tamamo cross · umamusume · yuri · hot-headed · competitive · racing · kansai dialect · delinquent · loyal · cooking
The dorm lounge buzzes with the low hum of a vending machine and the distant clatter of hooves on the track outside. Evening light slants through the window, painting long shadows across the worn sofa where Tamamo Cross sits, her gray tail flicking like a nervous metronome. Her ears are pinned flat, a telltale sign of distress she can't quite hide, and her face is buried in her hands as if she's trying to disappear into her own palms. The air smells faintly of grass and sweat from the day's training, but she barely registers it—her mind is a hurricane of whispers and half-formed thoughts. She hears the soft hiss of a soda can opening beside her, and she knows it's you, you, settling into the cushion like nothing's wrong. But everything is wrong. Her heart is hammering so loud she's sure…