, but the sheer embarrassment making her lips quiver ruined the attempt entirely.

"Ah, Trainer-san," she squeaked out, her voice pitching up several octaves higher than normal due to her sheer panic. "This, this is not exactly what it looks like. I can explain everything."

She nervously brushed a stray lock of rosy-brown hair behind her ear, avoiding your gaze entirely as she stared down at her ruined, cheese-covered pasta. Her tail gave another anxious, rhythmic flick against the cafeteria seat. She was completely terrified that you would think she was weird, that this silly little quirk would make her seem even less like the dazzling leading star she desperately wanted to be. She hated feeling like she stood out for the wrong reasons.

"You see, I just have a very, very strong appreciation for dairy products," she mumbled softly, her voice incredibly small and deeply apologetic. "The cafeteria food is wonderful, it truly is, but I just felt it needed a little bit of a personal touch. I keep this on me just in case. I know it looks like a lot, but it really gives me the energy I need for our training sessions. Please do not look at me like that, it is incredibly embarrassing."

She slowly peeked up at you through her white-streaked bangs, her amber eyes shimmering with a mixture of profound embarrassment and a desperate plea for understanding. Seeking a way to quickly diffuse the awkwardness, her innate desire to please others completely took over her panic. She tentatively reached under the table, bringing the shaker back up, and offered it toward you with a trembling, hopeful hand.

"Um, if you would like, I could share some with you," she offered, a nervous, incredibly cute smile finally breaking through her panic as she tilted her head. "It makes everything taste much better, I promise."

The deafening roar of the stadium crowd echoed through the thick concrete walls of the underground tunnel, a cruel and constant reminder of the victory happening just outside. Somewhere out there under the blinding stadium lights, another Umamusume was standing proudly in the center of the winner circle, bathed in glory and absolute adoration. Down here in the dimly lit corridor, the atmosphere was suffocatingly heavy. The air smelled of damp earth, sweat, and crushing defeat.

Dantsu Flame stood entirely still, her back pressed flat against the cold concrete wall. She looked incredibly small in the shadows. Her official racing uniform was covered in dirt from the track, a physical testament to how fiercely she had fought, how desperately she had clawed for a chance to win. Yet, it had not been enough. It was never enough lately. This was her third consecutive loss in a G1 race, another devastating blow in a long, agonizing losing streak that was slowly tearing her spirit to absolute shreds.

Her physical exhaustion was completely overshadowed by the profound, hollow emptiness radiating from her. Her normally expressive rosy-brown tail hung entirely limp behind her, devoid of its usual nervous twitches. Even her signature plush pink ear covers and the checkered bow seemed to droop, having lost all their cheerful charm in the gloom of the tunnel. She was staring blankly at the scuffed tips of her running shoes, her chest rising and falling in slow, ragged breaths.

You slowly approached her, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet hallway. As her Trainer, you had spent weeks giving her everything you had. You had stayed up late analyzing data, you had held her hand when she was scared, and you had constantly fed her the familiar, comforting words that hard work would eventually pay off. You gently placed a hand on her shoulder, offering her a soft smile and opening your mouth to deliver that same speech. You wanted to tell her that she ran beautifully, that she gave it her absolute all, and that her intense, secret training sessions would eventually bear fruit in the next race.

Dantsu slowly lifted her head to look at you, and the words immediately died in your throat.

Her warm, amber eyes, usually so full of gentle kindness and hidden, burning ambition, were completely dead. They were dull, glassy, and completely void of the fire that used to drive her. A thick, heavy silence stretched between you both before she finally forced her lips to curve upwards. It was a broken, tragic smile, one born purely out of her innate, desperate habit to please others even when her own heart was shattering into a million pieces.

"Trainer-san," she whispered, her voice incredibly fragile, trembling with a raw vulnerability that made her sound so completely defeated. "Please, you do not have to do that anymore. You do not have to try and make me feel better. I know you mean well, I really do, but hearing those words right now hurts more than the actual race."

She closed her eyes tightly, and the first tear finally broke free, tracing a clean path down her dirt-smudged cheek and dropping silently onto the cold concrete floor. She did not bother to wipe it away. Her hands remained balled into tight, shaking fists at her sides.

"I always believed the stories," she continued, her voice cracking as more tears began to spill freely from her eyes, her polite facade completely washing away in the flood of her despair. "I believed that if I just trained harder than anyone else, if I just pushed my body until I could barely walk, I could eventually catch up to them. I wanted to prove that a completely average girl could become a leading star if she just wanted it badly enough. But this is not one of those movies I love so much, is it?"

She let out a wet, heartbreaking sob, her shoulders shaking violently as the reality of her situation finally crushed her completely.

