Chapter Text
“…in my place?” Tachyon turned from the field as the roars of the crowd reached their crescendo.
Even with her back turned, the roiling passion bursting from the course licked her back like a bonfire. Below her, uma musume from around the world met to put their hearts and dreams on the line, their spirits battling fiercely to break the very limits of their potential. It was everything Agnes Tachyon’s carefully laid plans had been building towards. The clash of wills between the Centurial Overlord and her dear Pokke-kun played out before her in spectacular fashion. Jungle Pocket had met and exceeded all her expectations, overcoming every obstacle with her signature stubborn pride. Tachyon’s Plan B worked beyond her wildest dreams; her supernova performance at the Satsuki Sho searing her running into her rival’s mind with a brilliance that she couldn’t help but strive towards.
And yet, as the announcers screamed their exuberant narration, never sure of whether Opera O or Jungle Pocket were truly in the lead, Tachyon couldn’t bring herself to watch the end. It wasn’t that she feared the conclusion of the race, of Jungle Pocket losing. If her calculations were correct, and they always were, both Jungle Pocket and T.M. Opera O would be challenging the fabled limit of uma musume potential by this point. Victory was second to her true goal of witnessing the ascension of a runner who would shatter all limitations, with her help of course. She took pride in that, at least. Even against an opponent as monstrous as the Overlord, her calculations still gave the edge to Jungle Pocket. Everything she had done, sacrificing her shot at the Triple Crown, her indefinite hiatus, everything. It was all for Jungle Pocket to succeed and fulfill the dreams Tachyon’s fragile body couldn’t. To break the limits… in her place.
Tachyon’s brows furrowed. That phrase again. The entire point of Plan B. Every time she so much as thought it, a chilling numbness rippled through her body. The phrase was like a predator, and under its gaze her ears flattened against her hair and every instinct told her to freeze. It vexed her.
“Jungle Pocket takes the lead!” the announcer shouted, the disbelief in her voice apparent, “Jungle Pocket pulls ahead! Opera O surges, but Jungle Pocket has it! It’s Jungle Pocket!”
Tachyon looked down, her scowl deepening. Behind her, the crowd erupted, cheers echoing deafeningly against the bleachers. Her favorite guinea pig had done it. The Overlord, the undisputed king of her generation, T.M. Opera O, toppled by the delinquent racer who dared dream of being the strongest. And yet. The predatory thought prowled on, insisting that it should never have been anybody but herself on that field. An impossibility, really, Tachyon told herself. She had run 4 beautiful races, and that was enough to ensure Plan B came to fruition. Jungle Pocket’s infamous post victory roars vibrating the air itself were proof of that. But why then, did she feel so haunted?
Tachyon stared down at her leg, once shattered, now delicately healed. It shook as the chilling feeling ripped through her again. In her place? That couldn’t be right. Plan A was never going to happen. The derby, kikuka, none of that was ever possible for someone like her, a body like hers. And yet. She trembled as a new instinct settled over her. Her whole body, whole subconscious, screamed at her to run. The time for freezing had passed.
Tachyon took a shaky step, and then another. The clamor of celebration dulled as once again she put one foot in front of the other, the path beneath her blurring. Everything around her vanished as the same triumphant feeling from the Satsuki Sho filled her again. She had broken a limit, not the limit, but one that she had been slowly but surely building around herself. Plan A was never going to succeed, Plan B was never going to be enough, what Tachyon needed was something new. She flew out of the stadium and onto one of the many paths that crisscrossed the campus. She was a fool for ever thinking a proxy would be enough for her. Agnes Tachyon needed to climb to those heights herself; take in the view beyond potential with her own eyes. Her feet thundered over the dirt, each step digging into the earth and pushing her closer to that dream. In that moment, nothing would matter but her pinnacle of achievement. Tachyon grit her teeth, pushing her body harder. Any sacrifice was worth it. The means were meaningless. Tachyon’s sleeves flapped in the wind as she looked up at the sky, eyes clouded with tears and a smile on her face. She reached her hand out, as if grasping at something intangible. She would surpass her limits. No proxies, no manipulation. She would break the world of uma musume open with her own legs.
Sorry Pokke-Kun, it seems we’ll be racing again after all
…
Jungle Pocket charged down the hall, footsteps echoing through the empty school. Everyone else would be in the dorms by now, and this part of Tracen was always empty anyway. She reached a hand up to her hair, ruffling it in an attempt to hide the sweat clinging to her scalp. Her tail twitched as she walked, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She still wore her cropped yellow racing jacket and cargo shorts. The winning live wasn’t even over, but she had more important places to be. She stopped in front of a closed door to catch her breath. Inside the abandoned classroom was the only person she wanted to see right now. She took a breath and slid the door open forcefully.
