Chapter 1117

NO．22：You're right, but your team has two Ultramen.

Want to win.

Want to regain Lin Shou's original aspiration.

Even more want to, in a posture truly belonging to oneself, break everything of the present.

And besides that…

She gazed at that figure, which had a notable metallic sheen, scale-like silver keratin and fine scales covering the upper body, and with the two sets of wings that naturally folded and drooped down forming something like a coat's hem, a ferocious, sharp posture.

She also gazed at his chest crystal that had undergone two changes, and inevitably recalled her sister's startled reaction when she had said those words to her sister two days prior.

At that time, she looked at Nijikalis on the voting website, at the more perfect Demon God ZERO, and at the current champion's demonized form whose appearance had obviously changed, then said to her sister, who was cooking nearby:

"Big sister, I've discovered I seem to truly belong to the Appearance Association."

"What?" Pipa Chenguang froze at that moment, and the next instant she even turned off the fire.

"Which man have you taken a liking to? Or which woman?"

The mature woman Pipa Chenguang, who had stepped into society early, naturally possessed an acceptance ability born of broad knowledge, but merely upon peeking over and seeing the photo…

"……How could it not be a person…"

That hesitant, murmuring reaction instead made her unable to keep from curling the corners of her mouth.

And that faint smile, falling in the demon's eyes, only felt creepy.

"Is there anything worth being happy about?"

Slightly bending those legs, which differ from the typical demon's reverse joints in impression, their structure is actually no different from that of ordinary primates, except that at the point where the scale armor meets, the muscular outline is more prominently protruded with horny outgrowths like bone spurs. Although Aomo has studied the running posture of Uma Musume quite a bit and can apply it to his own movements, in the starting posture he still honestly follows the human crouch-start.

"Ah, isn't it worth being happy to stand on the starting line with a more advanced you?"

She acted contrary to her usual composure of not showing joy or anger, bringing a candid smile that caused the flame flow in the demon's eyes to undulate slightly.

"Boiling hot blood seems able to stop all noise and thought alike; the only thing one can feel is the restrained, violent heartbeat."

"... Given my understanding of your circle, such remarks are more likely to appear in statements by athletes about entities positioned as rivals or the like."

These words almost made Aomo stop thinking.

Precisely because the other party was once someone he supported as a fan, he is all the more aware that this kind of horse girl likely has such a segment; on the contrary, it's what the other party never displayed—Narita Whitejin's early career was too relentlessly forward‑only, and the ensuing cliff‑like drop meant she never rose again.

For ordinary horse girls, the beautiful stories of mutual achievement and growth with rivals, strong opponents, and companions constitute the very piece missing from her life.

But how could it possibly be my turn as a trainer?!

And to top it off, I'm even a rookie trainer!!

「And what do you mean by 'even further'? 」

He did not miss another emphasis in the other's words, and saw the other's index finger probing out from the semi‑virtual gate projected by the training field system.

Pointing at his own chest.

「Don't say you didn't notice. 」Whitejin remarked subtly.

「Ah… I see. 」

At this moment she didn't give him the uncomfortable gaze she had before, but Aomo had no leisure to notice that.

At this moment he was staring at his chest, where the crack that should have been there had not only healed but also slightly changed, making it look more like a ring of mysterious pale‑red pattern.

And the moon‑shaped crystal on his chest, unbeknownst when, had shifted from a milky white glow to a pallid gleam.

Aomo recalled that initially there was no crystal on his chest at all, just a mass emitting white radiance as a crack; only after unlocking the Thunder Slayer did that crack develop a definite crystal.

And now, that milky white soft radiance seems to have dried up, as if entering a more mature stage.

The pallid gleam is icy cold, yet it seems brighter than before, and it blends with the surrounding red patterns and the silver scale armor.

And yet Aomo truly hadn't noticed this.

After all, he doesn't have the habit of checking his demonic transformation in a mirror.

Each demonic transformation is somewhat tied to the battlefield, so the Linton trainer naturally has no leisure to examine his current appearance.

On the contrary, certain people around him who always find a good angle to take photos will post the results online, letting fans notice this evolution akin to an advanced form even before the person himself does.

Without a doubt, Narita Whitejin is one of those fans.

He has always admired the talons and beak peculiar to birds of prey, admiring that sharpness which could even accidentally wound himself; Narita Whitejin, who treats everyone equally, loves the angular Gundam models, and also someone whose entire body could serve as a weapon, whose clenched fist might be injured by the sharp claws of the demonic transformation.

That manifestation of the soul is simply too handsome, too beautiful, making it hard for her not to be fascinated.

But at the same time, it also lets her taste that painful bitter fruit, leaving her haunted and yearning, yet it is an unattainable, unchaseable silhouette in a nightmare.

Each time she wakes up drenched in sweat, not from despair but from overflowing unwillingness.

Thus she is so desperately, again and again, hoping that he and she will run together once more.

Yet at the same time she hides her subtle aesthetic and the complex feelings she holds toward that physique.

She hides it so perfectly that, among the girls around Aomo whose emotional expressions are more obvious and more extreme, she appears utterly unnoticeable.

She seems merely a stubborn friend who insists on dragging him into matches, a troublemaker who disrupts the whole flow.

But obviously, the weight of her feelings toward Aomo is second only to Isamara's.

Her past self, her present self, the unsightly aspect she has not yet given up, and even that inexpressible aesthetic view—all are tied to the demonic form that is still unaware of her.

She remains as silent as ever, she remains as stubborn as ever.

She is unwilling to let others share the burden, and even unwilling to let the demon see her hand reaching out of the water.

She does not want to see the gaze that once appeared in her sister's, Rudolf's, etc., eyes, also present in his eyes—that true lone wolf who shuns company, wishing only to lick her wounds clean when he is unaware, and to rise again in silence.

But it is obvious that her resurgence requires a truly successful hunt.

Just like a ritual to reclaim the past.

The restrained, violent heartbeat.

If one tries to suppress it, they will be tormented by a feeling of suffocation.

If so, then one should let it beat, let it desire, let it expect, let it crave——

Thus she regained the fervent enthusiasm and satisfaction of the forest hunt.

Running, slaying, until the day her thirst is quenched, her amber-gold eyes once again gaze upon the ideal figure that turned back after noticing her gaze.

She has locked onto her prey.

What she needs to do next will go without saying.

In this run, she will completely shake off that weak, mired self.