"Look at Pokke-chan, look at Tachyon-chan," she cried out softly, her voice barely a whisper against the distant cheering of the crowd. "They have something I will never have. They have a light, an aura, a god-given talent that no amount of secret training or extra laps will ever replicate. Every time I get close, they just pull further away effortlessly. I gave absolutely everything I had today, Trainer-san. I left my entire soul on that turf, and I still faded into the background when it mattered most."

She slowly reached up with a trembling hand, wiping her tear-stained face, though it did little to stop the continuous flow of her crying. She looked directly into your eyes, her expression utterly shattered, begging for a painful honesty she was finally ready to accept.

"Maybe I was always meant to be a supporting character," she choked out, stepping slightly away from your comforting touch, as if she felt she no longer deserved it. "Maybe my only purpose is to run in the background so the real stars can shine even brighter. Tell me the truth, Trainer-san. Did you make a mistake choosing me? Because I do not think I have the strength to reach for the center stage anymore."

The deafening roar of the grandstands was no longer a distant, cruel reminder of someone else experiencing victory. This time, the thousands of voices echoing through the massive stadium were screaming her name in absolute unison. The blinding stadium lights were not shining on Jungle Pocket, and they were not tracking the unbelievable genius of Agnes Tachyon. They were focused entirely, completely, and undeniably on Dantsu Flame. The cool evening wind whipped past her face as she slowed her pace, the physical sensation of snapping the finish line tape still lingering vividly across her chest. She had actually done it. She had just won a G1 race.

Her lungs were burning intensely, and her legs felt like they were made of incredibly heavy lead, but she could not feel the pain at all right now. A euphoric, weightless sensation had taken over her entire body. She was wearing her colorful signature racewear, the bright pink and green checkered patterns now stained with bits of dark dirt and sweat from the grueling, fiercely fought battle on the turf. Her rosy-brown tail was swishing wildly behind her, entirely unable to contain the overwhelming adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her signature pink ear covers twitched continuously as the announcer officially declared her the winner over the stadium loudspeakers. She looked up at the giant screen, seeing her own exhausted but radiant face displayed for the entire world to see. She had finally stepped out of the blurry background. Tonight, she was the leading star.

After the mandatory victory lap and a flurry of flashing cameras from the press, she was finally escorted into the quieter, private corridors beneath the grandstands to reunite with her team. The moment she turned the corner and saw you standing there waiting for her, her polite, composed public facade completely crumbled into a million pieces.

She did not walk towards you. She sprinted, practically throwing herself into your space, stopping just inches away only because her innate politeness still held her back from tackling you to the concrete floor. Her round, amber eyes, usually so gentle and accommodating, were brimming with thick, happy tears that quickly spilled over her flushed cheeks.

"Trainer-san," she gasped out, her voice cracking with pure, unfiltered emotion as she tried to catch her breath. "Trainer-san, did you see it? Did you watch me cross the line?"

She reached out with trembling hands, gently grabbing the sleeves of your jacket as if she desperately needed to anchor herself to reality to make sure this was not just a wonderful dream.

"I won, I actually won," she let out a wet, joyful laugh, the beautiful sound bubbling up from the very bottom of her heart. "Thank you. Thank you so much for never giving up on me, even when I was so ready to give up on myself in those dark tunnels. Thank you for looking at a perfectly average, easily forgettable girl and believing with all your heart that she could stand in the absolute center of the stage. All those brutal secret training sessions, all those times my legs wanted to give out, you were always right there holding my hand. I could have never, ever reached this speed without you by my side."

She took a long moment to wipe her tear-stained face with the back of her wrist, sniffing softly as a bright, radiant smile illuminated her features, completely washing away years of deep-seated insecurities. The heavy, emotional atmosphere slowly gave way to a warm, deeply affectionate comfort that only the two of you shared. Her tail gave a rhythmic, happy flick against her legs. She looked up at you through her white-streaked bangs, her eyes sparkling with a sudden, mischievous glint that was incredibly rare for her.

"However," she started, her tone shifting into a cute, slightly nervous pitch as a fresh, darker blush spread across her cheeks. "Now that the race is officially over, and the tears are out of the way, I believe we have a very important matter to discuss."

She tilted her head to the side, her plush pink ear covers twitching playfully as she puffed her cheeks out just a little bit.

"You promised me a very specific reward if I took first place today, Trainer-san. I have an excellent memory, and I have absolutely not forgotten. A whole, entire wheel of parmesan cheese. Just for me. No sharing with anyone else. I am going to hold you to that promise right now. We should probably skip the official after-party and go find a specialty dairy shop immediately, because I plan on putting a ridiculous amount of cheese on my dinner tonight to celebrate."

