Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This… is Tracen Academy.

Here, promising young Umasumune gather to chase after their dreams with all their heart. 

This place has been my dream for quite some time. And now that I’m here, I think I’m getting cold feet.

As I sit in the hallway, mind racing, the door to my left opens to reveal a lady in a green dress.

“Mr Torena? The director will see you now.”

I jump to my feet, uttering my thanks as she lets me enter into the director’s office.

The room is extravagantly decorated. The walls are lined with many trophies, awards, and even a few paintings of the previous directors. However, the most eye-catching part of the room isn’t anything on the walls. Instead, it’s the little girl sitting just behind a messy desk that seems way too large for her.

“Please, have a seat!”

The child, whose head is barely peaking over the desk, seems excited.

I wordlessly do as I’m told, but I can’t help but internally question the presence of this child.

The little girl scratches her head in contemplation.

“So, uh, what can I do ya for?”

I pause, utterly confused.

“I’m here for an interview with Headmaster Akikawa. Is she out today?”

“Ohhh interview interview… I think I had that file somewhere around here.”

As she throws papers off of her desk in an attempt to find my file, she answers my question. 

“But yeah, mom is in the hospital right now, so as the next head of Tracen, I’m in charge! For now at least.”

“Oh… I see. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Externally, I’m giving my condolences. Internally, I grow even more confused.

What… Child? WHAT…? Why is this child in charge? People get sick, yeah! So let’s make a child the director? WHAT?! Was there really nobody else? What about the lady in the green dress?

I prepared for everything, WAS ready for anything. Every answer to every interview question has been memorized just for this moment. My resume has been written to highlight every notable part of my career. It would impress even the Director of Tracen…

NOT A CHILD.

“Found it!”

The girl holds the file above her head victoriously as papers are now strewn about the floor. 

She drops the file onto her desk with a plop before leaning back in her chair. She glances briefly at the file’s contents before realization dawns on her face.

All the while, I’m just impressed that this child can read.

“Oh… you’re the trainer guy!”

“Trainer guy..? My name is Torena not-”

She waves off my confusion.

“Yeah, I getcha, but you applied to be a trainer. Tazuna, our secretary in the green dress, was telling me about you yesterday. You seem qualified but this file tells me nothing about you.”

Wait what…

“Are you sure? That file should have all of my work experience. I swear I put information about my apprenticeship and training in. It should be all in there…”

She groans in annoyance, leaning onto her chair’s armrest.

“Nooo! Not about your work. You!” 

She aggressively jumps halfway onto her desk as she points at me.

“You! You-you-YOU. I wanna know about you.”

She leans back, opening my file again.

“Let’s start simple.”

For a moment, she glanced towards another paper on her desk, an obvious cheat sheet for what questions to ask. 

“Why do you want to be a trainer?”

I hold in a small chuckle. Composing myself, I begin to reminisce.

“Well, ever since I was little, I’ve been watching Umas race from on the sidelines. My mom is a trainer so, yeah. Honestly, I hated going to those races. But then before one race, I was walking with one of my mom’s trainees-“

She interrupts.

“Right! I remember Tazuna saying your mom works here.”

I pause, hesitating before giving a response.

“That's… good to know. I honestly didn’t know if she still did or not. It's been a few years since we last spoke.”

I sigh. The little girl laughs to herself.

“I understand. If she didn’t work for me, I’d stop talking to your mom too! Can’t deny that she’s effective though.”

I hesitate once more.

“Oh. Um, well, yeah.”

“Cool… cool… so back to the question. Why did- sorry, why do you wanna be a trainer?”

“Well, simply put, I wanna return the kindness that was shown to me. And I wanna help the next few generations.”

“Yea, but why not just be a teacher then?”

“Eh. I tried that for a short while. But I missed watching umas run. A part of me grew fond of watching them sprint down the track without me even realizing it.”

“Interesting! Okay-okay-okay… On to… the next question then… what does success- no that’s stupid. Who’s the- hmm… yeah. This list is boring.”

She crumples up her cheat-sheet and tosses it behind herself. 

“Okay! New question straight from my magnificent brain this time! Let’s say in a pretend world, you made your uma super mad! But it wasn’t your fault. As her trainer, how would you handle the situation?”

What kind of interview is this? I can’t deny it’s a good question though. 

“As a trainer, I’m supposed to be responsible for the wellbeing of my Uma. If she’s upset at me, whether it was my fault or not, I’d still be responsible. So I’d apologize. I’d try talking things through and attempt to make it right.”

“Okay, okay, but what if your uma still hates your guts?”

I bite my lip, frowning.

“I would give her time to think. If it comes to it, I’d let her be the one to cancel our trainer contract.”

She squints.

“Hmm! But wouldn’t you then have to deal with a mark on your record?”

I shrug. 

“Probably. Hopefully it could be a mutual split so neither side gets a mark. But if it came to it… a trainer’s career is much longer than an uma’s. One blemish on my record isn’t nearly as damaging as one on an uma’s.”

The young Akikawa pulls a hand fan out of her pocket and points it at me. 

“I like that answer. But I have one final question, what are your goals as a trainer?”

A small laugh passes my lips. 

This kid… she’s young but she’s clever.

“I don’t get to decide that.”

She tilts her head.

“Oh? And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Aside from wanting to see their uma succeed, a trainer shouldn’t have their own goals. My goal is whatever my uma’s goal is. And if my uma doesn’t have a goal, I’ll help her find one.”

Her smile grows wide.

“You... are interesting. Sorry, but I lied just earlier. I’ve actually still got one thing to ask.”

This kid…

I just shake my head, matching her smile. 

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“So, do you wanna start right now or next week?”

|— Elsewhere —|

“Vodka.”

“Vodka!”

“Vodka, wake up!”

Someone yanks on one of my ears. I yelp in surprise before grabbing my ear.

Turning to my assaulter, I’m met with none other than the royal pain in the ass, Daiwa Scarlet. 

“Scarlet! What’s the big idea?”

The twintailed tyrant crosses her arms.

“Excuse me? I should be asking you that, miss sleeping under the bleachers.”

Pushing myself off the ground, I groan in annoyance.

She doesn’t take too kindly to that sort of response.

“H-hey! I came all the way out here to get you before the quiz started. You should be thanking me!”

Crap. That quiz is today?

I snort.

“I don’t recall asking for your help.”

I start dusting myself off and adjusting my skirt.

“But hey, if Miss Class-President actually decided to leave her post just for wittle ole me, then I might as well oblige her.”

“Thank yo-“

“Although I bet it’s just so you can earn enough brownie points to get a spot on the student council.”

I snicker, earning a glare.

“I don’t- that’s! That’s not how elections work, moron!”

She fumes, continuing to bicker with me all the way back to the classroom.

I manage to drown out her many criticisms while trying to remember that last bit of material we covered.

By the time we reach the door, the only thing I’ve managed to remember is we were studying the goddesses. 

Man, I hope this is multiple choice.

Before I’m ready, Scarlet slides the door open.

“Teacher, sorry for the delay.”

The short bubbly lady at the front of the classroom smiles.

“It’s no problem! I know I always used to get a nervous bladder before a quiz too! Hehe…”

I side eye Scarlet, who’s face is quickly starting to turn the color of her name. 

So that’s the excuse she made to come find me.

Teacher continues.

“And is that Miss Vodka I see? I wonder, were you working your muscles again before suddenly remembering we have class today? Or maybe, this time, you were practicing your form?”

“Something like that…”

I mumble before taking my seat.

Teacher looks at me with that same annoyingly sweet smile.

“I see. I support your enthusiasm to train, but you should really take some time to exercise your mind too.”

The girl next to me jumps to her feet abruptly. Her tall intimidating presence causes everyone, including Teacher, to pause. 

A moment of silence passes before Teacher hesitantly speaks. 

“I-is something the matter, Gold Ship?”

…

“I GOTTA TAKE A POO!”

The tall uma screams before suddenly bolting off like a rocket-powered toddler. Before Teacher can stop her, the white haired giant is already out the door and running down the hall.

A few of the other umas in the class are trying not to laugh. Teacher is struggling to maintain a grip over the room.

“I-I well I suppose we can wait 5 more minutes until Miss Gold Ship returns from the bathroom before starting. Take this time to talk amongst yourselves and prepare.”

Alright! Way to go Golshi! I seriously owe you one.

Leaning over my desk, I tap the shoulder of the girl sitting in front of me.

“Scarlet.”

The uma turns to me, waiting to see what I want.

“Mind catching me up on all the stuff I missed?”

“Huh? Why do I have to be the one to help you?”

I smirk.

“Well, you’re the closest.”

She turns away.

“Well, if that’s the only reason then help yourself.”

“Wait!”

She turns back to me with expectation in her eyes. 

Ugh, this is so uncool…

Reluctantly, I clasp my hands together, nearly begging.

“Please? I’ll seriously owe you. Seriously.”

She smiles victoriously.

“Well, I suppose, maybe I can help you since you seem so desperate and all.”

Desperate… I can feel my coolness meter dropping several stages. 

A quick snap of Scarlet’s fingers pulls me from my sorrows.

“So, what are the names of the three Goddesses depicted in the Goddess statue?”

Can’t she just tell me this stuff? The quiz hasn’t even started yet and I’m being tested.

I feign a smile, already feeling the sweat forming on my eyebrows.

“Well, I mean, that’s obvious! I mean, there’s the, you know… the cool one…?”

Scarlet chuckles.

“Maybe I should just explain quickly. So each of the goddesses represent a core part of training. The first Goddess, or your so-called ‘cool one’ is Darley. She’s the Goddess of Inspiration, known for her amazing speed and stamina. She was truly a free spirit who lived life according to her own rules. Next is the Goddess Byerley Turk. She’s the Goddess of War, known for her guts in battle and overwhelming power. It’s said she fought alongside a great man whom she later married. And lastly, there’s Godolphin. She’s the Goddess of-“

The classroom door slides open, revealing a jovial Gold Ship.

“WOO!”

She stretches.

“…yea! I really needed that.”

The teacher covers her mouth, stifling a cough.

“Ahem. If your business is all taken care of, Miss Ship, please take your seat.”

“Sure thing, Teach!”

As mischievous uma passes me, she offers me a wink.

Okay, yeah, it was definitely to buy me some time. I guess I owe both her and Scarlet.

Wait… Scarlet didn’t finish! 

But it’s too late. Scarlet is already out of her seat, helping the teacher pass out quizzes.

Ah hell. I’ll just pick C for that one.

I reach into my desk, pulling out a black pen because pencils are for losers and nerds. 

Scarlet reaches my desk, putting the quiz down gently. She giggles at the panic that must be oh-so evident all over my face.

My coolness is hitting all time lows.

I wallow in pity as I scribble my name.

Question 1.

What was the Goddess of War known for?

1. Power and Guts
2. Stamina and Power
3. Speed and Stamina
4. Rest and Recreation

Power and guts. Because war requires you to be strong and gutsy. 

I mark A.

Question 2.

Who is the Goddess of Inspiration?

1. Godolphin
2. Red Rum
3. Darley
4. Gold Ship

I chuckle. Although I’m tempted to pick D just for the hell of it, I mark C. Because the cool Goddess obviously has to be C.

Question 3.

Which is the youngest of the three Goddesses?

1. Red Rum
2. Godolphin
3. Byerley Turk
4. Darly 

Okay… so Scarlet didn’t tell me anything about ages. But Red Rum isn’t a Goddess, so not A. It was just C so probably not C again… Scarlet didn’t get to Godolphin… but it’s probably not D since she’s the Goddess of War and war is super old. Or wait… no that wasn’t Darley, was it? Crap, which one was the Goddess of War?

Wait, also, Darley is spelled differently than it was in question 2. No, I definitely don’t trust that.

I'm just gonna guess B.

Question 4.

Who was the warrior that Byerley Turk fought alongside?

1. Genghis Khan
2. Charlemagne
3. Peter the Terrible
4. Robert Byerley

AH-HAH! It is spelled wrong. It has definitely gotta be B for the last one then. But didn’t Scarlet say the comrade of this goddess was a great conqueror?

Eh. Best not to overthink this.

I shrug and mark D.

Question 5.

What is Godolphin, the Goddess of Emotion, known for?

Write your answer below:

…

…

I sigh. 

Welp. It’s over for me. 

I lay my head on the desk.

“One minute left, class!”

Yea…

I slump, silently accepting my fate.

…

Wait. 

My eyes shoot open.

Scarlet said the goddesses represent the core parts of training. And that means… the core parts of training are… 

The other goddesses already cover speed, stamina, power, and guts… 

Yeah. This has to be it.

I scribble my answer.

— Later —

“The Goddess of Rest and Recreation!”

Gold Ship continues cackling, earning glances from everyone else in the cafeteria.

Sipping from my flask, I slam it down onto the table in irritation.

“Would you give it a rest already?!”

Ship tilts her head side to side.

“Mmmmm, naaaaah. Not until you buy me a pork bun.”

“Are you kidding? Go buy it yourself!”

“Yea but…”

She bats her eyes, faking innocence.

“I bought you all that extra time before the quiz. I even risked humiliation just for you~”

I roll my eyes, throwing my arms up in annoyance.

“Oh, please! As if you care about a little humiliation.”

I sigh.

“But yeah, I guess I do owe you. And if it will shut you up then fine. One pork bun coming up. And you, Scarlet? I owe you too, after all.”

Daiwa Scarlet, who has been silently eating her food, holds up a finger gesturing for me to wait a moment. She finishes chewing before speaking.

“No, I’m alright. Thank you for the offer.”

My eyes narrow and I bite my cheek.

“Mmmhm… I know what your game is.”

Scarlet sips from her cup.

“And what game do you think I’m playing?”

“You’re just gonna hold onto that favor until you can make me clean your half of the room.”

She scoffs, clearly taking offense.

“Excuse you! I always keep my side of the room perfectly clean.”

I lock eyes with Gold Ship and silently mouth the words, ‘No she doesn’t.’ 

Gold ship snorts. Scarlet puffs her cheeks in a pout as she hurls a packaged rice cake at my head.

Ducking under the projectile, I slip away into the crowded cafeteria before Scarlet can throw any other food items my way.

The cafeteria crowd carries me like an ocean. Over the past few months, I’ve learned how useless it is to try to fight against its ebb and flow.

Instead, it’s best to feel the crowd’s rhythm. Dance between the gaps. Like a concert between myself and them.

A weave and dance the line, freeing myself of the large crowd when all of a sudden- BONK.

I’m on the floor, but what did I just bump into? A person?

I sit up, rubbing a forming bump on my head when a voice calls out.

“Oh my, Vodka! Are you alright?”

The voice is soothing and laced with kindness. It could only belong to…

“Auntie Tazuna!”

The academy’s secretary offers me a hand, helping me to my feet. I immediately pull her into a hug.

“It’s great to see you!”

“You as well, Vodka. Are your parents doing well?”

“Of course! They’re doing awesome as always. My dad was just asking if I’d seen you the other day! But, uh, is that guy gonna be alright?”

I point to the man I ran into. He’s currently laid out on the ground and, if I had to guess, is probably seeing little spinning stars. 

Tazuna smiles, waving off any need for concern.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be just fine. …At least I hope.”

The man continues to just lay there, not giving either one of us any confidence. We exchange nervous glances.

“Auntie, who is this doofus?”

“Well, he’s going to be one of our new personal trainers. We just hired him a little over an hour ago.”

I look the man up and down. Noting his appearance.

Plain white button-down shit. Boring unkempt hair. Gray pants. Boring shoes too.

“Really? But he’s so… plain looking. You really need to work on hiring cooler trainers. Seriously, I pity whoever ends up with this lame-o as their trainer. He’s pretty much the total opposite of cool.”

That’s probably how I didn’t notice him. Someone this plain is practically invisible to someone as cool as myself. The only part of him that sticks out is his long brown hair… normal for an Uma but not for a regular Japanese man.

