The Injury.

The Spring Tenno Sho had passed, and though Tokai Teio lost to Mejiro McQueen, she carried herself as brightly as ever. She laughed, continued her training with a flourish, and shouted about how she’d “definitely win next time!”.

Her usual sparkle never dimmed.

But you’d seen it.

The faltering stride during training. The way she sometimes limped after a lap, laughing it off with a forced smile. The small winces when she thought no one was looking.

It didn’t take long before you insisted she see a doctor.

At first, she puffed out her cheeks, hands on her hips, declaring—

“I’m fine! Trainers like you worry too much, y’know? It’s just a teeny-tiny... uh... hiccup in my step!”

But even she couldn’t ignore the pain anymore. When you gently pressed her shoulder, your eyes serious, Teio’s own gaze softened. She sighed, ears folding down slightly.

“...Okay, okay. I’ll go. But only ‘cause it’s you.”

The hospital smelled of antiseptic. Teio fidgeted as she sat on the examination table, ponytail swishing with nervous energy. You handled the paperwork, watching her from the corner of your eye. She cracked jokes—about the gowns, the X-ray machines, anything to hide the way her hands trembled in her lap.

When the nurse led her away for scans, she looked back at you over her shoulder. The smile was still there, but her blue eyes pleaded:

"Don’t leave me alone in this place."

You waited outside, first sitting, then standing, then pacing.

Every minute stretched too long.

Finally, the door opened. Teio returned, her right foot and ankle bound tight in a cast. She gave you a small, wobbly grin as she lowered herself into the chair beside you.

“...Guess I overdid it, huh?”

The doctor came in, papers in hand. His expression was grave as he inspect the scans. He set the file down with a heavy sound, and sighs.

Silence hung thick in the office until his voice finally broke it.

“...Tokai Teio, you’ve suffered a fracture in your ankle. It’s serious. With this kind of injury... there is a real possibility that you may not be able to run competitively again.”

The words landed like stones.

Teio froze, the brightness in her eyes flickering, dimming. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt, clutching tight. Her ears trembled, but she kept her gaze forward, lips pressed in a thin, stubborn line.

“...Heh. That’s... that’s a pretty bad joke, Doc.”

Her voice cracked despite the forced cheer.

You leaned closer, instinctively reaching out. She didn’t look at you at first. She just sat there, her smile trembling, her whole body stiff with the weight of what she’d heard.

Then slowly, almost desperately, she glanced at you.

“...But it’s not true, right? ‘Cause I’ve got you. And if I’ve got you, then I can still run. I have to run...”

Her tail lay still behind her chair—quiet, unmoving. A rare sight for the ever-bouncy Teio.

The first few days after the hospital visit were the hardest. Tokai Teio hobbled through Tracen Academy’s halls with her crutches, flashing her brightest smile as classmates greeted her.

“Morning! Don’t worry, Teio’s still Teio!” she’d say, lifting a peace sign, her cast thumping softly on the ground.

But the cracks showed.

Every time her path took her near the track, her cheer dimmed. She’d slow her steps, staring at the others sprinting, their hooves pounding in unison. Her hand would tighten on her crutch until her knuckles went pale. Her ears twitched back, her tail stilled, and for just a moment—her eyes clouded with something close to despair.

Her friends noticed. Mejiro McQueen brought tea and sat beside her during lunch. Special Week offered to walk her to class. Rudolf, Teio's idol, had a talk with Teio and consoled her. Even Mayano Top Gun lingered longer in the evenings, checking in with quiet concern.

But Teio always smiled, always waved her hands, insisting—

“I’m fine, really! I’m the invincible Tokai Teio, remember?”

And yet, when she thought no one was looking, her gaze would drift to her cast, and her smile would falter.

That afternoon, you couldn’t find her anywhere. Not on the grounds, not in the cafeteria, not even loitering near the training center like she often did. A gnawing worry pulled at you, leading your steps to her dormitory.

At her door, you knocked.

Once. Twice.

Silence.

You tried again. Still nothing.

Hesitant, you pressed your hand to the knob. It turned easily.

The door creaked open.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn, with only a sliver of sunlight cutting through the gap to paint a thin line across the floor. The air felt heavy, stifled.

On the bed lay Tokai Teio. She was curled up, knees pulled close, clutching one of her trophies against her chest. Her usually radiant face was streaked with tears, her shoulders shaking softly as muffled sobs slipped past her lips.

Her horse ears twitched at the sound of the door. Slowly, she turned her head, wide blue eyes meeting yours. Her cheeks were damp, her bangs clung to her face.

She froze, caught in a moment she never wanted you—or anyone—to see.

“...Trainer...?” her voice was hoarse, broken.

She pressed the trophy tighter to her chest, as if afraid it might be taken from her too.

The first step was the simplest—and the hardest.

You sat her down, laid out a plan. Physical therapy, diet, rest, and especially, patience.

Teio stared at the list of exercises you had written for her, her usual grin nowhere to be seen. Her ears flicked back in irritation.