“Oi! Tachyon,” Jungle Pocket yelled as she entered, “I did it! I told you I-“
Her voice trailed off as she noticed the other girl’s lack of acknowledgement. Tachyon sat - or rather perched - on her desk chair, arms around her knees, one hand on the mouse and the other clutching a pencil. Her gaze was locked intently on the computer monitor. Looking at her, Jungle Pocket felt a rush of emotions. Jumbled, confusing, but powerful all the same. Tachyon was her rival, she supposed. A rival who she could never race again, sure, but nonetheless she stood as both a road block and an unending drive to improve. Looking at her now, though, Jungle Pocket was filled with a mixture of frustration and longing. She had done everything Tachyon had asked of her, poured her heart out on the track, and crushed every opponent. She was the strongest. At long last she had caught up with her ambition. But she wanted more. Maybe it was greedy, but she wanted Tachyon to acknowledge her too. The scientist was just that, however, engrossed in some project or experiment, seemingly apathetic to her presence in the room. It was infuriating.
Jungle Pocket clenched her firsts and crossed the room. She seized the headrest of the chair and forcibly spun the small woman to face her, just as she had the day she declared their rivalry. Jungle Pocket loomed over her, bay hair dangling between them. Tachyon looked up at Jungle Pocket, her expression unreadable. Jungle Pocket met her eyes, glaring at her, preparing some indignant jab. Before she could, however, Tachyon returned her gaze to the monitor, wordlessly prompting Jungle Pocket to do the same.
The screen was uncomfortably bright in the dark classroom. Jungle Pocket’s eyes widened when she saw what Tachyon had been so engrossed in. On the screen was a frame by frame breakdown of her contest with Opera O. Knowing Tachyon, she had been carefully going over each of them, analyzing every aspect of her running. The image on screen showed the moment she overtook Opera O on the final push. Her physique was flawless, toned muscles operating at the height of their prowess. Just seeing the images made her body hum, remembering the wonderful burn of pushing the boundaries of her ability. Jungle Pocket had never run so hard, so cleanly. Her body and mind had been entirely focused on her goal in that moment. The wild grin plastered across her face would send shivers down anyone’s spine. It was the look of someone clawing their way forward with every fiber of their being. It was a terrifying picture. Tachyon, however, clearly found it - her - fascinating.
Jungle Pocket stared down at the now smiling Tachyon. In an instant, all the fight drained from her. Tachyon had acknowledged her, in her own way. A new emotion joined the swirling storm of pride and excitement and frustration inside her: relief. The pride of her rival was the last thing Jungle Pocket craved before she could let herself rest. The exhaustion of the day collapsed onto her shoulders, and Jungle Pocket stumbled forward, collapsing onto the other girl’s lap. Tachyon stiffened, unused to someone choosing to touch her. Jungle Pocket straddled her, letting her head rest on the smaller girl’s shoulder. Tachyon could feel her hot breath on her neck as Jungle Pocket shook with exhaustion.
“Thank you, Tachyon,” her voice came out as little more than a coarse whisper, but it held weight beyond its volume.
Tachyon said nothing for a moment, instead slowly embracing the girl, one arm around her strong back and the other tangling in her matted mane.
“You did good, Pokke-kun.”
Jungle Pocket stilled, surprised by the sudden contact, but upon hearing her words, she sank into the embrace, letting her emotions come to the surface. She clutched at the frail girl beneath her. Jungle Pocket hesitated for a moment, tightening her grip on Tachyon’s lab coat. One choked sob ripped from her throat as she buried her face in the crook of Tachyon’s neck. She didn’t know how long the two stayed like this, embracing in the cluttered room that passed as a laboratory, but it was Tachyon who broke the silence.
“Say, Pokke-kun, would you like to run with me again?”
Jungle Pocket jolted upright, her ears standing up straight.
Tachyon continued, “Watching you run made it clear. I am no longer content watching you run in my place.”
The words were short, and she delivered them in a flat tone that hardly betrayed an ounce of emotion, but Jungle Pocket recognized it as the declaration that it was.
“Does this mean you’re going to return to racing? You’ll be my rival again?”
Tachyon met the bay haired girl’s gaze. Her eyes, a brown so dark they were almost red, stared up at her with an intensity that almost unnerved Jungle Pocket.
“I once hypothesized that by quitting racing at my peak, it would drive you to break the boundaries of your own potential in ways I would never be able to,” Tachyon stated, “But now, watching you, I can’t help but wish that I was doing so myself. You’ve inspired me, Pokke-kun.”
Jungle Pocket’s bottom lip quivered wordlessly, and before she had time to stop herself, she found herself surging forward. Her lips met Tachyon’s as if in answer to her question.
Of course I want to run with you. Of course I’ll be your rival. What kind of dumbass question is that?
It all went unspoken as Jungle Pocket kissed the girl beneath her.