Auntie Tazuna shakes her head.

“Be careful not to judge a book by its cover. Sometimes the coolest of stories come in a plain black cover.”

I smirk.

“Yeah? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Chapter Text

With a quick zip, I’ve got my track suit on and I’m headed out of the locker room.

It’s not long before the scorching sun shines upon my face, but I raise a hand to block it while my eyes adjust.

Maybe I should get some shades… Ehehe, yeaaah that would be pretty cool.

I gaze at the mostly empty track. A lone girl seems to be chasing a butterfly in the straight-away.

Wait… I know that fuzz-ball.

I call out to her, waving with a small grin.

“Haru! What are you doing?”

The girl pauses and blinks a few times as though she’s processing my words. She then hides something behind her back as her ears flop downwards.

“N-nothing!”

Still can’t lie to save her life.

“Haru… come here.”

Haru jogs over to me, still hiding something behind her back.

“Vodka! You’re not going to believe this! So I came here to train but this really big bird came and landed on the track! We stared at each other and it squawked at me! So I squawked back-“

“Haru.”

I interrupt.

“What do you have?”

“Oh! Um… I saw this really pretty butterfly and have been watching it fly around.”

“Cool. Are you gonna crush it or what?”

“Nooooo! I won’t hurt the butterfly!”

“Then why did you catch it..?”

“Because…”

She kicks the ground as her voice trails off.

I strike her with a small karate chop to the top of her head. The startle causes her to momentarily lose her grasp and the butterfly escapes.

“Owie… What was that for?”

A pair of bright purple and blue wings flap hurriedly away.

“Because I felt like it.”

“Meanie…”

Haru’s eyes begin to well up with tears, not quite ready to overflow.

Aw crap, change the topic, fast.

“But uh… I never expected you to be the type to ditch class.”

The pink uma tilts her head, tears still forming, not understanding my words.

“Huh?”

“You know, cuz you’re skipping your class right now…… right?”

My hands do awkward wavy motions in the air, anything to try and make her understand.

“Uh… no? I’m not skipping any classes right now. I’m having lunch! Actually, wanna eat with me? Wanna-wanna-wanna?”

The short girl bounces up and down repeatedly, a cheek-to-cheek grin plastered on her face.

“Haru… lunch ended over an hour ago.”

“Eh?”

I nod slowly, allowing her to process my words.

…

They process slowly.

She frizzles her hair, a despair filled scream echoing all around the race track.

“AHHHHHHHH! …N-n-nooooo…”

Her voice trails off, followed by incoherent mumblings. Suddenly, she starts shouting.

“Ahhhhhwaaaa… Teacher is gonna be sooo mad with meeee! I got distracted againnn… I'm gonna lose my recess privileges…"

“You get recess-“

Before I can finish, she’s started running… only for her to come back.

“Waaait, Vodka! You have class too right? Wanna walk together? Wanna-wanna-wanna-wanna?”

Her eyes are so… sparkly. I’ve never seen someone’s emotions flip so rapidly over and over again. 

She comes into my personal space, way too far into my personal space. I hesitatently take a step back.

“Well… pfffff, uh, I would but… see… my class was… canceled! Yeah, it was canceled because the teacher… got… sick?”

This is not gonna work. There is no way this works. There is no possible world in which this works.

Haru's smile droops down into another frown, eyes looking like they could once again fill with tears at any moment.

“Oh no… I heard about this on the news… Does she have mad cow disease!?”

“Uh… yes?”

Haru stares, eyes wide and mouth agape as we sit in her stunned silence. Her tears begin freely flowing.

“THATS AWFULLL! YOUR POOR TEACHER!”

“Yea. It-it’s really bad. She’s in the hospital and everything.”

“Oh nooooooooo!”

Haru wipes away her tears, voice filled with hiccups.

“That is so sad… sniffle. I’m so sorry, Vodka.  Somebody should do something!”

“No it’s fine. I’m sure she’ll be ok-“

Haru makes a fist, channeling all her determination.

“What are you saying?! We have to help! I’m gonna go see what I can do!”

She, once again, takes off running before I can say anything.

Rather than try and stop her, I sigh. After waving her off with a nervous smile, I turn back and get ready to face the music.

The heat from the turf track radiates upwards. I’m almost sweating just from all that standing around talking to Haru.

Eh… it’s so hot!

Setting myself on the starting line in lane 1, I click through my watch to get a timer started. 

I kick off.

I start relaxed, keeping my pace down while extending my distance for a warmup.

It’s a slow process, but training without warming up risks injury. And I’ll be damned if I end up as a benched dweeb because of a stupid injury.

Slowly, I pass each of the distance markers. First the 300 meter mark and then the 600. As I pass the 1500 meter marker, I slap my watch before coming to a stop. 

The watch shows my time, 2 minutes and 39.4 seconds. Not bad for a warmup.

I walk backwards 300 meters to give my muscles a bit of time to adjust.

I wave my hand in a measly attempt to fan air at my face.

“GrrrRRRAAH! It’s literally the fall! Why is it hot in the fall! Can’t the weather just give it a rest already?!”

I stomp my feet into the turf, leaving behind noticeable marks from my metal cleats.

“God, I can only imagine how uncool this must look to anyone else. Like, oh, look at that girl complaining to herself. What kind of weirdo talks to themselves like that? But come on, this heat is ridiculous! Can you really blame me?”

I wouldn’t blame me.

I look around. The area is still vacant aside from myself. Even the concession stands, which normally have at least one or two trainers, are empty.

Ugh. Why do I even bother looking? Of course there won’t be any trainers here during class hours. You’d have to be a moron.

Reaching the lap marker, I lean against the railing and begin the stretch. First some band stretches to loosen up my quads.

One… two… three… four.. five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… eleven… twelve… switch.

Six times each leg.

Next, some railing leans to stretch out my calves. Same deal. Count to twelve, swap legs, and repeat 6 times each.

I continue this process, stretching out my hamstrings, glutes, and hips before finishing by taking off my track jacket.

I sigh, wiping the sweat from my face.

I’m thirsty…

I reach for my flask.

Where is it? 

It’s gotta be somewhere. I know I had it this morning.

WHERE IS IT?

Maybe I left it in the classroom. But if I go back for it now…

MAAAANNNN!

Maybe this is a sign for me to invest in an actual water bottle. 

Screw that. Why buy a water bottle when I can just steal one of Scarlet’s. 

Yeah. Yeah! That’ll work. It’s not like she needs that many anyways. She’ll probably not even notice.

I smirk, lining myself up with the starting line.

3… 2… 1… let’s go!

|—later in the track’s stands with an invisible moron—|

I watch as that girl once again rounds the final corner.

I click my stopwatch. She hit the 900 meter mark… 300 meters with a 29.1 second split. Not bad, but now it’s time for the final straight.

Eh... heheheee…

But what comes next is the fun part.

The girl intently focuses on the final straight before her. Her eyes lock on to that final marker. 

Here she goes!

She accelerates, moving faster and faster towards her target. 

Even from the stands, I can hear her yelling, pouring her all into this final spurt.

I can’t help but cheer for her.

Go. Go. GO!

She keeps accelerating, faster and faster. 

I take the final split as she finishes her lap. My stopwatch reads 22.8 seconds for a 300 meter split! With a final time of 101 seconds. Truly, not bad.

To accelerate that much in only 300 meters… How much power does she have in those legs?!

But she was accelerating all the way through the finish line… did she even reach her top speed? 

Not that reaching her top speed will do her any good. She won’t win any sprints, not right now at least. 

I start writing in my notebook.

Yeah, she’s got speed and acceleration, but I doubt she’ll get to use that top speed in any sort of sprint. 

The track is too short. The chances of getting boxed in during a sprint… she might just lose any window she would have. 

Most lagging racers struggle with sprints for that very reason. Can’t break out of the pack.

She’d have to revamp her running style from the ground up.

But a 1600 meter distance or maybe even 2000 meter race… yeah. It would let her wait for the perfect moment to break away. Maybe the extra distance would let her reach her top speed too.

I yawn, continuing to fill in a chart for her.

It’s gonna be sundown in a few minutes. Surely she’s gotta toss in the towel soon. I should call it a day too.

Flipping through today’s notes, I grimace at what I’ve been able to observe.

That uma with long silver hair was here for a while this morning. She seemed quick and her stamina pool was nearly endless. She flew down the track so effortlessly… a big surprise given her size.

Oh and the pink goofball. I wonder where she ran off to in such a hurry. She was silly to watch, although… I never actually got to see her practice. 

I flip through the pages, remembering each and every girl that came and went. But all the while, this girl has remained a constant.

Miss save all her energy until the last leg of the race. She accelerates impressively quick and her times are alright… but what are you doing running sprints?

I write one final note under her page.

Plenty of talent for sure, but her form and method of training are awful. She’d certainly be a lot of work. But I like her grit and the way she runs is pretty cool.

And that’s it. No other umas came out to train today.

I frown.

This is Tracen… a little sun shouldn’t be enough to scare these girls off… maybe I am giving them too much credit.

I cross my arms, nodding, as though I’m agreeing with my own thoughts.

Yeah… When I was in high school, all I wanted to do was go home and sleep. I gotta respect that they put the work in at all.

I shove my notebook into my pocket and stand up. 

There’s definitely a lot of interesting candidates at this school. Not like any of them will give me the time of day. Rookie trainers aren’t likely to get a trainee this early.

I lean on the railing, staring up at the sky

…

I miss my college buddies.

God, listen to me now. The heat has me talking loony. 

I bet they’d call me a loser for this. Hah… 

With a shake of my head, I dismiss the thought. I’m about to leave when I hear more yelling coming from the track.

This girl can’t be serious.

I turn back.

She’s doing more?! 

I chuckle to myself.

Moron.

I pull my flask from my back pocket and take a sip. Still cold.

I hope she’s ready to feel the consequences in her legs tomorrow. She might even feel them today with how hard she’s been pushing herself…

I look around, noting the lack of any other people.

I guess I can stay. Someone should make sure she gets back safely. And It would be bad to let her train unsupervised. 

Maybe I could head down there and give her a few pointers. That is my job after all.

My job…

I’ve been working here for a week already and it still doesn’t feel real.

Eheheee…

I’m a trainer at Tracen Academy!

Tracen.

Dreams really can come true. Now I gotta figure out how to make an uma’s-

The girl’s form comes tumbling to the ground. She skids across the turf before coming to a halt. 

I bring a hand up to my mouth, wincing in a painful empathy.

Ooooouch.

That must’ve hurt. Well..? Maybe not. She fell onto her shoulder. Maybe it’s not too bad? Still, the turf burn is going to be nasty, poor girl.

…

She isn’t getting up.

Uh oh.

I drop my things, jumping over the stadium railing and rushing onto the track.

“Hey! Are you alright?!”

I’m running as fast as I can to get to the girl’s side.

“Can you hear me?”

No response... Did she pass out?

I kneel down next to her.

“Are you okay?”

She’s unconscious... or did she-

I place two fingers against her neck.

Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum.

Alive. But her heart… It's beating fast. Likely caused by the exercise. Maybe. Probably.

But the real question is what caused her to pass out? The fall? It didn’t look bad enough to knock her unconscious, but maybe?

If not the fall, then what?

I pull my hand back. It’s drenched in her sweat. 

Her whole body… she’s soaked.

Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen her drink a single drop of water all day.

I press my thumbs to her lips. 

Dry.

“…idiot.”

I whisper under my breath.

“In this heat? What were you thinking?”

How did you last this long?

I place a hand against her forehead. 

Burning.

That’s bad.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”

— Hours later —

I sit in the waiting room, legs still wobbly from having to carry her all the way to the infirmary.

I didn’t think an uma would be that much heavier than a regular girl.

Oh what I’d give to have the strength and speed of an uma… Then I could forever be a highschool girl in the pursuit of-bleh. The heat really did get to me. Where am I going with this?

I rub my temples. 

I should probably report what happened to Tazuna. At the bare minimum, she’ll need to know why people saw me carrying an uma on my back halfway across campus.

An uma that I don’t even train. 

Hopefully she’ll understand. No, why wouldn’t she? I was doing my job.

I yawn. Checking my watch shows the time is 1:09 AM.

I’ll do that tomorrow.

Standing up, I circle the room and stretch my legs.

What I’d give to be in my own bed right now. I bet these poor nightshift doctors are all thinking the same thing.

I yawn again, staring out the window at the moon overhead.

Do I even need to still be here?

The faint buzzing of the overhead lights gives no comforting response. 

…

Despite having no reason to stay, I can’t just leave.

Outside the window, the sounds of crickets chirping a familiar tune bounces off the campus building. 

Footsteps in the hallway. They sound frantic and hurried.

I turn, watching the door. A uniformed student soon bursts through it. She stands at the door, looking around, her auburn twin-tails swaying as she turns her head.

We briefly make eye contact. She quickly breaks it, moving for the receptionist desk. She stands, waiting patiently at the empty service window.

Behind those eyes, she’s worried about something. Not surprising given where we are. The infirmary can mean the end of an uma’s career… 

Nobody ever wants to end up here.

…

“You have to ring the bell.”

The twin-tailed girl jumps, as if pulled from some distracting thoughts.

“H-Hmm?”

“The bell.”

I point. She looks down, spotting a tiny golden bell sitting on the countertop.

“I-I knew that!”

I nod. Sure you did.

Ding!

Leaning against the wall, my eyes start to feel heavy..

…

…

Ding!

…

Ding!

Could she cut that out…

…

Ding!

I force my eyes open and briskly walk to the receptionist window. 

“Step aside.”

DING-DING-DING-DING-DING

No response.

Fine then. 

DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”

An angry voice roars out from a room somewhere behind the counter. I smirk, satisfied with myself before going to sit down.

The twin-tailed girl stands frozen at the service window, horrified but speechless at my actions and their impending consequences.

A blonde doctor in a red dress bursts into the room. 

“WHO DID THAT?”

Her red high heels click as she marches up to the poor uma and points a needle at her.

“YOU!”

The fear stricken uma manages to muster up enough courage to barely shake her head no. 

“Give the girl a rest. It’s not her fault you didn’t hear her the first time.”

The doctor slowly turns to me, despite her eyes hidden behind her glasses, I can feel her annoyance.

“You’re still here?”

I shrug.

“No, actually. The original guy died here waiting for you to come back, but, you know, his corpse got hauled off by a hungry pack of dogs.”

The woman bites her cheek.

“The original guy? Then who are you?”

“Just his leftover ghost. OoOoOo~”

“Is that so? Maybe I should shove this needle through you to make sure you’re really a ghost.”

The needle points my way.

“Excuse me!”

We both pause, eyes fixated on the young student who now boldly stands between us.

“I’m here to see Vodka, a girl with bangs covering one eye and a gold ring around her left ear. I was told she was here.”

Bangs and the gold ring… So Vodka is her name. 

…like alcohol?

The doctor adjusts her eccentric glasses and lowers her weapon.

“And you are?”

“Daiwa Scarlet …I’m her roommate.”

“Well miss Scarlet, I’m afraid visiting hours are over. You’ll have to see her in the morning.”

“But I-”

“But nothing. You can see her tomorrow morning.”

The uma stares at the ground dejected. I place a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh come on, let the poor kid see her friend.”

The doctor redirects the needle towards my face. I press on. 

“This girl came all this way to make sure her friend is okay. Just let her say hi. It won’t take longer than,  what, 10 minutes? I’ll even supervise.”

The needle hovers eerily close to my nose until… she withdraws it. The expression behind her glasses remains unreadable.

“I will wake her, and then you will leave.”

The door shuts behind her with a noticeable thunk, leaving just me and the uma. She brushes my hand off her shoulder.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

I scoff.

“No, no need to thank me.”

“Hmph.”

I shake my head at her clear dismissal.

“We were waiting for the same person anyways. I probably wouldn’t get to check on her if you hadn’t showed up.”

“You’re waiting for Vodka?”

