Chapter Text
Meisho Doto had never really considered herself worth worrying about.
In life, there were those born to shine and those who would only ever watch them. From a young age, she knew she was the latter; small, quite frail, and awkwardly unsociable, everyone looked at her with anything but expectations.
Even as Doto grew older, and much, much taller, she never found herself growing into her own body. She was just a tad too big, a little too nervous, and instead of seeming grand and strong she looked like a tower ready to topple over. Her only saving grace was that she was an umamusume. Even if she wasn’t a winner, perhaps it was acceptable if she at least raced.
That’s what she told herself.
That’s what she wanted so badly to believe.
For a little while, she had thought that racing could be where she finally got the chance to shine. It was only inevitable that she learned, even amongst umamusume, the roles of the world were still at play. She was still not good enough, not strong enough, not remarkable past her sheer clumsiness.
She was a side-character in her own life, and perhaps she’d been okay with that.. okay if it was /her/ standing ahead, letting Doto bask in the light that shone on her constantly. Opera O. Her hero, her protagonist, her shining idol she could love but not touch, not stand next to, not—
“Doto!”
Laughing and beaming, Opera O turned to her and grinned. The sun, setting in a tapestry of auburns, soaked her affectionately in its warm glow. The whole world shifted. Doto couldn’t look anywhere else.
“Come on. Let us chase the sun!” She declared, stepping back cheerfully before darting off ahead of her.
-Not be worthy of.
She gaped, one foot forward, and then froze up in an instant. Her entire body seemed to simmer, a jolt of pain and heat mixing into bitter bile in her throat. A hand came up, shaking, shivering, fragile— it cupped her neck and tried to soothe it, but found soon enough that her mouth was the real issue.
Opera’s disappearing shadow stretched across the grass to meet her, the only observer to the petals that fell, bloody and violent, from her lips.
“Ah,” she whispered, tears pricking in her eyes. They somehow burned more than anything else did. “I’m really pathetic, aren’t I?”
“You’re zoning out, Doto.” The voice of the girl sat across the table wrangled her from her thoughts. “Come on, you were saying?”
“Uhm,” she started, stopped, and then looked around awkwardly. “Sorry, what was I saying?”
The room (or should she say tent?) was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the ominous blue ball in between them. Fuku fit right in - with her bright, orange hair and starry eyes, she stood out no matter what.
Doto did not share any of those traits.
“.. You should be telling me that,” her friend said, peerless gaze scrutinising her almost uncomfortably. “Doto, do you want me to tell you your fortune?”
Huh? That was out of nowhere. Doto, who felt much more comfortable behind Fuku rather than infront of her, searched for the courage in all of the places she knew it wouldn’t be. Still, this whole fortune telling gig had started out as an indirect way to improve her confidence— she should, shouldn’t she?
(Or maybe, if she was being honest with herself, it was a way to confirm the worst).
“.. I guess so, sure,” she replied, sheepish. Those eyes were on her, now, piercing straight through her pretty fragile armour and into what felt like her very soul. “Uh, Fuku?”
The girl shook her head to silence her, hands hovering just above the glass ball so that Doto could still see, focused and silent, the other’s face above them.
She knew even before Fuku could part her lips to say that something was wrong. After all, Doto had seen that same, grave and inexplicable expression aimed at others - just never her.
She gulped, clutching at her skirt with sweaty palms.
“In your future, I see potential heartbreak,” she murmured, staring across the table at her in a way that made Doto feel itchy. “It seems that it’ll be by your own choices whether it happens or not.”
“Oh. Ha- I see.”
If it was left to her to save herself, she was done for. She shouldn’t even be racing. She was useless alone.
“Doto?” Fuku pressed, ears flicking nervously - had she caught the fear in her voice?
An ugly, painful feeling scratched at her throat. Something wrong was already taking root in her heart.. she could feel it, writhing.
“Ah, uhm! Excuse me-“ panicked, mumbling quickly, she rose to her feet faster than she could ever do in training. Her fingers found the tent’s flap, pulling it open, and even hearing the frantic sound of her friend’s questions, she fled without looking back.
Top Road was the good-natured sort. She was always polite, gentle and friendly in that classic ‘good girl’ way. Opera O was quite fond of her, simply speaking; she was her rival, for one, and a good tease every so often as well! The perfect candidate for a duetaragonist to her heroic tale, no?
But— this time, she wasn’t here for herself. She was sure her own expression was probably pretty worse for wear right now. After all, Top Road was looking at her like she’d grown two heads.
“Are you.. alright, Opera-san?” The girl asked, patting the seat next to her with such fervour it was evident she was experienced in pep talks.
“Oh, my dear Top Road, it is not I whose wellbeing is of concern,” she replied, pressing her hand to her chest. The girl ahead of her let out a sigh of relief, or perhaps understanding - that made more sense. “— It is of my Doto’s!”
Never mind, now she looked confused all over again.
“Oh, I understand.” Was she just trying to translate it? Why was she glancing at her like that? “Your Doto, huh.”
