Uma Musume Pretty Derby: To The Basement Chapter 245 245: Uma Musume Pretty Derby: To The Basement [2

"You're that mysterious guy?!"

The realization struck El Condor Pasa like lightning. The person restraining her from behind—the one she'd been chasing day and night—was him!

A rush of excitent surged through her chest. After all those sleepless nights searching, she'd finally found him!

If she could defeat him here and now, maybe that gnawing demon in her heart would finally disappear.

"Huh?" Mizuno blinked, still dizzy from being slamd around. Her words barely registered—until he noticed sothing strange. His vision felt… wide. Unobstructed.

Wait—where's my hood?!

Panicking, Mizuno fumbled to yank it back down over his face. "Y-y-you must've seen wrong! I-I'm definitely not —"

"It's you!" El Condor Pasa cut him off, her teeth gritted, fury blazing in her eyes.

Even now, he was still pretending?! Clearly, he was the mysterious man himself—and yet he continued lying, acting weak and cowardly.

The sight hit her harder than a punch. The heroic figure she'd imagined—strong, proud, fearless like her father—was crumbling right before her eyes.

How pathetic…

How familiar.

Because this man—this coward who hid behind a disguise—was just like her when she took off her own mask. The sa fear. The sa sha. The sa urge to run away from everyone's eyes.

She couldn't accept it. Not in him, not in herself.

If he wanted to hide so badly, then she'd drag his true self into the open—beat him fair and square, tear off every disguise, and force him to face the world!

"Waaahhh—!"

Mizuno could feel the air around her ignite, raw and furious. Her strength surged again, every movent heavier, stronger, more dangerous. All he could do was hold on for dear life, tightening the lock with everything he had so she wouldn't break free and crush him instantly.

And as his body scread in pain, Mizuno thought bitterly, What kind of cursed warehouse is this?!

Every ti he ca here, sothing went wrong.

First Hayakawa-san found him out.

Then Gold Ship.

Now El Condor Pasa.

This place was his personal Bermuda Triangle of disaster. The next ti anyone even suggested coming here, he'd rather die.

But for now—he had to survive.

"Uh, El Condor Pasa-san… are the match rules still valid?" Mizuno gasped, trying to keep his voice steady.

"What rules?" she shot back.

"The thirty-minute rule! If you can't pin for ten seconds, I win, rember? You'll have to stop looking for the mysterious man!"

"Of course." El Condor Pasa nodded seriously. She'd never go back on a promise tied to a match.

Then her tone turned razor-sharp.

"But if I win, I swear by the mask Papa gave —I'll strip you naked, drag you ho, and Papa and I will teach you the true glory of the masked luchador!"

"Guh—!"

Mizuno's brain short-circuited.

What did her father—or masked luchador glory—have to do with him?!

But when he heard the words strip you naked, his blood ran cold. Losing was officially not an option.

He clenched his teeth, shutting out everything else. No distractions. No fear. Only the lock.

This was do-or-die. He would hold her until the end—until sunrise if he had to.

"Oh?"

El Condor Pasa felt the sudden spike of determination behind her. A grin tugged at her lips.

That's more like it. That burning will—that refusal to surrender—that was what a real masked fighter should have!

Inspired, she fought back even harder. Every anti-lock counter she knew, every hip-based escape her mother had once used, she threw them all at him. Their bodies rolled, twisted, and collided, the mat squeaking beneath them.

Mizuno shut his eyes, face twisted in pain. Every nerve scread. He could barely tell where his body ended and hers began.

They'd rolled over three hundred tis by now, by his rough count, but neither side had won.

"You're… pretty strong!" El Condor Pasa gasped, drenched in sweat. Her uniform clung to her body, translucent from the effort, but she didn't care. Her chest heaved, eyes shining with genuine admiration.

Aside from her father, the world's strongest wrestler, this was the first human man who'd lasted this long against her. Whatever else he was, she'd rember him forever.

"…"

Mizuno didn't answer. He just gritted his teeth and endured. His mind was a blur of pain and confusion.

Why hasn't the tir gone off yet?!

It felt like he'd been holding her for a year, but there was still no alarm.

Pain he could handle—but not knowing when it would end was unbearable.

The only thing keeping him going was hope: the thought that in thirty minutes, it would all be over.

But… how long had it actually been?

He cracked his eyes open and glanced toward the spot where he'd dropped his phone.

What he saw made his heart stop.

There it was—his phone—lying on the floor, screen shattered to pieces.

"NOOOO! My phone!"

He rembered clearly now. The mont he'd started the tir, El Condor Pasa had lunged at him, and in his panic, he'd flung the phone across the room.

That was his only phone! His connection to the outside world, his lifeline—and now, it was gone.

No calls. No internet. No Shining Derby Girls.

But worst of all… no tir.

Which ant the thirty-minute countdown—the one hope that had kept him going—was gone too.

There was no way to know how long he'd been holding her. No finish line. No guaranteed end.

And just like that, Mizuno's fragile hope crumbled to dust.