I start to circle around the girl.

“Probably? I never got her name. So you’re here to pursue racing?”

“Of course, every uma here is- HEY! what’s the big idea!?”

Her tail swishes, showing clear distress. With each pass around her, I examine more of her features.

“Decent build. You’re probably a girl suited to longer distances. What did you say your name was?”

She stutters.

“D-Daiwa Scarlet.”

I bend down, taking a quick, contemplative analysis of her legs.

“Well Miss Scarlet- oh wow. That’s interesting.”

“I will kick you.”

Her words are firm. I jump, straightening myself quickly.

“Sorry! That’s just a weird habit I picked up from my family. Still trying to break it. It’s just.. hmm...”

She crosses her arms, burning holes into my skull with her eyes.

“Hmm…? Is something wrong?”

“No! I just didn’t expect you to be a pre-debut student.”

“Okay, now you’re starting to creep me out. There’s no way you could’ve known that just by looking.”

“It’s obvious when I look at your calves. Sure they have more muscle than your typical uma, but they lack the definition that comes with weaving between racers.”

She looks me up and down. I can feel her judgement, as though my very soul is being evaluated. Thankfully, she smiles.

“Wow, trainers really ARE impressive.”

I chuckle.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Yes, talking like that is a dead giveaway. But also…”

She flicks the small trainer badge pinned to my tie.

“You’re not the only one with an eye for details.”

“Right… the badge.”

I put it on my only tie so that I wouldn’t have to put it on each morning. Honestly, I had forgotten it was there.

She sits.

“So what does a trainer want with my roommate? Unless…”

I hold a finger up, cutting through her words.

“No, I’m not here for any scouting reasons… I mean, originally, I was watching her for scouting. Then she passed out, I brought her here, and then I lost my whole evening waiting to see if she’s okay.”

The door opens, followed by the doctor waving for us to follow.

“Alright, your little nuisance is awake. This way.”

Both of our feet remain planted to the ground.

“NOW.”

She leads us down the hall, no protests coming from either one of us. I ask one simple question.

“How is she?”

“She’s being treated for mild dehydration and muscle fatigue. She’ll likely be healthy by tomorrow but we want to be certain that she didn’t suffer a heat stroke like you presumed Mr Torena.”

Daiwa Scarlet’s tail swishes as she shifts nervously. I scowl.

“I see. So you knew all this and decided to let me just sit in the waiting room for hours because…?”

The doctor smiles.

“Because I have a personal grudge against you and wanted to waste your time! No honey, I honestly thought the waiting room was empty. I didn’t mean to waste your time, but really, you’re quite invisible.”

The uma to my right covers a laugh. 

The doctor opens a door.

“Here you are. Remember, 10 minutes.”

Scarlet rushes in. I stay behind for a minute to give the nurse a little more grief.

|— Inside the Room —|

“Stupid doctor. I told her to get me barley tea and what does she do?”

I shiver as the catheter pumps more water into my system.

“Drug my tea and stick a needle with a tube on it in my arm while I’m passed out. And then, to top it off, stick me with another needle to wake me up.”

I’d like to see her try that while I’m awake. I’ll bite her. Actually…

I grab at the tube that leads into my arm.

“VODKA, NO! DON’T PULL THAT OUT!”

“AH!”

I attempt to throw both hands into the air, but a hand pins the catheter arm to the bedside.

Staring down at me are a pair of familiar merlot eyes.

“Scarlet?! What are you doing here? …Scared the hell outta me.”

She lets go, flicking me on the forehead.

“I scared you? Good. Now you know how I felt when the RA told me you were in the infirmary. Seriously Vodka, what were you doing?”

I shrug.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

Scarlet just stares. I whine in protest.

“It wasn’t!”

“Thats what you always say.”

“Well it’s true! My flask disappeared…”

Her face pales.

“Oh, uh, right. Then I suppose I should give this back.”

She reaches into her purse and pulls out a silver flask. 

“I was so sick of you pretending to drink alcohol in class that I…”

I grab it, shake it, and take a swig.

Sweet barley tea.

“Ahh, that’s good!”

I take another swig. She backs away.

“You’re not mad?”

“Nah.”

I grin.

“Cuz you’re gonna pay me back by giving me one of your water bottles.”

She slams a palm into her forehead.

“You… are… such a moron. That trainer should’ve left you there.”

She giggles lightly. My ears perk up at the mention of another person.

“Trainer? What trainer? There was no trainer.”

“Yea there was. He was scouting you, and he brought you here after you passed out. Or so he says…”

“Wait, I was being scouted?!”

A trainer… a genuine trainer!

No more group training regiments. No more being underestimated by someone who doesn’t know how cool I am.

No more of that generic crap.

I could debut early. I could finally race!

Oh no. No. No no no…

“Sc-Scarlet… I FUCKED IT-”

“Language.”

“I SCREWED IT UP. That was my chance and I blew it!”

No no no. Daaaaaaahhh so uncool.

“Eh, I wouldn’t say you blew it.”

Scarlet and I both turn to the source of the voice.

In walks a man with plain clothes, a plain face, and the only notable part of him being his hair color.

Man… it’s the lame trainer from the cafeteria.

Scarlet covers a laugh with a fake cough.

“Um, trainer. You have a little…”

She points to his shoulder. His head turns like a slowly spinning table fan, eyes locking onto a needle embedded deep into his shoulder.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll deal with it later.”

Woah… no wait! Who does this guy think he is? Pretending to be cool, yeah right!

He looks at me.

“What about you? You alright?”

Without responding, I attempt to take a sip from my flask. The trainer grabs the flask before it reaches my lips.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“What’s in this? Don’t tell me you drink actual vodka?”

He examines the silver flask carefully, opening the lid and giving it a sniff.

I snatch it back.

“As if. Miss Perfect here would kill me. This is tea, barley tea.”

Scarlet shrugs. The trainer eyes her before looking back at me.

“Mhm. More of a coffee guy, myself.”

He pulls out a black flask and takes a sip.

No way. 

Scarlet points.

“Coffee? There’s coffee in that?”

He smirks.

“I didn’t say that.”

He’s actually kinda-

Now Scarlet is the one snatching a flask, only instead of sniffing it, she heads towards the window.

His smirk crumbles.

“It’s coffee! It’s coffee! It’s coffee!”

He screams as Scarlet flips the flask upside down, allowing a stream of black liquid to pour out.

Nevermind, he’s totally uncool…

Chapter Text

I shove open the door to my dorm room.

Scarlet sits on her bed, reading some sort of green textbook. 

Math, history… I’m not sure. I never bother with looking at those things to be able to tell them apart.

Her eyes remained affixed to her book, too fixated on whatever she’s reading to spare me a glance.

“If you keep being rough with that door, you’re gonna break it one day.”

“Mehhh, see if I care.”

Her ear twitches.

“Alright… but you’ll be the one paying for a new one.”

“The school wouldn’t cover that?”

“Tuition will pay for classes, food, …visits to the infirmary. But not destruction of school property.”

“Mhm.”

Tuition…

She places something between the pages and shuts her book.

“Hey, question.”

“Hey, answer.”

She seems momentarily puzzled by my response before continuing.

“You didn’t sneak out of the infirmary before you finished recovering… right?”

“Huh? No, what?”

My eyes narrow. She throws her hands up defensively.

“Don’t give me that look! I remember you saying it would be totally cool to sneak out of a place like that to go train… or something like that.”

I did not say totally cool, I said pretty cool.

“Maybe… but that was before I knew we had a needle-happy doctor. You think I’d pull something after what she did to that trainer?”

“Okay, fair. Speaking of that trainer… what did you think of him?”

“Eh… why? Are you hoping he’ll scout you instead of me? Well you can have him.”

She scratches her cheek.

“Thanks for the offer, but not what I was going to say. Eh…how do I put this. You see, apparently a lot of people saw him carrying you across campus.”

“Alright… big whoop. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, during breakfast this morning, a bunch of people came up to me to ask about it because… apparently, there’s a rumor going around saying you got scouted.”

I snort, not even trying to hide my amusement.

“Pff-ehahaha… Fat chance of that happening. Who told you that nonsense?"

“Uh… a few people? Not too many but still enough to mention.”

“Thinking that I would be trained by him?”

She nods. I fall back onto my bed, whining.

“But he’s so laaaaame.”

“He’s not that bad…”

I jolt upright, slamming my hands on the mattress.

“Then let him be your trainer!”

Scarlet shakes her head, standing. She carries her book across the room, heading for her desk. 

“I think he suits you more than me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She sets the book on top of a bunch of junk that currently litters her desk. 

“It’s just that… he reminds me of you.”

“What? He’s nothing like me.”

Look at that smile. I know she’s about to say something to make me mad.

“Well, you’re both flask drinking weirdos who think they’re cool. Pretty similar by my standards.”

“Excuse you, I AM cool.”

“Of course Vodka, you’re very cool.”

Her tone bleeds with sarcasm. I jump to my feet.

“Are you picking a fight?”

She smiles innocently.

“I would never…”

Grabbing a few things off her desk, Scarlet heads for the door.

“I was gonna head out for lunch, wanna come?”

Changing the subject… coward.

“Uhhh… you know what? I was planning on calling my parents once I got back.”

She lingers by the door with a small smile.

“I could wait.”

“Nah, don’t bother. My mom is probably gonna yell at me for at least an hour once I tell her what happened.”

“Oh okay, anyways, later I was going to train with Gold Ship and a few others. Wanna join?”

I’m tempted to say yes, but an image of a vicious woman in red stabbing into my shoulder pierces my mind.

“Ugh… I wish. No training until Thursday. Doctor’s orders.”

“Oh right… the recovery periods. I’m impressed you said no though, that doctor really must’ve spooked you.”

“You have… no idea. But feel free to text me when it’s time to meet up. Maybe I’ll show up and watch.”

“Okay, see you later.”

“See ya.”

The door behind her shuts with a click.

A fall back onto the bed once more, staring up at the ceiling.

…

The sounds of other umas all walking down the hall can be heard from just outside the room. Their echoed chatter continues even as they travel to the exit.

The weekend lunch rush.

I reach into my skirt pocket, pulling out my phone.

I click the button. The screen lights up, showing a picture of myself sitting on dad’s old motorcycle.

I was so mad when he sold that thing.

I start tapping through my phone.

Let’s see… password… 8008. Contacts… Mom... Call.

I tap the speaker button and drop my phone onto my pillow.

brrr… brrr…

brrr… brrr…

Is she gonna pick up?

brrr… brrr… 

“Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system. The person you are trying to reach is unavailable-“

I promptly hit the big red end call button and dial her again.

brrr… brrr…

Come on… pick up.

brrr… brrr…

brrr… brrr… 

“Your call has been-“

Of course.

Yeah yeah. The person you’re trying to reach is unavailable, I get it! Hurry it up.

“Please leave your message after the tone. When you are finished recording, you may hang up or press 1 for more options.”

Beep.

“Hey mom… it’s Vodka. Call me when you get this?”

Ughhh… What is she doing?

Mooom… mooooom pick up the phone.

My own phone suddenly starts ringing out in one of those catchy tunes my dad used to play.

♪ I’ve pricked my heart, I am the trigger. ♪

I wince.

Click.

A woman’s voice chimes.

“Hello? Vodka?”

Here we go…

“I’m here mom.”

“Well well well, I’m a little upset with you missy.”

“I’m sorry…”

“All I ask is that you call every once in a while. Hearing from you once a month is not going to cut it.”

“I knooowww… I’m sorry… I’ll call more often…”

Her voice softens.

“That’s all I ask. So, how’s school? Are your classes any fun?”

“Eh…”

“Vodka. You are attending your classes, correct?”

The sudden change in her tone causes my blood to run cold. I wouldn’t dream of lying here.

“Uhh… most of them.”

“What is most of them?”

“I only skip maybe… once a week? It’s-never-the full-day-though!”

A deep sigh can be heard from the other line.

“You are who you are. If that’s what you feel you need then okay. I want you to be happy.”

“Love you mom.”

“Aw, I love you too. But, sweetheart, I’m a little worried. Are you passing your classes?”

“Oh, I’ve got Scarlet for that. I’ll be fine.”

“Scarlet? Is that one of your friends?”

“My roommate, mom.”

“Oh! Is she nice? Do you like her?”

“Yea! She’s awesome, super smart too, and fast… She’s probably my best friend here. But she is also super annoying.”

Laughter.

“It’s not funny, mom. Ugh… Is dad there? I saw Auntie Tazuna last week, thought I could let him know.”

“Oh? No, he’s not here. I sent him out for groceries. But I’ll be sure to tell your father that both you and Tazuna said hello.”

Damn… would’ve loved to hear from the big man.

“So what have you been up to?”

Welp… Might as well get it over with.

“Oh, you know… classes… training… aaaaaand… spending the night in the infirmary.”

“WHAT?!”

— A few hours later —

Laying in the grass, I stare up at the clouds overhead.

Truly, this spot is heaven. No teachers… no Scarlet… and no nosey-

“What are you doing all the way out here?”

I tilt my head further up, seeing the upside-down figure of my ‘supposed’ trainer.

Make that one nosey trainer.

I resume staring at the sky.

“It’s the weekend, I’m not skipping class.”

“If you were, this hill would make for a pretty good spot to hide, that’s for sure. It's away from all the activity, quiet, you could smoke here if you wanted.”

I give him a curious glance.

“I don’t smoke.”

That earns a respectful smile from the intruding trainer.

“Good. So, alcohol girl, I take it you’ve been released from the hospital?”

“Duh.”

The trainer sits next to me, chuckling.

“I’m a little surprised though. I thought I’d find you out here pushing yourself. You don’t seem like the type to give up so easily.”

I sit up, burying my face into my knees.

“Yeah… I considered it.”

“Should’ve gone through with it.”

“Huh?”

He takes a sip from his flask.

“I haven’t given a student detention, yet. I was looking forward to it.”

My dumbfounded expression causes him to nearly choke on his drink from laughter. I bury my face back into my knees.

“So then you know…”

He rolls his eyes.

“About the recovery period? Yeah, I promised I’d keep an eye on you so you don’t hurt yourself again.”

Great, an invisible guy keeping tabs on me. I won’t be able to sneak any training in even if I wanted to.

He pulls me from my thoughts.

“The first set of scouting races is this Friday. Think you’ll be ready?”

“I was going to be… now I’ve gotta worry about being rusty.”

“Kid, it takes more than a week to get rusty.”

“Whatever. I’ll be out of shape or something like that.”

“Again, that’s not how that works. But you’ll still have Thursday to get in a little bit of training beforehand, but…”

I watch as he climbs to his feet, looking down at me with an almost sickenly earnest smile. Bleh.

“…there is something else you could do, though.”

“I swear to the three Goddesses, if you say study.”

He doesn't respond. 

“You will have to drag me kicking and screaming before I touch a book.”

“Alright, how about this.”

The trainer digs through his pockets, pulling out a notebook and holding up in the air like some sort of trophy.

“I’ve got the book, so let me teach you something.”

He opens his little book, pulling out a pen and flipping to a blank page. I stand up to get a better view as he marks stuff down.

He draws a large circle, followed by a smaller one inside.

“Let’s say this is the track.”

“Those two circles are supposed to be a track?”

He stares.

“They are ovals…”

I smirk.

“It's not my fault you can’t draw.”

In response, he flips back two pages. It’s a chart of me, my running ability, notes, everything… but at the top is a detailed drawing.

It’s of me running… my ponytail flowing in the wind. It’s a messy sketch but it’s unmistakably me.

“I was an art major for a short while.”

My eyes drop down towards his notes, reading.

Plenty of talent for sure, but her form and method of training are awful.

Awful? What’s wrong with the way I train?

I scowl.

He flips back to his ‘ovals’ before I can read any more of the notes.

“So, let’s say right here is the starting line. This little X… is you. What path are you taking around the track?”

The pen is offered to me.

“Really?”

