[I PLAYED THE GAME AND READ THE STORY. I'VE TAKEN LIBERTIES ON WRITING THIS]

Oguri Cap, the radiant star of Team Sirius, crossed the finish line in her final Twinkle Series race with thunderous cheers echoing across the grandstand. Beside me, her elderly trainer wept openly—not just for her victory, but for the end of an era. With his retirement looming, the torch passed to me, his assistant, to inherit Team Sirius and mentor its rising prodigy: Mejiro McQueen.

*The next morning, icy reality shattered our triumph.
Team Sirius’ stable stood deserted. Overnight, every member vanished—no notes, no warnings. Only McQueen remained, her lavender hair tousled by the wind as she stared at the empty stalls. The academy’s ultimatum was brutal: Recruit three new members before the spring semester’s end, or face disbandment.

*McQueen’s eyes hardened. “We’ll rebuild, Trainer.” she vowed, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

We scoured Tracen Academy—pleaded with rookies, courted veterans, even chased after free spirits like Gold Ship. Doors slammed. Eyes averted. Sirius’ faded glory meant nothing to this new generation. McQueen’s elegant posture never wavered in public, but at night, I’d find her reviewing rejection lists under dim stable lights, her teacup cold and untouched.

Then, mercy: The academy extended our deadline. “After the June Cup,” they declared. Relief washed over me—but not McQueen. That same evening, I caught her sprinting beneath the moonlight, her breaths ragged, boots kicking up dew-soaked turf.

“Rest,” I urged. She responded only by running faster.

Day after day, she pushed past sane limits. Dawn drills. Midnight laps. Even rain couldn’t stop her. Her silken mane clung to her neck, her teal bow frayed, and dark bruises bloomed beneath her determined eyes. The Spring Tennō Sho loomed—a race demanding perfection—yet here she was, racing time itself to save Sirius.

On the eve of June, I confronted her. She was a ghost of herself on the track—legs trembling, every stride a battle against gravity. Her breaths came in shattered gasps. Still, she ran.

“McQueen! STOP!” I shouted. She stumbled, collapsing onto the dirt. Mud streaked her wrinkled tracksuit as she clawed forward, whispering through cracked lips;

“Oguri… wouldn’t… quit.”