“That’s it? Slow stretches? Trainer, I can do more than that! I can run—”

Her body betrayed her before her words did. She shifted too quickly, pain shooting through her leg, and she hissed between her teeth.

You gently steadied her shoulder, firm but kind. She hated it. She hated being reminded of her limits. But she listened.

And so it began.

Mornings, she met you at the track—not to run, but to walk. Crutches at first, each step careful and trembling. She grimaced, sweat beading on her forehead, but she never once asked to stop.

When she faltered, you matched her pace, walking beside her until she steadied again.

Afternoons were therapy sessions, stretching and building strength. Her competitive fire often burned too bright, and you had to remind her—sometimes sternly—to slow down.

She would pout, cross her arms, tail flicking behind her. But when you looked away, she would still do the exercises exactly as told.

Weeks turned into months.

The day she finally walked without her crutches, she looked up at you with eyes shining, a small, genuine smile breaking across her face.

“...Trainer. I did it.”

Her voice trembled, but her pride was real.

From then on, the steps grew bigger. Light jogging. Balance drills. Resistance training. Every day she pushed herself harder, but this time, you were there to pull her back when her recklessness threatened to undo her progress.

She began to laugh again. Jokes slipped back into her training sessions, even if her body still moved more carefully than before.

The first time she sprinted again, the air seemed to hold its breath. Her foot struck the ground with a rhythm that had been silent for too long. Not perfect—but it was hers.

When she slowed to a stop, panting, she turned to you, her grin wide and wet with tears.

“Trainer! I... I can run again!”

The winter air at Nakayama bit sharp against your skin as you adjusted your coat. The crowd was already deafening, banners waving and voices carrying every name in the lineup—Biwa Hayahide, Winning Ticket, Legacy World, Mejiro Palmer.... Giants of the track.

And then, among them, stood Tokai Teio.

She was bouncing lightly in place, cape fluttering, her ponytail bobbing with every spring of her step.

There was something different in her today. Not just confidence—joy. The sheer joy of being back where she belonged.

"Today’s Tokai Teio looks different. She isn’t just running a race—she’s celebrating her return.” The commentator’s words echoed across the racecourse.

You clutched your cap tighter. A year ago, she was limping on crutches, her dream dangling by a thread. And now...

The gates slammed open.

Palmer charged forward, claiming the lead with her pace. The field thundered behind, but Teio slipped neatly into position right at the rail, shadowing Palmer. Smooth, efficient. Every stride was controlled—her body knew the track like it had never left it.

Halfway through, doubts clawed at you again. Could her ankle hold? Could she really match pace with these monsters of the turf after a year away?

The answer came at the final turn.

Teio swung wide, tail snapping, ears pinned back. She exploded to the outside, chasing Winning Ticket and Biwa Hayahide who had already launched their moves. The stands roared, and so did your heart.

Down the stretch, Biwa surged ahead, her powerful strides eating the ground. It looked like she would claim it—until the sound of another runner grew louder, faster, brighter.

“Here comes Tokai Teio!!” the commentator cried.

Her cape streamed behind her like fire, her smile radiant even as sweat flew from her brow. With each bound she closed the gap—one length, half a length, neck to neck.

And then, she pushed past Biwa.

The finish line cut through the air—

And she won.

The stadium erupted. A wave of sound so powerful it rattled through your bones. Fans crying, cheering, chanting her name.

On the turf, Teio slowed to a trot, chest heaving, eyes wide with the shock of it. Then she turned toward the stands, raising her arm high, beaming through tears.

And in that instant, you saw it clear—Tokai Teio wasn’t just back.

She had reclaimed her throne.

The rehearsal hall was buzzing with energy. The stage lights glowed softly as a line of Uma Musume, all dressed in bright idol outfits, moved in perfect rhythm. Matching skirts swayed, bows bounced, and laughter mixed with the music between takes.

Tokai Teio stood near the center, her pink outfit catching the light. The frilled skirt flared with every step, and the bow in her hair bounced in sync with her ponytail.

She was beaming, her voice bright as she called out counts for the others, leading with her usual energetic flair.

From your spot near the edge of the hall, you watched. Every spin, every hop, every little mistake followed by laughter—it all carried her signature charm.

Even among so many bright costumes and shining smiles, Teio’s energy drew the eye like a magnet.

Finally, the instructor clapped their hands, calling for a break. Some girls darted off to change, others collapsed in laughter, gulping down water bottles. Teio lingered, chatting with her friends—until her ears twitched.

She turned her head, spotting you.

Her whole expression lit up, a smile bursting across her face. In an instant, she bounded over, practically hopping across the floor.

“Trainer!! What are you doing here!?” Her voice carried the same excitement as if she had just discovered a treasure chest.

You answered that you were curious and want to see the progress.

"Oh! I see..." Teio rocked on her heels, fingers fidgeting with her skirt.

She seems to consider something, before puffing her chest out, cheeks slightly flushed.

“Trainer... Do you think I look cute in this outfit?”

Her tail swished eagerly behind her, ears twitching in anticipation of your answer.