“Go on, humor me.”

I snatch it and the book, drawing a path closest to the inside line.

The trainer brings a hand up to his chin, rubbing his bit of stubble.

“Taking the fastest line. See, now that’s interesting. That’s very interesting. Explain your logic.”

“What… is there anything to explain? Take the shortest line and run the fastest. That’s how you win.”

His head twists, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“You’d think. And while practicing, that might be how you get your best time, but in a race…”

He adds a ton of extra X’s all around the original.

“…you’re competing with everyone else. You all get in each other’s ways and everyone gets slowed down, unless you’re running in the front, or chasing near the front at least. ”

“So… I should try to be in the front?”

But then what was the point of all my training?

He continues rubbing his stubble.

“Not exactly… Hmm. Can I ask you something? Why do you wanna run?”

“What? What kind of stupid question is that?”

For a short moment, his smile drops. His eyes glisten with what almost seems like a glare. It quickly returns to his usual stare.

“It’s not a stupid question. Every uma should have a reason… an inspiration... a motivation for running. Without one, an uma’s career fizzles out way too quickly.”

“Alright… but why would I tell you mine?”

His eyebrows rise, a glimmer of curiosity on his face.

“What, is it some big secret?”

“No? …Ugh, listen up!”

I proudly puff my chest out, sharply pointing to myself with my thumb.

“I’m going to be the coolest racer the world has ever seen. Trust me, everyone will be eating my dust before long. And once I win the derby, I’ll become a worldwide icon for cool.”

…

“Pfff-“

“HEY!”

“No! No-no! Wait… I’m not laughing… Not at you. It’s just… read this.”

He holds his book in front of me, flipping back to my page. 

Plenty of talent for sure, but her form and method of training are awful. She’d certainly be a lot of work. But I like her grit and the way she runs is pretty cool.

He stares out towards the school, scratching his cheek.

“I wrote that yesterday. It’s the reason I’m laughing. You're over here telling me you want to be cool and here I am, already thinking you are... I dunno. It probably isn’t funny to others, but it is to me.”

Cool?

Eheh…

Me?

“Y-You t-think I’m… ehehe… AHEM. What about me do you think is cool?”

His eyes scan me, slightly amused.

“From a running standpoint… it’s the way you explode towards the end. You pick up so much speed, it’s exciting to watch. It’s cool. Probably the coolest way to win a race.”

“Ehehe… I-I d-didn’t even know that I… that’s how I n-normally… AE-AHEM. …So you think I naturally run pretty cool?”

“Yeah. If your goal is to be the coolest, just keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t swap to a different strategy. But that’s exactly why…”

He flips back to his crudely drawn track in his notebook.

NO-NO-NO! Don’t go back to thaaaaat!

He points to the X representing me.

“… this matters.”

I throw my head back, hands pulling at my hair.

“Raaaaaagh!”

“The way you run is quite literally, the hardest way to win. And it’s because of this.”

He circles every other X and then looks at me, waiting for my response.

“The people… I can’t take a good line, can I?”

“Hey… you’re getting it. Not many umas figure that out before their first race. It’s why all the front runners and pace chasers tend to get scouted first.”

He shuts his book.

“It’s really funny though, everyone always focuses training their body for their first race when they’d be way better off developing a strategy… I think I’m getting off track.”

Wait… wait-wait! No… keep going! This is actually helpful!

He stands.

“All that should be explained by your trainer, not me. Point is, the way you run is already cool. So if that’s your goal, just keep on at it. But it’s not going to be easy. You’ll need a strategy. If you can develop one of those, you’ll do great.”

Is he seriously leaving? Just like that? The minute he starts being useful… NOW he wants to split?

As he begins to walk off, my phone buzzes.

That’s right, there’s the-

I chase after him. 

“Hey, hold up!”

I snatch him by the back of his collar, pulling him back.

“GYACK-“

“Not so fast, I’m about to go watch a few of my friends train. They could use a trainer to help out.”

“Unscouted friends?”

Oh brother…

“Unscouted and looking for a trainer.”

He slowly turns to me, eyes sparkling like a kid at the pet store. He speaks with his voice pitched high.

“A trainer like meeeeeee?”

…

“Alright man. Don’t be weird. Just come on.”

— Along the way—

Another student runs up to the trainer and I, a basket in hand. I feel a vague sense of recognition. 

I know she’s in my year, but I can’t remember which class she’s in.

“Excuse me, would you two like to donate?”

I avoid eye contact, turning my pockets inside out. Apart from my phone, they’re empty.

“Woops… sorry! I don’t have any cash on me.” 

Unlike me, the trainer takes the bait.

“What are you collecting donations for?”

“One of the school’s staff members is in the hospital. Apparently they are really sick…”

The trainer pulls out his wallet.

“Which staff member?”

I swear I heard him mumble something about that doctor.

The girl stammers.

“Uh, to be honest… I’m not sure. This whole thing was Haru’s idea, but she wasn’t exactly the most coherent when telling us what happened…”

Haru? 

Oh… 

mmm… 

MMM. 

I didn’t think she’d actually go and do something.

The trainer drops some money into the basket.

“If you don’t know, then do me a favor. Make sure you give all these donations to the new director. Say it’s for her mom.”

He continues walking. I chase after him, leaving the standing girl there.

— At the track—

As we stand on the edge of the grass, multiple umas run past. Their shoes kick up turf. A piece whizzes past, nearly striking the trainer in the face. 

He ducks just in time, slowly rising with a sigh.

“At least it’s not scorching hot today.”

I run a hand through my hair, taking a sip from my silver flask.

“Oh believe me, I’m grateful for that.”

“So where’s your posse of friends?”

“Posse?”

“You know... It means, like a group.”

“I know what it means! But who’s lame enough to actually say posse? You sound old.”

“Fine! Well then where is your group of friends?”

I look around. Despite the multiple groups of girls on each of the differently lengthed tracks, I don’t recognize anyone.

“Dunno. They said they were already training, but I don’t see them.”

“And you’re sure they said they were going to be running?”

“Uh… honestly I just assumed.”

“Man! What’s the…”

He trails off, as though his focus has been completely stolen.

I try to follow his gaze.

“What are you looking at?”

“That girl with the silver hair… she was here yesterday too.”

I manage to pick the girl out from the crowd. She’s short with long hair and two striped ribbons adorning her hair.

“Oh, …good for her?”

“You’re wrong.”

We both turn. Behind us stands an elderly man with a thick mustache and dark glasses wearing a straw hat. He has a trainer badge pinned to his dark gray brazer.

“Her hair isn’t silver.”

I squint.

“Huh? Where’d you come from, old man? Who cares about her hair?”

He clears his throat, making one of those weird noises only old men make.

“They say that, for an uma, silver hair is purity. White hair, even more so.”

The trainer looks back at the track, eyes once again affixed on the girl.

“Ash.”

…

Another group of umas shoot past us, screaming as they push their limits.

…

…

I raise a hand, ruffling my hair in frustration.

“Damnit… alright. Enough of the dramatic silence! What the hell is going on? And, old man, what’s your deal?”

The old man lets out a low and coarse laugh.

“Quite the little fireball of a trainee you’ve got here.”

“Psh. Me and him? No… He wishes he was my trainer.”

His wrinkly white eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Is that so? Then I hope he won’t mind if I give you this, Miss Vodka.”

He knows me?

He pulls a card out of his blazer’s inside pocket, offering it to me.

I take it.

Ginjiro Musaka, trainer of multiple G1 winners.

I crush the card in my hand.

“Sorry, not interested in having a geezer for a trainer.”

The raisin of a man cackles out more rough laughs.

“Vodka, that ashen uma, is she a first year?”

I glance at the young trainer beside me, surprised by his sudden serious tone.

“Eh, not sure. I don’t think she’s in my year.”

The old man taps his cane against the trainer’s shin.

“Taken an interest, have you? She’s a third-year student. And before you ask, no. No trainer would take her.”

“Trainers at Tracen believed in that stuff?” 

Why does he sound so angry? What stuff? What are they-

“Some do. Some don’t. But one thing is for certain. That girl has an axe to grind.”

I watch as the ashen girl’s legs kick off. She shoots past me like a storm about to break loose. A short bundle of muscle and rage, tearing down the turf.

“If you ask me, she seems pissed.”

But she’s also fast. I-I don’t… could I keep up with that?

The trainer shakes his head.

“No, that’s not pissed. She has something to prove.”

The old man shoves an elbow into the trainer’s hip.

“You have that in common, eh Yutaka?”

Chapter Text

Leaning back into the chair, I stretch my arms up. The sun shines through the window at just the right angle so that its rays blind my vision. 

I can’t help but doubt myself. It’s almost second nature at this point.

This plan, it’s full of holes. But it’s really my only shot at getting another trainee.

Another—Ehehehe!

My hand accidentally taps the metal wall behind.  The morning mildew dripping down the wall causes me to jolt. I shake my hand, trying to dry it off. 

The faint rumbling of a chuckle emanates beside me.

“Thats quite the look you’ve got on your face, kid.”

The muscles on my face curl up with begrudging acceptance of the geezer’s presence.

I reach into my front jacket pocket, pulling out the flask full of lukewarm coffee.

“I’m not a kid anymore.”

I take a sip. The bitter liquid’s cheap taste does nothing to quell this growing feeling of anxiety.

The old man beside me taps his cane.

“And yet, here you are, still going around drinking from that flask like some sort of child playing grown up.”

“You who always used to say that some things never change, right?”

He hums, acknowledging my words but not seeming to accept them.

“You’re making a mistake being here.”

I pause, digesting his words. Their true meaning is clear. This isn’t about our current circumstances.

“I’m a trainer.”

“Hrng—my point exactly. You’re throwing your life away, and for what? Spite?”

My nails dig into my palm. Any tighter and I might draw blood. He notices my straining, turning to look down towards the track.

“A trainer… fine. If that’s the case then why are you up here in the commentator’s booth?”

…

…

The tension is hard to let go of. A forced laugh passes my lips as I scratch an itch on my nape.

“Ah, well—can’t a guy have a little fun? Hah… I’ve never commented on a race before so might as well try it while I’ve got the time.”

He grumbles.

“I swear... your first set of scouting races. If you’re dead set on being a trainer then you could at least take this seriously. Or are you trying to throw away your career too?”

“Come on… I am taking it seriously! It's not like anybody else is gonna accept a scouting offer from a rookie like me. Besides, there will be more races next week.”

“Anybody else hmm?”

I look down at the herd of umas all stretching on the outskirts of the track. Each girl is dressed in the standard Tracen race-wear. 

If I was with them, maybe I could teach a few how to properly stretch. No, surely the instructors of this school have already done that.

“So what about you? You’re criticizing me, yet you're up here too, geezer.”

My words are playful. The old man seems to carefully consider this change in my tone.

“Bah—geezer. Would it kill you to show me some manners? …I’m old.”

“Old… you’ve been old since we met. You’re practically a dinosaur at this point.”

Mr Tyranosaurus ignores my words, only stroking his moustache in contemplation.

“Perhaps I won’t take up any new trainees this year.”

“What?! But you’re a derby winning trainer! That would be like if Beethoven quit making music. Oh… Don’t tell me the ‘Great Musaka’ is planning on retiring.”

He sits quietly, still stroking his moustache while still failing to meet my gaze.

“For real? Old man, you’ve been at this longer than anyone…”

He’s practically a legend just based on experience alone. Even when I was little, I knew how much renown he held. But to me, he never seemed like a legend. 

He was always just mom’s grumpy old teacher.

I don’t care if he goes. I don’t. Honestly, if it will make him happy then more power to him. But why…

The bottom of his cane taps the ground firmly.

“Maybe one or two more rookies. Hmm… Maybe. But this will be my last year at the scouting races.”

“You’re serious… wow. It’s sort of surreal to hear you say that. I thought you’d be doing this until you croaked.”

“I can’t deny, I planned on doing just that. But with the changing of academy directors, I’ve started to think about letting the younger generations take over. A new era of Tracen Academy is coming… they won’t need a dinosaur like me.”

My thoughts are filled with protest, but he continues before I can voice anything.

“Ah… but I still have a good one or two years before retiring, three if I recruit anyone today. It will give me plenty of time to whip you into a capable trainer.”

…

“You don’t have to do that.”

…

I yawn once more, acting like I didn’t notice the growing silence. The reason for said silence is painfully clear to the both of us.

Staring out at the rising sun, I groan.

“Was it really necessary to be up here at 6 AM?”

Up to this point, I’ve been sitting here aimlessly for almost 2 hours, randomly getting up to refill my flask with more crappy coffee.

“Complaining already? The races will get started soon enough. Have some patience.”

“Says the one who only got here 15 minutes ago.”

“Perks of being a veteran, nobody complains when you show up late.”

“People definitely complain. But nothing will come of it since there’s no chance Tracen fires you.”

He laughs the hardest I’ve seen all day. It’s soon drowned out by the blaring stadium horn.

The old man flips one of the many switches in front of us before speaking into his microphone. 

“Race 1 participants, please head to the track.”

Click.

I check my watch, 7:50.

Staring down at the track, the same herd of umas has moved from stretching to warm up runs. One girl in particular catches my eye, a familiar pink fuzzball that I haven’t seen since last week.

Popping a peppermint into my mouth, I grab the pamphlet in front of me, flipping through to the itinerary.

There she is. 

Race one, number 5. Interesting, so she’s the girl that started the fundraiser? I doubt she could’ve predicted how big it would become. Regardless, she must be a good runner if she has that much influence.

I open my notebook, writing down the first name of the day, Haru Urara.

“Kid, stop playing with your book. We’re up in one minute.”

I flip back to the first page of the pamphlet. The top of the page is labeled in big bold letters as ‘Opening Script’. 

No author… probably written by Tazuna. I wonder if she just recycles these scripts each year. 

“Right… So, remind me what I’m doing?”

A wrinkled old finger with an ornament golden ring guides my eyes across the control panel to a single switch. 

“This switch controls your microphone. You can tell if it’s on by if this light here is either red or green. All you have to do is turn your microphone on, read the script, and follow my lead.”

“Okay… so with the script, am I announcer 1 or 2?”

“It doesn’t matter. You can be 1.”

The stadium is filled with another thunderous roar from the horn.

It's too loud, I can’t hear what he’s saying.

The geezer places a hand on his switch. I do the same.

He holds up 5 fingers… 4… 3… 2 until it’s just his finger with the golden ring. His hand balls into a fist. I flip my switch and red turns green.

“Welcome to the Symboli Family Stadium! Today, you’re welcome to watch Tracen Academy’s finest facing off against one another.”

I read my line word for word. As my voice dies into nothingness, it’s replaced by someone rougher and raspier.

“For every person in attendance today, Tracen Academy will donate 50% of their ticket cost to the Tokyo Department of Health and Research.”

That fundraiser has gotten some major traction. And in such a short amount of time too…

Down on the track, I spot the pink girl jumping for joy near one of the gates. I can only imagine how happy she must feel.

My turn.

“Today will feature a number of races, all with runners who are currently trainerless. Ah-hahahah… Perhaps today we will see the birth of a new star in the racing world.”

Why does the script have directions for laughing?

As I question the script-writer’s decision, the old man takes over.

“We will begin with the youngest eligible students and end the day with the oldest. If the participants for Race 1 could make their way to the starting gate, we will begin announcing our lineup shortly.”

From here on, you’re on your own, use this list as a guide for what to discuss. Okay, easy enough.

Describe the weather. 

“It’s a wonderful day here on the Tracen Turf. The ground is solid and the sun is shining brightly. Thankfully it’s not too hot, but we want to remind everyone to stay hydrated.”

The old man seems puzzled by my words, but continues with his section.

“These runners will travel a short 900 meters to the finish line, the perfect distance for inexperienced Umas…”

As he talks, I look ahead in the script.