“Yes?” Opera continued, maintaining her usual, lilting tone even in spite of everything she felt - whatever that was. “I’m not sure what to do, you see? As capable as I am, and as talented as I may be, it is not often I face the challenge of supporting another in such a way.”
“I don’t know about that.. you did quite well at inspiring me and Ayabe-san,” Top Road interceded, offering a small smile.
“Well, yes. It is me we’re talking about, but!” She finally flopped onto the space beside her friend, lamenting, “it’s not that what is troubling Doto is racing this time. I don’t know what it is, and that concerns me— because she’s my rival, of course! I can’t allow her to get into a slump, haha!”
Now, the gaze planted on her was as if she had grown /three/ heads instead.
“Right.” Gah.. She wasn’t believing it.. “Uhm. If you’re worried, Opera-san, I think the only thing you can do is talk to her.”
“Is it truly so easy?” Such hesitance felt unbecoming of her, but for Doto, she supposed she could afford a little bit of it. She was usually good at reading her rivals, capable of pushing them forwards herself or trusting others to do so for her. This was different, though. It almost felt as if Doto was purposefully hiding away her feelings.
“You’re talking to me now, after all.”
Opera O fell silent, scratching her chin thoughtfully. She spoke with Doto all of the time, but, for some reason, she didn’t think it truly could be that simple.
“But talk to her about what?” She muttered, uncharacteristically unsure. Top Road went to pat her, but thought better of it, surely. Instead, she placed her hands on her thighs, smoothed her skirt, and stood up with a hum.
“I’m sure you’ll figure that out yourself.”
“Five laps down, Doto!” Opera announced, dangling two water bottles in the air with a sparkly smile. “I think this calls for a rest break, don’t you?”
The other uma slowed down, hunching over with a gasp for breath. Sweat slipped down her brow, barely a bead before she swiped it off with the sleeve of her jersey and straightened up. “I can do another..”
“I’m sure you can~ but—“ she crossed the turf towards her, deliberate and purposeful, and slipped her arm around her friend with a grin. “I feel as though I could do two!”
The girl frowned, eyes suddenly wide as her ears perked upright and alert. That seemed to have gotten her! “You’re right. I’m a bit out of breath.”
Successful, Opera unhanded her easily, watching as she took her bottle and gave it a few sheepish sips. Her gaze softened, and with a slightly lighter heart, she sauntered off to go flop onto the grass with an exaggerated sigh.
“I am sincerely at home on the turf..” she muttered into it, rolling onto her back just as Doto stooped to look down at her. “Am I not?”
Smiling bashfully, the taller girl nodded. “You are,” she replied, kneeling down at her feet. Opera observed her chapped lips, considering, and seemed to get carried away in it when— “u-u-uhm, Opera-san?”
“Yes, Doto?” That was weird. The other often took care of her lips pretty well, had she gotten a cold or something of the sort?
“You’re looking..” finally, she lifted her eyes. The Doto she was met with was bright, bright red, flushed from the neck to the top of her cheeks. Even her ears seemed somehow more pink than usual. “..At my lips.”
“Yes, I am,” Opera confirmed, rising up to see her friend’s expression directly. This only resulted in a flinch, a whimper, and a pair of arms rising to duck behind. “Doto.”
“O-Opera-san!”
“Have you a fever?” She asked, straight-forward, and watched as the other finally dropped her arms and peered at her nervously.
“Huh?” She stammered, glancing everywhere but at Opera and shaking her head in a fuss. Her hair seemed to bound with her, bunched up near her shoulders. “No, no, I don’t! I’m fine. Yeah, I’m great, actually- good as ever.”
She leaned in closer at that, pointed and considered. And yet—
“Gahhhh!” Retreating, again.
“Ah, ah, alright,” she conceded, drawing back to allow Doto to catch her bearings, her cheeks all puffed and her ears pressed against her own head. “.. Hm, do you know?”
Raised brows, a gulp, “.. Know what?”
“When you’re all red like that, you’re quite adorable, Doto,” Opera said, leaning into her own palm and smiling, smugly, at her rival, friend and closest companion. Her lips perked up even further at the reaction she was probing out of her, all fluster and bluster. “There it is again!”
Nope. That did it, actually. With a hoarse cough and a strangled noise, Doto jumped to her feet, bowed her head, and twisted to the side with a crack that must’ve been her back (ow). “N-no more, Opera-san!”
Something about the shrillness in that was, for once, not as cute as it was /worrying/. Despite herself, she lurched forward, slipped, and hit her chin on the ground with a sputter that was not very TM Opera O like.
“Hey, wai—“ before she could recover and get up, the taller girl was already miles away, bottle still in hand and tail wagging behind her.
Defeated for once, she looked down at the grass below. Nothing but.. hold on. Something lightly pink, soft and mostly white, peeked out from between the strands, a dim star in a green sky.
She reached for it, cautious. For a moment, it really did look beautiful.
Yet, something was amiss: the scarlet ringlets of blood that lay, almost inconspicuously, upon the petal like a violent dew. A sign of suffering, pain with no wound. It was unusual. Discomforting.
And yet, Opera grasped it even so.
After all, to her, beauty did not require perfection.
“Talk attempt number one: unfortunate failure.”