Chapter Text
The light of golden hour panned across the rattling interior of the streetcar as it bounded along the track. The glow caught in the amber eyes of the lone Umamusume occupying the cab. She clutched a package the size of a tissue box to her chest. The streetcar leaned into a southward-facing turn; her brows knit in frantic anticipation.
“And as the divine Shiraoki proclaims: with the sun lowered to an auric sheen, turn thine body such that the gift is bathed in this most auspicious light,” Matikanefukukitaru intoned under her breath. The cab did the work for her and brought the setting sun in full view out the windows across from her. Crimson and dappled violet brushed the peaks of Tokyo’s distant skyscrapers. Her mother’s return address smiled up at her, illuminated in a golden hue.
Snapping a glance at her phone, Fukukitaru held her breath until the compass app on her phone’s homescreen registered the cardinal direction that would most fortuitously augment the sunlight. Another glance at her clock app: seconds ticked down to an especially luckful time. She steadied her breath and, with fidgeting fingers and widening eyes, waited for the intersection she needed.
Almost… this needs to be perfect…
Almost…
Now
She slammed her phone down on the unoccupied seat beside her and tore at the package with a hungry vigour. She didn’t have much time; the train might turn and dim this perfect light, or the time might tick dangerously close to a minute brimming with misfortune. Her fingers flared with knuckle-white urgency as she dug her nails into the packaging tape which entombed her gift.
Please
She felt the streetcar begin to turn, ever so slightly.
No, please
She dug harder, her nails straining against the cardboard.
I can’t lose this
The light began to turn away; it would be gone in seconds. The cardboard bit into the flesh beneath her nails.
I can’t lose another one
With an angry tear, the top flap of the box split apart from the rest and exposed the gift’s gently wrapped innards. Fukukiaru exhaled a shaky breath. Her head came to rest on the window behind her with a thump. It was cool in the late May air; she felt the tension escape out the back of her skull and through the glass, out into the evening breeze. Her thundering pulse slowly wound down as she brushed her aching fingertips over the wrapping paper her mother always used. It was brown, and smooth to the touch like butcher’s paper. It felt like weekend stamp walks to Hokkaido Shrine, hand in hand with mother; like sips of cherry blossom tea in Odori Park after an afternoon picking the luckiest flowers; like the bags of fresh mochi Wisteria once gave her for doing well on calligraphy tests, many years ago. It was a rare texture here in Tokyo, at Tracen Academy. Sapporo had never seemed so far away.
Fukukitaru parsed the last surviving box flap and lifted the contents from the ravaged container. Twine bound the wrapped gift tightly, and a sealed letter ran along its belly, where she found a bunny-ear knot. String unfurled at her fingertips and loosened on her lap as the letter came free in her hand. The letter was folded to be its own envelope - the paper plain and textural, with a toothy weight that hungered for ink. Fukukitaru ran her thumb over the kanji of the wax seal that bound the letter shut. Athena Tosho, in raised amber wax, greeted her thumbpad. Mother always made sure she knew when a letter was from her. Fukukitaru broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and began to read.
My dearest Matikanefukukitaru,
Happy Birthday, my little spinach leaf! I still can't believe my lucky star competed in her first G1 race! I hope you’ve had some time to yourself after such a whirlwind of activity these past few weeks. Having the Japanese Derby so close to your birthday must have made it hard to plan for much in the way of festivities, what with all of the prep and such. I pray you get to rest and celebrate with Matikanetannhauser and the rest of your dormmates over the next couple of weeks. You deserve it!
It felt like the entire neighbourhood got together to watch you run! I sent out invites to everyone I could think of in the History faculty, and even got the head of the Japanese Language and Culture department to spread the word. With everyone from the university plus my friends from the shrine, there must have been upwards of 60 people all cheering for you. We booked out a lecture hall and projected the match onto one of the big screens, and ordered tons of fresh food and snacks to really make it special. We even got Priest Yashihiro to pray for your race as you stood in the gate. It felt like a proper celebration. I'll send you some pictures when I'm done marking this term's finals. You’ll have to excuse any tears you see in my eyes. Trust me, they’re tears of joy!
I want you to know how incredibly proud I am of you, no matter what. I know what it’s like. I caught a glimpse of you at the finish, and I saw such a familiar look on your face. I’ve felt that exact feeling. I only ever made it to a G3 race, but standing in those gates, with so much pressing on my shoulders, felt suffocating in a way you can't explain unless you've been there. It felt like my entire life, my whole reason for being, had condensed into a singular moment. At the end of it, coming in 3rd made me feel like I was a cosmic failure.
Fukukitaru wishes she had come in 3rd. She hadn't even placed. A bitter lump began to form in her throat.
Just know I never want you to feel like that, ever. You never knew your grandmother, and I don’t talk about her a lot. That's because our relationship never really recovered after that loss. We had a… complicated past borne of unmet dreams and unspoken expectations. Maybe one day I’ll sit down over some tea and tell you about it. All you need to know is that she’d placed so much of herself into me winning that race, and I just couldn't do it. That day, when I crossed that finish line knowing she would never look at me the same way again, I made a promise to never be like her. No matter what happens, you are always going to be my lucky star. I’m so proud of you. Wisteria would have been so proud of you.
Fukukitaru’s jaw clenched at her sister’s name. Her mother seldom mentioned her anymore. It had been a G1 race too, the last race Wisteria ever ran - the last time they ever saw each other. Her eyes had begun to grow blurry; she wiped them with her sleeve before reading on.
If you haven’t unwrapped it yet, I’ve enclosed a special surprise for you. The weeks approaching race day bring up a lot of feelings for me, and knowing how intense the Derby was going to be on your body, I worked with Priest Yashihiro at the shrine to consecrate a very important gift for you. I pray it keeps you safe for this year’s races.
Fukukitaru gingerly unfolded the wrapping paper. She gasped as its contents came into view. She ran her shaking fingers over the prize. It was a Kifuda: a talisman, wrought from a smooth, rectangular strip of wood. It was inscribed with her home shrine’s blessing - litanies of protection marched along the talisman’s face in inked kanji. There was something else different about this Kifauda, Fukukitaru noticed. It bore the minute textural imperfections of hand craftsmanship. She narrowed her gaze as she held the talisman in the waning sunlight.
“Oh, mother, you didn’t…”
It was a wood she’d recognize anywhere. This was old-growth hinoki wood. Smooth to the touch and gold to the gaze, it was the same wood that shrines and temples all over Japan were constructed from. This must have cost a fortune. She held the talisman to her nose and inhaled the scent of the carving; for a moment, she was back in Sapporo, back at Hokkaido Shrine - candlelight glinting off the polished wooden floor, incense hanging thick in the air, her young hand grasping at Wisteria’s sundress. She clutched the Kifuda tight to her heart and imagined flecks of homeborne luck soaking into her pulse and racing through her body, through her lifeblood. The luck nestled into her bones and wove her muscles into armour.
Please come back to me. I can’t lose another one.
Mother
Matikanefukukitaru gripped the Kifuda tightly as molten tears streamed down her cheeks. The sun sank behind the Tokyo skyline, casting the streetcar in the residual navy shadow of blue hour. As she looked out the adjacent window, her own amber eyes reflected back at her. They looked so much like Wisteria’s had, so long ago.