Describe the racers using the datasheets . —ooooh come to papa! Now this is what I came here for~

I flip through the pamphlet… past the itinerary and all the way to the back pages. My eyes are treated with beauty.

Stats… Aptitudes… Even their lineage… There’s information in here about everyone racing today.

—Jackpot.

The old man finishes.

“…Now, umas, ladies, and gentlemen, it’s time to begin introductions. Racers, please head into the gate.”

I take over as the geezer attempts to flip his pamphlet to the same page that I’m on.

“The very first runner of the day, number 1, Reach the Crown!”

A small girl with short brown hair climbs the track’s railing, waving fiercely at the stands. The crowd erupts into cheers.

“…She’s the second favorite to win, and looks to be full of energy today. She may be small, but her stamina will allow her to maintain her top speed for the entire race.”

The old man counters my analysis with his own.

“But as one who favors being an end closer, it’s likely we won’t see that speed come out until at least halfway through.”

“She’s sure to be one to keep an eye on.”

Now it will be Musaka’s turn to lead the analysis.

“Next up is number 2, On Deep Sky.”

This girl, already in her gate, doesn’t react to her name being announced.

“—Mmm… Fourth favorite to win, but she’s a fast runner. I think she might have what it takes to deliver an upset in this race.”

“I am betting she wants to take an early lead, but maintaining it will be difficult with this competition. A front runner like her is sure to have her work cut out for her.”

The old man grimaces in my direction as I announce the next runner.

“Number 3 is Tosen Crown, the third favorite.”

Tosen Crown is staring daggers at the girl in the stall next to her.

“She’s a strong late surger with an equally strong family history. In fact, this girl is the cousin of one of last year’s star rookies, TM Opera O. But it seems like Tosen Crown’s eyes are locked on racer number 4, Deep Impact.”

“Indeed. Both Tosen Crown and Deep Impact seem to be exchanging glares with one another. Perhaps they are rivals?”

“Incredible. They say a race between rivals is always fierce. This is sure to be an interesting show, especially since Tosen Crown is the underdog in this rivalry.”

I’ve gone a little off the guidelines but the old man doesn’t seem to mind. He simply nods.

“Her rival, Deep Impact, is the favorite to win today. She’s both fast and strong. If she can maintain her stride, then it’s unlikely Tosen Crown will catch her.”

I stare at the stats in front of me. 

“And to end off the roster for the first race, Haru Urara…”

The crowd cheers louder for her than any other of the preceding umas. I peak over to my side, noticing the old man is smiling. 

And yet… I’m not sure how to make this girl sound good.

“—She is the fifth favorite, but… uh…”

I’ve got nothing. 

The joyous pink uma bounces as she waves to the crowd. 

The poor girl doesn’t stand a chance. And yet, she doesn’t seem scared. Is she just overconfident?

The veteran trainer points out something I hadn’t noticed.

“Just look at her go. Nobody is more happy to be on the turf today than this girl.”

He’s right. It’s not confidence, but excitement. 

She must know she won’t win… she has to know. But she’s so thrilled at the prospect of running that the fear of losing is almost nonexistent.

It’s admirable. There’s something special about this girl.

Is it any wonder why the crowd is chanting her name? Well, looking over, I can see that it’s mostly just the other students cheering. None of the visitors or reporters seem to understand what’s happening.

I know what to say. 

“She may be the fifth favorite to win, but she’s the number one favorite in the heart of the crowd. She might struggle with her competitors, but she’ll always have them beat with that smile. She’s also the one responsible for today’s charity affiliation.”

The old man forces a shocked tone.

“Whaaaat? Really? Truly, this girl is exceptional. We should all be very grateful.”

As Haru Urara enters her gate, the stadium horn sounds one final time. What follows is the call of a single trumpet playing the traditional pre-race fanfare.

Both me and the old man are on the edge of our seats.

“All the runners are in line. We are ready for the start… and the gates are open.”

—Multiple races later—

As I flip through the pamphlet’s stats pages, I fiddle around with the pen of my notebook. 

Old man Musaka notices and peers over my shoulder.

“Say Yutaka, what are you up to?”

“Making a list of all the umas I’m interested in training. I figured I’d follow up and try to scout them later today or tomorrow.”

“Presuming they don’t get scouted today.”

My head falls between my knees, hanging low from disappointment.

I’ve already been forced to watch as all these talented girls get scouted to other trainers. He didn’t need to rub it in!

“—Besides, didn’t you say you already have a trainee?”

I slowly peek up, eyes narrowed.

Did I say that? I don't think I did. 

“Uh... yeah. I’ve got one.”

But what if I had two trainees? Heck, imagine three! That would be way better, not just for me but for my trainees too.

“Is it that girl you were tailing around all last week?”

“Vodka? No… not a bad guess though. But she’s up next in this last race for the first years.”

“Is that so? Then how about we make things interesting…”

Oh boy… here he goes.

“—I'll bet you she doesn’t let any of the trainers scout her.”

“Mmm… still haven’t broken that gambling habit? It’s a miracle you haven’t been arrested.”

He holds a hand up to his mouth, clearing his throat.

“That’s not exactly true, I’m afraid. No prison time, but I did have to pay a hefty fine.”

“Of course. How’d you manage to keep your job?”

“For one thing, I don’t bet on races. The previous director, as furious as she was with me, let me stay because of that one fact.”

I tap my fingers against the countertop. 

“Ehahah… sounds about right. You know what? I guarantee somebody scouts her, so I’ll take your bet.”

“Ah, but the bet is whether or not she wants to be scouted. Loser pays for lunch.”

The horn lets loose another boom, summoning umas to the turf and calling us to action.

“Hot mic in 10… 9… 8… Damnit Torena, don’t open that book again! 3… 2… 1…”

I hastily scribble down one last bit of information before flipping my microphone on.

“Race 23 will begin soon. Racers, please head towards the gate.”

I plant an arm on the countertop and rest my head against it. 

I don’t even need to look at the pamphlet for this next race. I've been looking forward to it all day.

I know their stats from memory.

“Another exciting race ahead of us. Number 1 is Daiwa Scarlet.”

Said girl makes her way onto the track, politely waving to the crowds of people.

I recall her saying something to Vodka about making a good first impression. I guess this is what she meant.

“She is also the number 1 favorite. With her speed and power, it's not hard to see why.”

Musaka analyzes his own pamphlet.

“Given her skills, she is sure to be another runner who takes an early lead. But she has more stamina than most other front runners. I doubt we’ll see her slow down. Following her is number 2, Gold Ship. The number 3 favorite, but a wild card in terms of how she might perform.”

“I agree. That uma has plenty of talent and a variety of different strategies she could choose from. It makes her hard to predict. But she’s also known to be unfocused and rowdy. It’s as you said, she’s a total wild card. An unruly girl like this could easily take home the gold, but only if it suits her mood.”

The old man strokes his mustache as we watch the next racer come out. I smirk.

Of course I’m the one who gets to introduce you.

“Number 3 for this race is Vodka. She’s… haha… the fourth favorite. Which, you know, I think that’s underselling her. She's a bit of a delinquent and her running is a little rough around the edges, but she doesn’t have that same rowdiness seen in Gold Ship. Plus, Vodka is an absolute powerhouse of a late surger. Once she kicks into gear, prepare to see something truly cool. If anyone can make an upset happen, it’s this girl. Yes, she hasn't trained in the last week, but it was only to recover from training too hard. I know for certain-“

A hand reaches over towards my mic. 

Click.

His hand covers the switch, preventing me from turning my microphone back on.

Crap. I wasted too much time.

“Number 4 is the second favorite to win, Seiun Sky. Possibly the fastest girl yet, although her teachers describe her as a bit of an escape artist. And the last horse of the first year, number 5, Happy Meek. The fifth favorite to win. Don’t let her name fool you, this girl has guts. But will it be enough to win?”

He barely manages to finish before the horn goes off. 

The old man moves his hand but not before giving me a stern glare. Hesitantly, I flick my microphone back on.

“All the runners are in line. We are ready to start- and the gates are open.”

An easy 900 meters, two straights and one curve. You can do this… 

“And they're off to the races! A perfect start from Daiwa Scarlet, meanwhile Gold Ship leaves her gate late.”

“Daiwa Scarlet takes an early lead on the inside path followed by Seiun Sky with Happy Meek trailing on the outside.”

“Vodka follows behind them as Gold Ship attempts to catch back up to the pack.”

The race is only just beginning, and yet the old man and I are already rapidly interchanging our commentary. It’s hard to keep track of who is saying what.

“Seiun Sky is gaining on-no, she overtakes Daiwa Scarlet! She’s breaking away from the pack! What an incredible burst of speed!”

“Daiwa Scarlet doesn’t take the bait, maintaining her pace. Happy Meek passes her, chasing after Seiun Sky.”

“Gold Ship is still trying to catch up to the pack while Vodka is biding her time and conserving her energy.”

“As we reach the corner. Both Seiun Sky and Happy Meek are charging ahead, leading by 4 and 3 lengths respectively. They’re going! They’re going!”

“But Daiwa Scarlet is gaining on them. Happy Meek is fading. She’s out of energy. Daiwa Scarlet chases the inside line. Daiwa Scarlet cuts past Happy Meek and is gaining on Seiun Sky.”

“Seiun Sky and Daiwa Scarlet are fighting for first, but Seiun Sky has already used up most of her stamina!”

“In the back, Gold Ship finally manages to catch up to Vodka. Gold Ship continues trying to push past! She’s closing in little by little, but will she have enough energy after that disastrous late start?”

“Halfway through the corner! Happy Meek pushes forward! Is this her second wind? She’s giving everything to keep up with the two front runners. Daiwa Scarlet and Seiun Sky are shoulder lengths apart, creating an impassable wall.”

“They finish rounding the corner with Daiwa Scarlet in first, Seiun Sky in second, Happy Meek in third, Gold Ship in fourth, and Vodka in last.”

“Vodka has been biding her time, it’s now or never! —and YES! She’s making her move!”

“Look at her go! She’s surging with more power! She takes the inside line, shooting past Gold Ship! What an incredible display of acceleration!”

“Both Happy Meek and Seiun Sky are running low on fuel. They are slowing drastically. They’ve both become obstacles in Vodka’s path!”

“She’s trapped! With no way through, it seems like Vodka is stuck in the inside line.”

“Daiwa Scarlet maintains her speed, her lead is slowly growing! Is no-one able to catch her?! She- what?! Vodka slows! She swings all the way to the outside rail! She’s dodging the traffic!”

“She’s free! With nobody in her way, Vodka is blazing a trail to first. Gold Ship attempts to catch up but is the third uma to run out of energy in this race.”

“It’s down to the last 100 meters. Daiwa Scarlet picks up her pace. She doesn’t want to be caught by Vodka, but Vodka is determined to chase her down!”

“Vodka closing the distance. Daiwa Scarlet, showing the front runner’s fatigue! She’s slowing! It’s going to be down to the wire!”

“Both runners are pouring their all into this. Daiwa Scarlet is still barely holding onto her lead, but Vodka is about to overtake her!”

“Only 50 meters left! Vodka a neck's length behind! She’s still speeding up! Daiwa Scarlet is-“

I jump to my feet, shouting.

“It’s Vodka! Vodka is pulling ahead! Vodka has the lead by half- no, one full length! It’s Vodka! Vodka is the winner of race 23!”

“Daiwa Scarlet finishes a full length behind in second. Gold Ship manages to steal third from Seiun Sky, leaving the exhausted Happy Meek as the last one still running. She’s doing her best! And she finishes.”

My legs give out, dropping me back into the chair. My heart is racing and my breath is labored. I can only manage to say one thing.

“Wow!”

“Indeed. It’s not often you see a racer slow down only to cut through the outside like that. An incredibly risky plan, but she executed it perfectly.”

“She really did! It was like a motorcycle cutting through traffic. And Daiwa Scarlet…”

I’m forced to catch my breath.

“—She had such an incredible showing of stamina and intelligence. But she needed to break away once the final straight began, not hold her pace.”

“And yet, she ran quite well. It is difficult to know what’s going on behind you. She showed smart decision making in spite of her loss. Most notably, she decided to not chase after Seiun Sky’s early escape. And Seiun Sky’s early breakaway was a spectacular show of speed. I’d dare to say she was running even faster than Vodka was during her final surge.”

I shake my head.

“It’s a shame she didn’t conserve her energy better. I would have loved to see those two going head to head. Unfortunately, Seiun Sky’s spot on the podium was snatched away at the last second by Gold Ship. And Gold Ship truly displayed herself perfectly to any potential trainer.”

“That unruly late start most likely cost her from getting first, but her raw talent allowed her to still walk away with third place. It’s rare that a girl like her appears…”

“I found it incredible to see her claw her way back up the positions. I think she has potential as an end closer. And then there’s Happy Meek. She could make for a decent pace chaser, but I think she needs the right trainer to bring it out of her.”

“I agree.”

Without any warning, the geezer flips his microphone off.

Huh… that’s all he has to say?

I look over to my side. Confusion quickly gives way into anger.

And after all the crap he gave me for writing in my book- is he really chatting away into a walkie-talkie? 

Not to mention that poor girl… she deserves more praise than this. 

I leave my microphone on.

“Happy Meek showed great speed in managing to keep up with Seiun Sky, but she fell for the escape artist’s trap. The strategy is often used as a ploy to get pace chasers tired before the final stretch. I think, had she been in any other one of today’s races, Happy Meek would’ve stood a good chance.”

Trainers all begin to rush the track.

“BAKUSHIN!”

Seiun Sky is hoisted onto the shoulders of another uma and carried off.

“Did she just get kidnapped?”

I glance down… the light is still green. 

“Ahem! It looks like the first of this race to be scouted is Seiun Sky… Congratulations to both her and her new trainer.”

Meanwhile Vodka and Daiwa Scarlet are both surrounded by trainers. With that many… I'll be getting a free lunch.

Happy Meek, however, stands off to the side, nobody rushing to recruit her… hmm. Poor girl.

I scribble her name down into my notebook, just in case.

Despite the unilateral chaos going down on the turf, it’s obvious that someone is missing.

Where is Gold Ship?

She’s a 170 centimeter pure white uma, how could she just disappear into thin air? 

Of the two times I met her while tailing Vodka, I never got the impression that she was sneaky. 

The horn announces it’s time to clear the track and prepare for the next race.

Oh well. Maybe she got carried off too. Is anyone even that strong?

I flip to the corresponding script in the pamphlet.

“We ask all trainers and racers to clear the track. Race 24 is about to begin.”

Checking my side, I see the old man still talking into his stupid little device. 

Guess I’m reading both parts.

“Now, as we move to the advanced scouting races, we would like to remind both the press and trainers that both classic and senior year umas will be on display. The length of each race will also be extended to 1400 meters due to their extra years of training.”

I notice one lone girl still standing stubbornly on the track.

“Please clear the track, Vodka.”

She doesn’t budge, only staring up at me with her arms crossed.

“I get you’re excited for winning but we have other races to get to. Please exit the track and go find your trainer.”

Ugh…

“Do not flip me the bird, I will give you detention.”

Oh good, here comes Scarlet. Yeah! Drag her by the ear! 

I flip my microphone off.

“Yes. Trainer Ginjiro Musaka. Team Hostus.”

“You’re still talking to that thing? What’s the big idea?”

He holds up one finger and continues speaking hushed into the walkie talkie.

The horn blares.

Ugh…

Why did I even bother turning this thing off?

Click.

“Race 24 beginning soon. Racers, please head towards the gate.”

Looking through the pamphlet… oh wow. These stats put the first 24 races to shame. No wonder they separate the first years.

“Number 1 is of the classics class, Agnes Tachyon. Originally studying science here at Tracen, this girl recently transferred into our physical education department. If you think that means she’ll struggle to keep up with her peers, you’d be wrong. Following her is student from the senior class, number 2, Tamamo-

This… isn’t right. I know for a fact she won’t be running today. 

