Aftermath of the Fall

“Ms. Ibarra, I understand how important your next race is...”

The doctor sighed, eyes lingering on the X-ray plates pinned to the wall.

Ibarra sat stiff in her chair, staring at the images. Beside her, the trainer’s pen scratched across his notebook — a distraction, an attempt to drown his own denial in ink.

“We found chipped bones in your upper right knee.” The doctor pointed at the dark lines in the film. “This is something we can’t overlook.”

Ibarra’s breath hitched. Her fists curled tight on her lap.

“Doctor...” her voice faltered. “If I stop training now and take full rest until the race... can I still—”

“I don’t recommend it.” The doctor cut her off with a shake of his head. “You need surgery. And the sooner, the better.”

Ibarra, usually sharp and outspoken, found herself speechless. Her lips parted, but the words sank back down her throat.

The trainer saw her falter and stepped forward.

“If she undergoes the procedure... how long will recovery take?”

“It could be months. A year, even, depending on the damage. We’ll need more tests before a full plan.”

He looked back at Ibarra with regret, but no hesitation.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Ibarra. You still have years ahead of you. I don’t want you to risk all of it for one race. For now, I’ll prescribe something for the pain.”

Ibarra forced a wry smile at her trainer, though her eyes said otherwise.

---

“Trainer! I can still run! Just one more—”

“No.”

Her trainer met her glare with steel. Not an order. A rebuke.

“I reviewed your last two races. You broke away in the first leg before the final corner. But in the second... you nearly lost to Es at the last turn. If we risk it in the next race, you might not just lose... your injury might retire you for good.”

“Tch...” Ibarra clenched her teeth, fists trembling. “We’re this close...”

She slumped back into the chair, the wood creaking under her weight.

For the trainer, it was a bitter sight. Seeing a proud, determined Uma begging for her next run was like a lump lodged in his chest.

“For once... just think for yourself, Ibarra. You can hate me all you want, but I won’t let your future go to waste.”

He groaned, rubbing his face, cursing under his breath.

Ibarra turned away, her eyes catching the academy emblem painted on the wall beside the worn-out whiteboard.

Three colors. Three stars. Their shine had faded over the years — just like the old team’s glory.

“But, Trainer... your dream...”

The trainer tugged his cap low, hiding his eyes.

“Do you remember our motto?”

Ibarra snapped her gaze back. “Eclipse first. The rest nowhere.”

“This girl...” He let out a tired chuckle. “Not that one. The other one. My drawer. You forgot to put it back.”

She hesitated, then walked to his desk. Opening the drawer, her fingers brushed against cold metal. She lifted the thin strip, dusting it carefully.

Etched into it were three words:

Dreams Never Die.

Her chest tightened.

“I’m happy you carried my selfish dream all the way here. Just one win away...” His voice trembled. “But if the cost of that dream is your future...”

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Let me protect yours. As your trainer. For you and your family.”

Ibarra froze, staring at him. Slowly, she walked to the faded emblem and pinned the metal strip beneath it. She stepped back, mouthing the motto again and again until her heart slowed.

“I understand, Trainer. I trust you.”

His eyes sharpened. “Good. Then surgery. Therapy. I’ll push for the fastest recovery possible. And after that...”

He raised his fist to her.

“Let’s take back your crown.”

Ibarra bumped the trainer's fist with a tiny smile.

---

The next day, Ibarra reported her diagnosis at the Office of the Student President. She slid a sealed envelope onto the desk. The President, Sun Dancer, opened it while Vice President Wind Blown stood nearby, arms crossed.

“This is unfortunate,” Sun sighed, scanning the contents. “But I’m confident you’ll return stronger.”

“Thank you, President.” Ibarra bowed.

“We’re proud of what you’ve accomplished,” Sun continued warmly. “When you’re better, we’ll revisit the academy’s proposal.”

Wind Blown stepped forward. “The President asked me to secure your scholarship paperwork in the meantime. As the Academy’s only full scholar, it must be a lot to shoulder.”

“I appreciate your concern. But I’ll be fine,” Ibarra said firmly.

Sun leaned on her desk, eyes gleaming. “By the way, word’s spreading about a young upstart dominating elementary races.”

Ibarra’s ears twitched.

“Hagdang Bato. She’s your sister, isn’t she?”

“Her track records are exceptional for her age,” Wind added. “From what I hear, the directors are considering granting her an accelerated student program.”

“Really?” A soft chuckle escaped Ibarra. Pride flickered on her face, glazed with worry. “I admit, my sister’s as gifted as they say...”

Her gaze dropped, hand brushing the bandage on her knee.

“... but she’s not ready yet. That’s why I need to return soon. When this is over... I’ll teach her everything I know.”

Sun nodded slightly. “If you say so. Then we’ll look forward to your recovery.”

“Thank you for all your support.” Ibarra turned toward the door.

But before she left, Sun called her back.

“Ibarra. The Triple Crown. Would you try again?”

Wind Blown’s eyes shifted toward her.

“Honestly... I don’t know.” Ibarra hesitated. Then her lips curved in a half-smile. “But I had a dream last year. A hare and a tortoise raced. Guess who won?”

“The tortoise?” Wind answered.

Ibarra raised a finger. “In my dream... the hare won.”

Sun Dancer and Wind Blown exchanged glances.

“How? And who's the hare?” Sun asked.

Ibarra smirked.

“That’s what I want to find out.”

The door clicked shut behind her. The President and her Vice kept staring at the empty space she left behind, as if the silence itself carried her weight.

“For a scholarly horse girl, Ibarra’s pretty superstitious,” Wind Blown murmured.

“Interesting,” Sun Dancer remarked. “It adds to her charm. Why not?”