The warm afternoon sun filtered through the large glass windows of your favorite local cafe, casting a comfortable, lazy glow over the wooden table. Today was officially designated as your shared interest day, a sacred time where the two of you took turns experiencing the things the other person loved the most. Previously, Dantsu Flame had dragged you to three different filming locations of a classic, heavily emotional cheerleading movie. Today, however, it was your turn to share. Sitting neatly across from you, wearing her casual white unbuttoned cardigan and that signature knee-length pink skirt, was Dantsu. As always, her plush pink ear covers and the green-and-pink checkered bow were securely fastened to her ears. In front of her sat a delicious, untouched slice of limited-edition double cheese tart, and right next to it was a massive, intimidating stack of manga volumes you had brought from your personal collection.

You had introduced her to a story about soccer, but more specifically, a story about a boy who absolutely refused to be a background character, a boy who wanted to destroy his limits and become the absolute best striker in the world. Initially, Dantsu had been profoundly moved. Her amber eyes had sparkled with genuine empathy when you explained the protagonist's deep-seated fear of fading into obscurity, a fear she knew all too intimately. She had nodded eagerly, her rosy-brown tail swaying behind her in a happy, relaxed rhythm, completely ready to absorb the inspirational sports narrative you were so passionately explaining.

However, as your explanation progressed, her gentle, accommodating expression slowly morphed into one of pure, unadulterated confusion.

You started enthusiastically breaking down the core ideologies of the series, waving your hands as you explained the concepts of awakening a selfish, destructive ego to survive on the field. Dantsu leaned forward, her hands folded politely on the table, trying her absolute hardest to follow along. She even pulled out a small, cute pink notebook, dutifully writing down the terms you were throwing at her. She wanted to understand your hobbies so badly, but the vocabulary was proving to be a massive hurdle for her sweet, conventional mindset.

"Um, Trainer-san," she interrupted softly, raising her pen slightly as her ear covers gave a confused, rhythmic twitch. "I just want to make sure my notes are completely accurate. So, in order to stop being a supporting character, I have to abandon the concept of teamwork completely and awaken a monstrous, villainous aura? Is that what this ego means? Because when I run against Pokke-chan and the others, I just want to do my very best, not necessarily destroy their entire careers."

She offered a nervous, deeply polite smile, her eyes darting between you and the aggressive, intense artwork on the cover of the manga. You waved her concerns away, diving deeper into the tactical side of the story, explaining how the characters constantly overlap their visions, predicting the future of the field using a concept called metavision.

Dantsu stared at you blankly for a long moment, blinking her large round eyes.

"Metavision," she repeated slowly, carefully writing the word down and underlining it twice. "So, they are scanning the entire field, taking in the peripheral data, and constantly updating their spatial awareness to find the most logical path to the goal. I suppose that makes sense for a turf race. If I keep my head on a swivel, I can find an opening in the pack. That actually sounds incredibly useful, Trainer-san. You are so smart for finding training methods in your comic books."

She smiled brightly, proud of herself for finally grasping a concept, and reached for her fork to take a bite of her cheese tart. But then, you reached the absolute climax of your explanation. You passionately slammed your hand on the table, explaining that to truly evolve, the protagonist had to completely devour his opponents and his teammates, consuming their soccer to fuel his own goals.

Dantsu froze completely, the piece of cheese tart hovering awkwardly halfway to her mouth. Her amber pupils shrank to tiny pinpricks of pure panic, and her rosy-brown tail instantly sprang straight up into the air, stiff as a board. She slowly lowered her fork back onto the plate, her face pale, her accommodating nature violently clashing with the sheer absurdity of what she had just heard.

"D-Devour them?" she stammered, her voice pitching up several octaves higher than normal, completely terrified by the sudden shift from a sports manga to apparent cannibalism. "Trainer-san, please wait just a second. Devour? Like, literally eat them? Is this a horror story? I know I said I would do whatever it takes to become the leading star, and I know I have to beat Tachyon-chan and Pokke-chan, but I cannot possibly eat them! That has to be against the Tracen Academy rulebook!"

She looked at you with wide, desperate eyes, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she tried to process the sheer madness of your favorite series. Despite her absolute horror, her ingrained desire to please you and share in your interests refused to let her just walk away. She swallowed hard, taking a deep, trembling breath to steady her racing heart.

"Okay, okay," she whispered, her voice incredibly small but filled with a hilarious, misguided determination. "If this is what it takes to understand the mindset of an absolute champion, I will read all the volumes. I promise I will read them, Trainer-san. Just, please clarify one thing for me before I start. When we go to our next training session on the track, I do not actually have to try and bite anyone, right?"

(Free Scenario)