“It seems there has been a mistake. Number 2, Tamamo Cross withdrew from today’s scouting races. Her number will be scratched. That means that next up is number 3, Mejiro McQueen. Following the disbandment of her former team, this G3 winner is looking to find a new trainer to continue her career with. Number 4 is-“

BANG. 

My shoulders jump, my eyes close, and I pull away from the microphone. It’s quick, like a reflex, as if I’m trying to protect myself from something.

The old man and I lock eyes.

What the he-

BANG-BANG. 

The two of us jerk towards the door, awaiting whatever is trying to break in.

BANG-CRACK.

The door flies open, barely still hanging onto its hinges. It swings around, slamming into the wall with a metallic TUNG.

I jump to my feet, although Musaka doesn’t even flinch.

The intruder stands in the frame, foot still in the air from the kick. Her eyes are quick to lock onto mine. 

“Trainer you bastard…”

“V-Vodka?!”

Musaka leans into my microphone.

“Due to a foreseen circumstance, the next race will be delayed fifteen minutes.”

Using his cane, he pulls himself to his feet. 

“Yusaka… looks like you’re paying for lunch.”

He slowly meanders his way past Vodka.

After he’s gone, Vodka kicks the door closed. 

“What’s the big idea huh?!”

She stomps closer.

“I-I-I-I’m sorry?”

My mind’s in overdrive, scrambling to make sense of whatever the hell this is.

“W-What brings you here?”

“Cut the crap. Where were you?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I’ve been here—“

“I’vE bEeN hErE. Mhm! Mhm! I noticed!”

Her tone is both frustrated and mocking.

“Was I… supposed to be somewhere else?”

“Mhm! …MHM! You were! Down on the track.”

…uh.

She drops into Musaka’s chair with a frustrated huff, eyes burning.

A slow sigh escapes her lips.

“For someone so smart,” she complains, “you’re really nailing the whole idiot thing.”

“If I’m nailing it, you’re in the hall of fame.”

I point to the cracked door hinges.

Her annoyance fades, peeling away to reveal nothing but a worn-out girl, barely holding it together.

“Pff—shut up. Ughhh… okay okay okay, listen , because I swear… I had this whole day planned out. It was gonna be perfect, cinematic even. I was gonna win, and then I was gonna be standing there, on the track, all casual but mysterious, like, oh look at me just existing here, looking effortlessly cool and maybe even vaguely brooding for no reason.”

Her hands gently swing around aimlessly as she speaks. 

“Look at all these other trainers that want me. You know? Not even stretching or anything. I’d just like… gaze off into the distance like I’m too cool for this world.”

She cracks her knuckles.

“And then… then… then you were supposed to walk up, all impressed and crap, and be like, ‘ hey, can I be your trainer? ’ and I’d turn to you slowly , with that look . The one that says maybe I’ve already been scouted, but also, I might accept if you’re lucky… or whatever. And I’d be like, Hmmm… I dunno… but it would be really drawn out and awesome , like I hadn’t been planning this moment for the past two days. And then, THEN , I’d say, real slick—Hmph. Maybe if you tell me how cool I am. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE VISION?? It was going to be so iconic . I was gonna be legendary . WE were gonna be legendary. I was ready to be That Mysterious Cool Uma™ and you, my unlikely trainer.”

“Vodka-“

“But no. NOOO. It didn’t happen. Everything just… UGH… fell apart and now I’m just sitting here screaming at you like WHYYYYYYYYY? WHAT WAS THE POINT? Why did I spend FOUR HOURS rehearsing my cool squint in the mirror for a moment that never even HAPPENED??”

“Are you gonna let me talk?”

She lets out a silent hmph, but says nothing else.

“Thank you. Now, forgive me but I’m a little confused over here. You’re mad that I didn’t try and scout you today… even though a week ago you laughed at the idea because… what did you say? I’m lame?”

“Well you are…”

“I see.”

“But those other trainers? They just don’t get me.”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“It’s always, ‘Oh Vodka, I’ll make sure you keep winning,’ or ‘Vodka, you’ll be the greatest uma in Japan with me by your side.’ Like shut the hell up already! It's all fake flattery and predictable promises. Now THAT'S lame. But you? You actually see what makes me cool. You get it . You get me . So even if you're… not exactly cool, it's you. It has to be you.”

Me as Vodka’s trainer, that doesn’t sound too bad. 

I look down noticing one peculiar detail, and the laugh hits before I can stop it.

The light is still green.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll be your trainer.”

Chapter Text

Alright, I think this is the right area.

I stand outside class 1-A, flipping through my notebook with one hand while the other holds up my bag by its strap.

Happy Meek, class 1-C. Good. Now, it’s gotta be around here somewhere.

I take a few careful steps down the hallway, eyes scanning the classroom numbers above the doors, my footfalls echoing faintly against the vinyl.

Here we are.

I chew absentmindedly on the inside of my lip, flipping the notebook closed with a soft snap. A sudden tug on the back of my shirt jerks me upright.

“E-Excuse me?”

The voice is light, unfamiliar… could it be an uma?

I whirl around, heart rate skyrocketing, only to be met with a girl a little on the shorter end. Her black hair is neat but casually styled, and her amethyst eyes catch the light in a way that makes them almost glow.

She’s dressed sharply in professional attire, a small trainer badge glinting on her vest.

“I knew it! Yutaka Torena, that’s you, right?”

For a brief moment, she smiles proudly before it's washed away with a stoic professionalism. Her voice, however, betrays her by carrying a mixture of excited and nervous energy.

I shift my weight, unsure whether to take her seriously.

“Uh… yeah. Did you need something?” 

She extends her hand, steady and confident.

“I’m Aoi Kiryuin, a rookie trainer just like you.”

Another staff member… Let's hope this one isn’t as nutty as the rest.

I shake her hand, noting the firmness of her grip.

“Kiryuin… as in the Kiryuin family?”

“…yes.” 

She tilts her head slightly, a faint trace of amusement tugging at her lips. Yet she remains stiff. Might as well try and loosen her up then.

I roll my eyes, letting a little smirk creep across my face as I put on my best snobby rich man voice.

“Ah… well, aren’t you special. Miss fancy pants from high society! Oh, do pray tell, what could an esteemed person such as yourself want with… little ole me?”

I bat my eyelashes innocently. She tries to suppress a laugh but fails, the sound bubbling out as she covers her mouth with her hand. Her shoulders gently shake for several seconds.

“I’m sorry! I’m not—used to that sort of reaction.” 

She admits this, still laughing softly.

“Ah… my apologies. Should I have bowed at your feet instead?” 

I lean back, exaggerating mock-seriousness. Her smile widens, warm and genuine.

“No! Please, for the love of all things, don’t do that.”

“Would I be the first?”

“No, unfortunately not. This weird guy did that on my first day and keeps doing it every time he sees me. In fact, most people are sort of that way… stiff around me.”

I suppose that makes sense. The Kiryuin family has produced more internationally successful Umas than some countries. 

She glides a hand up, adjusting a strand of her hair.

“But it’s nice to hear someone crack a joke for a change.”

I tuck my hands into my pockets, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, trying to seem unbothered.

What could a girl like this want with me?

“So… uh, if you’re a rookie too, why haven't I seen you around yet?”

As the stray strand of hair continues to fall back into her face despite her adjustments, she sighs before brushing the black strand behind her ear. 

“This campus has over 40 training tracks, an official race track stadium, multiple gymnasiums, recreation centers, dining halls, auditoriums, pools, and even a planetarium. It may as well be a miracle that we randomly stumbled into each other this early into the school year.”

Planetarium?

I nod, raising an eyebrow. 

“Right… I hadn’t considered that.” 

Honestly I’ve just been frequenting the same few areas over and over again. Maybe I should do a bit more exploring.

She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“But I’m glad it happened. I figured it’d be nice to meet someone who’s… on the same level, you know? Someone who actually gets the pressure I’m under.”

I grin, letting a spark of doubt show as I point a finger at my own chest. 

“And you think that’s me?”

Aoi chuckles softly, this time without restraint. The sound feels warmer, more sincere.

“Well… people have been talking.”

After last Friday’s stunt… I’m sure they have.

She pulls on her sleeve.

“You’re the son of the Baroness, right?”

The name makes my jaw clench, teeth grinding before I even notice. I catch myself, forcing the tension out before it shows too much.

I exhale slowly.

“Ah… ya got me.”

Her gaze meets mine, her shoulders tightening slightly. 

“So it is true… If you don’t mind… I was hoping, maybe, we could be friends?”

I repeat the word.

“Friends?”

She nods, tilting her head slightly as if to gauge my reaction. 

“We’re both rookies in the same kind of situation… you, the legacy of the legendary Baroness, and me… heir to the most successful family of trainers.”

Heir? 

I pause for a moment, processing the weight of that. 

No wonder she seems so on edge—so eager to connect with someone who might understand. The pressure she carries must be immense. 

Apart from the old man, I haven’t really interacted with many other humans since starting here. It would be nice… really nice, to have someone to talk to, someone my age.

On the other hand, letting my bond be formed due to my connection with her. It’s like her shadow owns even this.

“I… I mean, if that’s okay—maybe we could—” 

Her words stumble, then falter completely. I watch her fidget with her vest, a nervous tension in the air. After a moment, I give a small shrug and a half-smile.

“Alright… I can do friends.”

She exhales in relief, shoulders dropping.

“Thank goodness. I was worried my request might have been a bit too forward.”

I offer a small, genuine smile, feeling a little lighter than I have in days.

“It’s fine. Forward isn’t exactly a bad thing. Makes things… easier, I guess.”

Her face brightens as notices the book in my hands. She pulls a small notebook from her pocket, flipping it open to reveal pages packed with diagrams and notes.

“I’ve been writing what I’ve learned since first getting here. Maybe we could compare?”

The diagrams and notes shockingly mirror my own style. It makes me feel a faint warmth rising in my chest… A mix of surprise and something I haven’t felt in a long while.

I crack open my own notebook, letting her peek. She taps one of the pages, seeming to find joy in some new revelation.

“Just as expected, we are on the same level.”

“What? No, I’m nothing special. Just some rookie trainer figuring things out, probably overthinking half the time.”

“Well then that makes two of us.”

I glance down at her notes, impressed at their order and neatness. 

“Not bad… You’ve got more… structure than I do, that’s for sure.”

She laughs softly, a sound that seems to fill the hallway.

I shove my book back into my pocket.

“So then, have you scouted any trainees yet?”

She shakes her head. 

“Not yet. I haven’t even had the chance to pick anyone up. Mostly been stuck with orientation, paperwork, and wandering around while completely lost.”

I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head slightly.

“Really? You haven’t picked anyone yet? Or maybe nobody has lived up to the standards of the great Kiryuin family heir."

She smirks faintly, a mischievous glint in her amethyst eyes.

“Oh quit that. Don’t look so smug just because you already have a trainee, Torena.”

“You already know?” 

“Of course. Last Friday seems to be quite the hot topic.”

I groan. 

“So not only did you hear about my family lineage, but you heard about that too.”

Her smile softens. 

“It seems you’re a popular topic. You and your new trainee made an impression.”

I chuckle, embarrassed for myself.

“Honestly, it wasn’t even that bad…”

Not for me at least. Vodka has to serve out 1 hour detentions every day this week.

She laughs softly, shaking her head. 

“Bad or not, everyone’s talking. The other rookies are all jealous now that they know you’ve got an ace trainee.”

I smirk, trying to regain some composure. 

“Well… technically, I don’t have just one. I’ve got two.”

Her eyes widen slightly, a mix of surprise and amusement. 

“Two? Already?”

“Yeah… both times it was just a mix of luck and timing—Maybe a bit of chaos with Vodka.”

“But you really think you handle training multiple girls? Is that a good idea?”

I shrug, then glance at the classroom door. 

“I’ll be fine. I was actually about to try and scout someone. A pretty promising uma girl… Honestly, if you need a trainee, do you want her instead?”

Aoi blinks at me, clearly caught off guard.

“You… you’d just hand her over? To me? But, we just met.”

I lean casually against the wall, hands in my pockets. 

“Yeah. Why not? If we are gonna be friends, we might as well help each other out.”

Her amethyst eyes narrow, a mix of disbelief and amusement. 

“You’re either crazy or generous. Maybe both.”

I smirk, tilting my head. 

“Probably both.”

The school bell rings, signaling the end of classes for the day.

I chuckle, pushing off the wall and gesturing toward the classroom. 

“Well? What’ll it be, friend?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head, still surprised. 

“I guess I’m in your debt.”

“Don’t sweat it. I was more interested in her classmate anyway.”

Her eyebrows lift, but I’m already walking.

“Don’t just stand there, hurry up before she leaves. I wanna see how you do.”

She huffs a laugh and falls into step behind me, notebook tucked under her arm. Somehow, I can already tell this is going to get interesting.

|— One hour later—|

The clock ticks louder than it should, each second dragging like a tire in the sand. I’m slouched halfway out of my chair, one leg bouncing, mouth lazily blowing my hair out of my face just to look like I don’t care. 

That’s what cool people do, look bored, look untouchable. Then again, what part of any of this is cool?

Detention. My throne of shame.

Tick… 

Tick… 

Tick…

Except, she doesn’t seem ashamed. That woman… That… destroyer. Tanino Gimlet. Even her name sounds sharp. 

She’s sitting across the room, arms folded, back perfectly straight. No slouching, no tapping, no pretending. She just exists, and somehow it feels like the whole room is her stage.

She doesn’t even look at me. Doesn’t look at anybody. With an eyepatch covering one eye, her singular gaze is fixed on the window.

I slouch deeper in my chair, pretending I’m not staring, but I can feel it. Compared to her, I’m just a fake. My whole act is paper-thin. She’s the real deal.

The teacher coughs, shuffles some papers, and then… freedom. Detention’s over, for today at least. Chairs scrape against the floor. I grab my bag, throwing it over one shoulder like it doesn’t weigh a thing. 

Gotta try to recover my image.

But as Tanino walks past me, steady, unbothered, and perfectly cool, I can’t stop the thought from sinking in.

She’s the kind of cool I’ve been chasing.

As she exits the room, I bolt. 

Out the door, down the empty hall, past the rows of lockers that smell distinctly like carrots. My uwabaki shoes squeak on the floor, then pound against the pavement as I burst outside.

The air hits me hard. Wind against my face, it feels cool, sharp, alive.

I don’t stop running. Normally I don’t care about being late, but I think I’ve left him waiting long enough already. 

It’s my first day of training after all.

I don’t stop until the gymnasium looms ahead. The small one, with its rattling doors and old floorboards. I shove my way in, the heavy echo of the doors booming inside like a starting gun.

My breathing is slightly labored, but I don’t care. 

Tanino Gimlet can sit there and already be some untouchable force. I have to carve my own aura, even cooler than hers. The coolest umamusume.

Trainer is already waiting by the far wall, arms crossed, whistle dangling loose from his neck. He raises an eyebrow, somewhere between annoyed and impressed.

“That was quick. Detention was let out…”

He checks his watch.

“...about a minute ago.”

I’m about to respond when something catches my attention, or rather someone. Actually, there’s two. Two figures are sitting on the bleachers. 

My brow furrows.

The first is a short, sharp-eyed girl. Her gray hair catches the light. Her red and blue hairband is adorned with two long flowing ribbons of the same color. As her head turns my way, I realize that I recognize her. 

It’s that angry girl from back last week…

She smirks with far too much confidence for someone her size. 

Beside her is someone completely different, a tiny pink-haired girl, clapping her hands together, practically glowing with excitement. 

…Haru?

“Vodka, you’re here?!”

“And so are you..?”

“Yup! I ran super hard during that race a few days ago but nobody wanted to scout me. I was planning to follow Halo to a dojo storm today when suddenly trainer burst into the classroom! He told me he wants to help me achieve my dream!”

I freeze mid-step. Trainer hasn’t said a word about any other trainees. I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.

“He scouted others?” 

Trainer raises a hand, rubbing under his nose with a small smile playing on his lips. 

“You’re all going to be on a team together. That’s not gonna be a problem for you, is it?”

I exhale slowly, keeping my voice level.

“No. I… I can manage.” 

I can live with that… but a heads up would’ve been nice.

“At least I was first.”

Trainer points to the shorter of the two girls in the stands..

“Nope, I recruited her before I recruited you.”

Are you kidding me?

The gray-haired uma hops down from the bleachers, landing with a confident roll of her shoulders. Her long ribbons sway behind her, almost like a cape. I adjust my bag, trying not to stare too much. 

Fail. Totally staring.

Just from a glance, she seems much more friendly than when I saw her before. And yet, her energy is still… sharp. It’s almost overwhelming.

“So dis the one folks round school are talkin’ about…”

…huh?

“Name’s Tamamo Cross. Don’t think ya can waltz in and steal ma thunda, ya hear?”

Don’t laugh.

“But I suppose I can share da coach withs ya since I’m so nice.”

Do not laugh. Why does she talk like that? Keep it together.

I tilt my head slightly, keeping calm.

Haru’s pink hair bobs as she rushes forward, saving me with her distracting pool of boundless energy.

“So does this mean we get to be on the same team? Really?! I get to train with you? Ehehe, aw geez… This is so exciting!” 

She squeals, beaming like she just won the lottery. Her excitement hits me like a wave, almost overwhelming in its sincerity.

I give her a small nod, a cool nod… while still trying not to laugh.

Steal ma thunda… da coach.

Trainer claps his hands together, breaking the moment.

“Alright girls, let's just get this out of the way… introductions!”

The ashen girl with the country accent stretches her arms out, taking up as much space as her small frame allows. 

“Naw… yer really gonna make us do dat awkward bondin’ thingie?”

My thoughts exactly.

“Do we have to? But me and Haru already know each other.”

“It’s Haru and I, and quit complaining. I had to do it when I was in school, and now it’s your turn. Everyone, say your name, your year, one thing about yourself, and your goal. Now who wants to go first?”

I groan inwardly. Haru’s grin remains wide as she just bounces forward.

“I’ll go! I’ll go! Uhm… My name is Haru Urara, I’m in my first year! I love racing, even if I lose a lot… but I never give up! My goal is… I want to run in a hundred races!”

I blink. 

Yeah… still as hyper as ever. Also, I’m supposed to look impressed, right? Maybe interested?

I’ll just nod. Cool. Totally cool. Nodding. Nodding coolly.

“Dang, yer loud!”

Tamamo crosses her arms, tilting her head, smirk widening.

“Right then, call me Tamamo Cross, ya know? Third year. One thin’ bout me… Imma pretty good cook. Uh, fer ma goal, I wanna win and prove even ashen umas can run.”

Haru jumps in.

“Me too! I wanna win too! Can I add that to my dream?”

Ignoring Haru, I raise an eyebrow.

“Prove ashen umas can run, what do you mean?”

Trainer partially winces.

“About that… There’s an old saying that umas with gray hair can’t run, let alone win. They even taught about it in some of my classes.”

Tamamo huffs, rolling her eyes.

“It sucks! I couldn’ getta traina until now cuz o’ it... like I were some sorta reject. Pissin’ me off…”

MMMMMMM—She cannot be saying serious crap with that voice and expect me to not hurt myself trying not to laugh.

“A-ah… And the cooking?”

“Hey, girl’s gotta have options, ya know? Keepin’ the stomach happy keeps the legs runnin’.”

I’m about ready to slap myself to keep a straight face.

Haru jumps in, giving me a moment of rest.

“Oh! That’s so true! I never thought about it that way. Maybe I should learn to cook too.”

“Naw, don’t worry yer little pink head. I’ll cook fer ya!”

“Really? Eheheh, I’m gonna hold you to that! Don’t you want some too, Vodka?”

I nod slowly.

“Barley tea… if that also counts as a snack… maybe.”

Tamamo Cross squints.

“Barley Tea?”

“Yeah… So I’m Vodka.”

I lean back against the wall, letting my arms cross loosely as I reach into my bag, pull out my trusty flask, and take a sip.

“First year, and I like barley tea. It’s good for keeping calm. As for my goal… I’m going to become the coolest uma.”

Nailed it.

Or I guess not based on how this gray girl is scratching her head.

“The coolest uma? How ya gonna do that?”

“How else?” 

I take another sip for dramatic effect. 

“I’ll win the derby.”

Tamamo lets out a low whistle, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Ha! So das how ya try ‘n be all cool ‘n stuff, eh? Talkin’ big game while leanin’ back, sippin’ tea?”

Haru suddenly perks up, asking a simple question.

“What is barley anyway? Is it like a fruit?”

I pause, not quite knowing the answer.

Trainer, caught a little off guard, chuckles.

“Barley’s… well, it’s a type of grain. Kind of like rice or wheat, but a little rougher. People dry it, roast it, or make tea from it. It’s supposed to be refreshing and relaxing. It's good for you.”

Haru taps a finger on her cheek.

“So it’s like drugs? The good ones…”

I nearly choke on my next sip.

“NO. No it is not. …Haru, please for the love of all things, do not tell people I am on drugs. Scarlet will kill me.”

Her name passes my lips as naturally as any other, but as my thoughts catch up to my mouth I realize my chest has tightened. I tilt my flask back against my lips but this time the teatastes bitter.

The pink girl innocently cocks her head, thinking.

“Okay! Okay, no drugs! But… does that mean you’re super calm then?”

With one final, large sip, I finish the drink while keeping the motion slow and casual for maximum effect.

…

“Super calm.”

The ribbon adorned girl scratches her nose.

“Why ya know so much ‘bout barley, coach?” 

“I studied botany in college for a short while.”

Tamamo snorts, crossing her arms again, a teasing sparkle in her blue eyes.

“Botany… psh. Whateva, so we gonna bend ‘er or naw?”

Being the sudden subject of conversation, I’m confused.

“Bend me?”

Haru bounces from foot to foot.

“Trainer was telling us all about how we’re gonna touch our toes, do splits… maybe even bend like pretzels!”

I turn slowly to the trainer, like a slab of rock grinding against concrete.

“What the hell kind of demonic sort of warm-up routine are you making us do?”

Trainer clears his throat, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Not the warm up… Today’s focus is flexibility. Full day. Stretching, balance, core work. No running, no races. It’s just you, your body, and how far you can bend before you regret it.”

I groan quietly, letting it escape just a little.

“Flexibility? Seriously? All day?”

Tamamo raises an eyebrow, amused.

“Ah, look at you! Already whinin’... that ain’t very cool, Vodka.”

Okay. The voice was funny but this damn ribbon runt better not get on my nerves.

Haru beams.

“Don’t complain! Running feels really good, but flexibility is fun too! You get to move all your muscles and feel super bendy!”

Trainer chuckles, shaking his head.

“Plus, flexibility is more important than you realize. The more your muscles and joints can move freely, the more efficiently you run. It lowers your chance of injuries, your stride length improves, your recovery is faster… and yes, your speed benefits too. It’s the foundation for everything else you do on the track.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to look unimpressed.

“Foundation, huh? Guess I can tolerate a day of pretzel training.”

–Later–

With a turn of the key, I unlock the door. With a deep breath, I twist the knob and step inside.

Scarlet doesn’t look up. She’s curled up in the corner chair, nose buried in that same tattered paperback she’s been reading since last week. The lamp beside her casts a warm glow on her cheek, but her expression is unreadable.

No “hey.”

No “how’d it go?”

Not that I expected anything else.

I set my bag down on my desk a little too hard, just to make a point. The thud echoes. She doesn’t flinch.

I kick off my shoes, toeing them neatly under the bed, and cross the room to my closet. The soft fabric of my uniform sides off my shoulders in one smooth motion. I hang it up carefully, even though my hands are shaking.

The silence stretches thin between us. Just the rustle of clothes and the quiet shhhp of turning pages.

…

…

“How was it?” 

Scarlet’s voice is flat. Like she doesn’t care. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I mutter, tugging a more comfortable shirt over my head. 

“When are you gonna stop being mad?” 

Her voice is quieter now. Not apologetic. Just tired.

I pause, hand on the dresser.

“…”

“I told you it wasn’t like that.”

I turn to her slowly, meeting her eyes for the first time today. My throat feels raw.

“And I told you I don’t care why you did it.”

Her lips part, like she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t. I step closer, arms crossed over my chest.

“You think it felt good crossing that finish line first, knowing you pulled back?” 

My voice cracks. 

“You think I didn’t notice?”

She closes the book slowly, thumb still in the pages. Then she stands up… not shy, not guilty, just annoyed. Her eyes stare into mine, sharp and unflinching.

“God, Vodka, you’re such a jerk sometimes.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been acting angry like I spit in your face.” 

“You basically did.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did!”

“I didn’t. You ran well. You won. But because it didn’t happen exactly the way you wanted, you’re acting like I betrayed you or something.”

“Only because you let me win.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, and for a second they burn.

“I didn’t let you do anything. You’re acting like you’re the only one who has bad days.”

“I watched you slow down.”

My voice is almost a whisper now, yet it still cuts through her words. 

Silence again. Thick and loaded.

She inches closer, stopping just a breath away, close enough that I can smell the turf still clinging to her uniform. 

The distance between us has never been this short before.

Her voice is barely audible.

“Jerk.”

I stare at her, heart pounding so furiously loud that I’m sure she can hear it.

“You keep saying that like it makes you right.”

“Because I am right.”

“You threw the race!”

“I did not throw the race, Vodka!”

“You slowed down.”

“I got tired!”

“You never get tired!”

“Well, maybe I did this time!”

“Oh sure… How convenient.”

“Oh my god, are you even hearing yourself?”

“I heard you loud and clear when you let me pass… and you smiled like it didn’t matter.”

“Because it didn’t!”

“...”

“I don’t know! I was off, okay? My legs felt like lead, and I couldn’t breathe. What do you want me to say?!”

“I want you to tell the truth!”

“I am! You’re just too obsessed with winning to believe me!”

“Don’t flip this on me!”

“I’m not flipping anything! You’re the one throwing a tantrum because you won!”

“Because it wasn’t real! My first ever win and it wasn’t real!”

“Because I lost?! God, do you even hear how messed up that sounds?”

“You didn’t lose. You chose to lose.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do! I saw it, Scarlet!”

“Well maybe you just can’t handle being better than me!”

“I’m not! That’s not what this is about!”

“Then what is it about?!”

“Damnit, I wanted it to mean something!”

“It did! To me! I watched you cross that line and I was happy for you!”

“I wanted to beat you. Fair.”

“Then you should’ve run faster.”

A beat. Silence.

“No. I’m sorry. That wasn’t-“

“Fuck you Scarlet.”

I shove away, pulling out my boots from under the bedframe. Dropping them onto the floor with a loud thud. I start dragging the boots onto my feet, laces squeezing as I yank them tight.

“Don’t say that.”

“No, fuck you.”

I slam my heel down, cinching the knot. The sudden crack of sound makes her flinch.

“Vodka…  I didn’t mean it like that.”

I grab my pleather jacket from the chair, swinging it over my shoulders with a whip. 

“Next time, I will beat you fair and square.”

Her hands ball into fists on her knees.

“Next time, I won’t lose.”

I head towards the door. Scarlet sits abruptly, the bed creaking. Her hoodie falls from her closet door like it’s been ripped free of gravity.

“You’re gonna leave?”

I creep over to her side of the room, picking the blue hoodie up from off the floor.

“...No.”

With a flick, I toss the hoodie at her. The fabric lands squarely on her face.

“We are leaving.”

She pulls the hoodie off her head, revealing the shock etched across her face.

“We?”

“My team wants to go eat dinner together to celebrate our first practice.”

I toss my key into the air, catching it with a sharp clink. Remembering that bet Trainer told me he lost, a smirk plays with the edges of my lips.

 “...Pay for me and I’ll forgive you.”

“Your team?”

“You heard right. That dork of a trainer ended up scouting Haru. And there's this other girl with a funny accent. She’s… I don’t know how to put this… scrappy?”

Scarlet’s head slides through the top hole of the hoodie, a small smile as she pulls her hair through.

“Scrappy, huh…”

“I don’t know… that word just kind of fits.”

She stands, seemingly ready to leave. I roll my eyes and reach for the doorknob, but before I turn it, there's the faintest tug on my jacket.

I glance over my shoulder. Scarlet’s closer than I realized, already pulling her sleeve down like nothing happened. But her dark red eyes linger on mine for a second longer than they should.

“Let’s go.”

|—Outside one of the many restaurants in the city, the Author experiments with a new POV—|

The girl next to me keeps jabberin’ on ’bout all sorts o’ nonsense. A story that loops and twirls, and I just keep listenin’ as she talks ’bout the funny hat on the farmer’s head she’d been helpin’.

Helps pass the time, fer sure.

“It’s so exciting that we live across the hallway, Tamamo! I’m totally gonna hang out in your room all the time. Plus, since you don’t have a roommate, it’ll be like I’m your roommate!”

Her grin’s so wide, I swear her cheeks might split.

“Right… so then I’m yer bonus roommate.”

I say, adjustin’ my headband.

Not a second later, Vodka strolls up, draggin’ along some girl I don’t recognize. School skirt, blue hoodie, the whole package. Vodka calls out, hands shoved deep in her pockets.

“Yo.” 

I cross my arms, tiltin’ my head.

“Took yer time gettin’ here. Ya think showin’ up late is cool or somethin’?”

“What… never heard of being fashionably late?”

She shoots back that excuse, as if it magically negates everything. 

The girl behind her scoffs.

“It’s not fashionable. It’s rude. We kept them waiting.”

“Relax, would ya? We’re here now.”

“This is why I wanted to run here! Run! But nooo, you were so insistent that we walked.”

Their glares spark against one another, like flint ‘n steel.

Before I can even blink, Haru jumps up, arms flailin’, and drags the stranger into a hug.

“Scarlet! You came too! I’m sooo happy to see you!”

The stranger softens, returnin’ the hug, while Vodka and I hang back, lookin’ like spectators.

“Sooo Vodka… gonna introduce me to yer tag-along?”

The blue-hooded girl shoves Vodka aside and to the floor, extendin’ her hand like she owns the initiative.

“I’m Daiwa Scarlet, Vodka’s roommate. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I glance at her hand, then at the now standing Vodka, who’s busy dustin’ off her jacket. 

“Roommate, huh?”

I shake her hand anyway, firm enough not to seem rude. 

“Pleasure’s mine. Tamamo Cross.”

Scarlet smiles politely, then pivots back to Vodka.

“And we really should’ve run. We wouldn’t be late if we had.”

“Oh, here we go again—”

The two of ’em dive back into it, voices clipper than a whip, sharp little jabs ricochetin’ all over the place. 

I let out a low whistle through my teeth. They argue like they’ve done this a hundred times. They’ve sorta got the rhythm of a married couple. But they said roommates. 

Just roommates…

We’ll see.

Vodka finally points at the group, tone clipped.

“Look, even if we were late, Trainer still isn’t here. So he’s even more late!” 

Haru shakes her head. 

“Nope! Trainer told me that he couldn’t make it. Something about already having dinner plans with a friend.”

I snort.

“Really? Das the reason he ain’t coming? We’re celebratin’ our first practice together and he picks dinner? Some trainer we got.”

A server calls out, scanning the waiting area.

“Party of three? Haru Urara?”

Vodka’s voice chokes.

“…Three?” 

“Um!” 

Haru bounces forward, wavin’ to grab the server’s attention. 

“Actually four! Hope that’s okay!”

Somehow, her smile does the trick. The server just nods and leads us around the corner to an outside table.

We settle into our seats beneath a line of string lights. Menus slapp’n down on the table. Before we even have a glass of water, Vodka already flipped her menu open. Haru is still vibrating with energy.

“Scarlet! You wanna know what Trainer told me?”

Haru bursts, barely lettin’ Scarlet give ‘n actual response.

“He said he’s totally gonna let me run in over a hundred races! Maybe more! If I run in that many, surely I must win one of them right?”

Scarlet nods, petting the girl’s ear.

“That's great!”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I’d hope ya’d win at least one… why ya settin’ yer expectations so low?”

“Because! I’ve never won a race before!”

Vodka sets her menu down, frownin’.

“What the heck does that even mean? If you’ve never won a race, why’d they even let you into Tracen?”

The bubbly uma fiddles with her napkin, smile falterin’.

“I… I guess they saw something in me? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll figure it out eventually…”

As her smile fades, Scarlet smacks Vodka, sparkin’ another argument. I reach over, ruffling Haru’s pink hair.

“Ya know, I don’t know ya well enough yet seein’ as we only met today and all… but I can probably tell ya what they saw.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s gotta be yer energy.”

Haru blinks at me, wide-eyed.

“I don’t understand…”

I take a slow breath, leanin’ back in my chair just enough to meet ‘er pink peepers. 

“See, racin’ ain’t just about winning or losin’. It’s about the way you throw yourself at somethin… the way you run with all you got. If I had a guess, whoever decided you were Tracen material saw that in ya.”

Haru tilts her head.

“Even if I’ve never won… they think I can do it?”

“Exactly. It’s the fire in ya, not the finish line, that counts.”

She beams at me again, just a little steadier this time. Before she can say anything, Vodka and Scarlet’s voices flare up over something trivial.

“Who in their right mind wants a hot dog from a burger place?”

Scarlet gasps, takin’ some sort of offense.

“Me! I want the hot dog!”

“You are not right in the head!”

Haru notices too.

“They argue like that a lot…” 

I give ‘em a slight glance, my brow lifting.

“Maybe they just know each other well.”

I say that while keeping my tone casual. Although my mind can’t quite ignore one particular thought. 

…Married couple, for sure.

Haru’s giggle fades into a thoughtful hum. 

“Tamamo… why do you run? I mean, you said in practice you want to win, right? Because… uh… gray?”

I smile faintly.

“Cuz people say gray Uma’s ain’t got what it takes. But just watch, I’ll show ya that it ain’t true.”

Haru nods slowly, absorbing my words. 

“So… you run to prove something?”

“Not just to prove it… to live it. To honor those who’ve helped me. Show ‘em that it wasn’t a waste of time to help me. Keep their lessons alive in every race.” 

She glances down at her hands, her grip tightening.

“I… I want that too. I know I just met him today, but Trainer’s the first person to ever want to help me. I don’t wanna let him down.”

I pat her on the head.

“Yer gonna do alright.”

I hadn’t noticed, but Scarlet and Vodka had paused their arguin’ to listen in. Vodka lets out an awkward laugh.

“Seriously, don’t worry Haru. Trainer might seem a bit weird and… well, he’s totally uncool, but he knows his stuff. Whether or not he’s actually able to apply any of what he knows, we’ll see. But uh… I don’t know where I was going with this. The point is, don’t worry about letting the guy down. Dude’s probably just happy to have us.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Yer talkin’ like ya know him.”

Scarlet chuckles.

“Oh, she definitely knows him. I mean, she did get followed around by him for a week straight.”

“Don’t make it sound creepy! He was just making sure I didn’t push myself too hard after I injured myself last week.”

Vodka groans, rolling her eyes. 

“Yea… He basically shadowed me everywhere. Classes, meals, walks… man he was relentless! But if it weren’t for that… and a few other things, I probably wouldn’t have wanted him to be my trainer.”

Haru’s eyes go wide, a little sparkle in them. 

“Wow… I’m kinda jealous. I wish someone cared that much about me!”

Vodka’s ears twitch nervously as her voice mutters something out.

“He probably already does.”

Haru beams, and the moment hangs just long enough before the server shows up to take orders.

“I swear, I’m getting a deluxe burger. And a soda with that.”

“I think I’ll try that cheesy hot dog, with lemonade please.”

“I want a burger too! Fries! And milk!”

“Just gimme a plain cheeseburger with water. Thanks.”

Within a few minutes, the server returns, balancing plates carefully. Burgers steaming, fries crisp, and the lone hot dog standing proudly… much to Vodka’s annoyance.

The smell of sizzling beef and fries hits us as the waiter sets down plates.

Haru immediately dives in, but ‘er tongue quickly sticks out in disgust.

“Bleh… pickles.”

She frowns, liftin’ the top bun to inspect her meal. Sure enough, pickles.

I chuckle.

“Not a fan of pickles?”

“No… they're so icky and they feel like rubber!”

I slide my tray across the table.

“Wanna trade? Mine’s just cheese ‘n beef. ”

“Yes, please!” 

“Alright, but that means yer sharin’ yer fries.”

The girl swaps with me, happily enjoying her new burger.

As I shove a fry into my mouth, Vodka points a finger at the one girl not a part of our team.

“So what about you, Scarlet?

“What about me? My hot dog? It’s fine.”

“No! You never said anything about your trainer. What are they like?”

Scarlet sets her hot dog down, fingers tapping the edge of her tray.

“I don’t have a trainer… yet. But I have plenty of offers.”

Vodka freezes mid-bite, brow furrowin’. 

“Are you considering any of them?”

Her ears nervously drop towards the back of her head.

“Well… I got an offer from the Baroness.”

I nearly choke on my water.

“Baroness?! THE Baroness?”

As Scarlet’s gaze meets my awestruck, both Haru and Vodka seem confused. Haru looks between the both of us questioningly.

“Uh… what’s going on? Who is the Baroness?”

I glance at her, lowering my voice. 

“The Baroness… she’s a legendary trainer. One of Tokyo’s five elite trainers. Shinzan… Maruzensky… and most recently, Symboli Rudolf… all were trained by ‘er. Ain’t someone ya just… casually get an offer from.”

I notice Vodka’s hands briefly shakin’ until she suddenly smacks her roommate’s shoulder with a grin.

“Damn straight! She must’ve known you were holding back! No way she’d offer if you weren’t something special.”

Despite the grin, Vodka seems to be grittin’ her teeth.

Scarlet shrugs, calm as ever, like the weight of a legendary trainer’s offer doesn’t faze her a bit. Meanwhile, my eyes narrow.

“But I heard she only trains one uma at a time. Didn’t she already scout some second year?”

I watch as she sips her drink, a serene confidence emanating from her. 

“Agnes Tachyon, yes. I thought she changed her mind about me, until she approached me today to say her offer still stands.”

I chew on another fry slowly. 

Huh… there must be somethin’ special bout this girl.

I glance at Vodka, still seein’ a small twitch of tension lingerin’ in her jaw.

Chapter Text

—After 3 weeks of training—

The forceful crunch of dirt and sand slows as I bring myself to a jog. My breaths soften until I finally stop at the edge of the track. My eyes catch a stray ray of sunlight, forcing me to squint. 

A gray blur is standing just ahead of me, her twin ribbons swaying as she shakes out her arms.

Tamamo Cross.

Trainer would say she’s a handful, but honestly? She’s not bad company. To be fair, I’m not the one who has to deal with her constant backtalk. 

That first week she was fine… then, suddenly, listening became a waste of her time. Something had to have happened.

I glance back. Half a lap behind us, Haru Urara is still moseying along at her own pace, pink hair bobbing with every step.

Haru’s great. Slower than anyone else I’ve ever seen, sure, but cheerful. Even when she’s panting, she’s the first one to ask what we’re doing next.

Trainer crouches nearby grass, fiddling with a little camera mounted on a tripod. He peeks over his shoulder when he notices that Tamamo and I have stopped.

He’s been good to me so far… solid workouts, sound advice, and doesn’t yell at me when I show up late. I can’t believe I respect someone this lame. Not fully. Maybe… a little.

“Done already?” 

There’s a little laugh in his voice, like he already knows the answer. I wipe my forehead.

“Yeah.”

He hums, setting the camera angle before straightening up. 

“Good warm-up you two.” 

Tamamo snorts, flipping her twin ribbons. 

“Ya weren’t even watchin’.”

He doesn’t flinch.

“Sure I was. Vodka ran two moderately paced laps. Good job. And you, Tamamo… three laps but you finished at about the same time. Nice, even if it wasn’t what I asked for. But—”

His gaze slides to Haru, still running.

“You both left her behind.”

Tamamo wriggles her nose, unconcerned.

“An’? Last place. She outta catch up… eventually.”

He replies lightly. 

“Warm-ups aren’t races. They’re about priming your body, working together.”

Last I checked, racing is an individual sport. How would we be working together?

Tamamo tilts her head, that cocky grin tugging at her lips. 

“Das cute, but I gotta focus on my runnin’. Can’t be babysittin’ the slowpoke.”

Haru finally trots up, huffing but smiling.

“That was so much fun! Super-duper fun!”

Trainer just sighs.

“Alright, stretching. Everyone. Now.”

We drop into the familiar routine. Quads, hamstrings, calves, shoulders. Tamamo makes faces the whole way. Haru is somehow still cheerful. Me? I can almost reach my toes now. That's progress.

As we finish up, Tamamo flops back into the grass with crossed arms.

“So what’s da camera fer?”

“Glad to see you’re interested today. I’ll show ya. Vodka, three laps please.”

…Huh?

“Oh, and I want you to give it… let’s say eighty percent, all the way through.”

My brows furrow as I give him a questioning glare.

“All the way through? Does that mean…”

He gestures toward the lane lined up with the camera.

“No pacing yourself.”

“For THREE laps?! I’m going to be practically sprinting the whole time!”

“That’s the idea!”

I throw some grass at him.

“Seriously? Why do I have to do it?”

The clump of grass barely makes it half-way to him before falling apart. I toss another, this time with some dirt mixed in. He ducks underneath.

“Well, Tamamo’s got her debut race tomorrow. But even if I told her to hold back today, I’m sure she’d still overdo it.”

She barks.

“Oi! Quit yer worryin’! I’m gonna win.”

“As for Haru… I don’t really have an excuse, as to why not her. I just felt like picking on you.”

I toss a clump of just pure dirt this time. It dirt scatters, pelting him all over.

“Jackass…”

I grumble to the starting line as he fiddles with the camera.

“Alright Vodka! Remember, eighty percent!”

“Blah blah… Hurry up and start me off!”

“Okay—okay… Let me just… click. And—we—are—ready. On your mark… Get set… Go!”

I run. 

One lap, I’m already tired. 

Two, I was ready to throw in the towel after the first.

Through the third, my legs feel like bricks, throat on fire.

How far have I run? What’s the lap distance for this track?

I’ve probably covered at least three kilometers by now. Sprinting.

This… isn’t… fair.

A voice calls.

“Keep going, you’re almost done!”

From the bottom of my heart, I reply with the one thing I’m thinking.

“Shut… UUUUP!”

My lungs are begging for air. I keep going, pushing through the final hundred meters, stumbling over the finish line. I’m left bent over and gasping.

Trainer fiddles with the playback silently. Tamamo and Haru shuffle close, peeking over his shoulder. He peaks up at me, slightly amused.

“You good?”

Between breaths, I rasp out a reply.

“Fan… tastic…”

A few pieces of dirt fall from his shirt’s collar as he waves me over.

“Come here, you’ll want to see this.”

Not even gonna let me rest for a damn second.

I drag myself forward, half-grumbling, half-curious, and entirely out of breath. My legs ache just from walking those few steps. On the tiny playback screen, there I am! …charging around the track with my tail flying behind me. 

Looking cool.

He slows the footage down. 

“Lap one… Does everyone see this? Focus on how she runs.” 

He points to the frame as I come down the straightaway, running directly towards the camera. 

“Her stride’s clean. Knees are driving up, back’s tall, arms are in sync with her legs. She’s using her power efficiently. Not bad, Vodka. Compared to when we met, you’ve improved all on your own.”

“Of course… whew… Did you… really think I was gonna… sit on my ass… after you said… my form sucked? No way.”

“God, I love your mentality. Good work.”

He grins, offering me a fist bump. I take it. Tamamo scoffs under her breath. 

As Trainer clicks to the playback of lap two, Haru hands me my—ignoring that it has the initials D.S. on the side of it—water bottle. I mutter a quick thanks before drinking my fill.

Watching the screen, I notice that, as I round the corner, my shoulders are inching upward with clear tension knotting in my neck. Strides are slightly shorter. My footsteps, heavier. And my arms… crap.

I didn’t even realize.

With a click, Trainer rewinds the video.

“Now can anyone tell me what’s gone wrong? …Tamamo?”

Tamamo, who had seemingly lost interest, actively squints at the screen.

“Mmm… ain’t ‘er arms crossing too much?”

Trainer’s head nods in agreement. 

“Bingo. Watch the way her elbows swing.”

He replays the segment once more.

“Instead of front-to-back, they’re swinging across her chest. Vodka, that’s your old running form creeping back in.”

He pauses.

“…There’s a term for this that I’m forgetting… hmm… It’s like…”

He snaps his fingers, the word sitting on the tip of his tongue.

“Uh… have you ever seen those joggers..? They’re always running slowly and they just sort of flail? Their arms are almost like windmills.”

Haru tilts her head in thought before jumping into action.

“Oh! I’ve seen that. Like when their arms are all… whap-whap-whap-whap-whap!”

She throws her arms across her body in a wild, floppy rhythm, wrists flicking everywhere. Tamamo slowly begins chuckling.

“Like a whirligig?”

“Bleeeeehhhh! Loike ah worlaeygig.”

I mock Tamamo’s tone before flipping her the bird.

…

“...Why’d ya make me sound like-a Aussie?”

Trainer sighs, mixing in a small laugh.

“Whaps. Whirlies… Whatever you call them. Vodka, you might not be windmill bad… yet, but you’re still letting your arms cross your centerline too much. As a result, your energy is going sideways instead of forward. It tires you out faster. By the third lap—”

He clicks ahead again, slowing down the footage of my final go at the straightaway.

Now it’s plain as day. My head’s bobbing with every stride… arms are swinging… more like flailing. It barely even resembles running.

“—you’ve gone full Whirly-Whap-Windmill.”

I nod along.

“You mean worlaey.”

“I AIN’T Australian!”

“So. That’s today’s lesson. Good form makes running easier. You’ve all got power and stamina, but most of it is currently going to waste. Once we fix that, you’ll go farther with less effort.”

Haru bounces up onto her toes, tail flicking.

“I wanna go next! Can I? Can I?”

The excited girl starts rushing towards the track. Trainer drops an arm directly in her path, which she bumps straight into with an OOMPH.

“Not so fast, firecracker. Before you do that, don’t you think you should learn what proper running form actually looks like?”

Haru’s face slowly morphs into curiosity and embarrassment. She brings a hand up, scratching the back of her head.

“Oh… right. My bad!”

The dirt-stained man turns to the girl laying absentmindedly in the grass.

“What about you Tamamo? Do you plan on actually hearing me out?”

The ashen girl seemingly doesn't want to give him a proper answer. And while, I think we all expected her to just get up and walk away, she stays. 

Trainer shakes his head in understanding of her brush-off answer.

“Good… alright. Everybody get comfy, this is gonna be a lecture.”

Haru joins Tamamo in the grass, meanwhile, I lean against the track’s outside railing. 

This’ll look cool. If I had my flask, now would be the time to take a sip.

“Let’s start with the hands and arms. Does anybody know what to do?”

“Ain’t dat obvious? Fer the arms, just don’t be a whirligig right? Swing ‘em straight back and forth?”

“Worlaeygig.”

Tamamo immediately sits up. Her head turns to me slowly, like a heavy boulder spinning on an axil. I try to shake off her gaze with a simple—

“Come on, that one was your fault.”

I try looking away, but her eyes remain affixed with the side of my head. As she speaks, her voice comes out… different.

“That was your last one. You will not get another.”

Did… she? 

Her accent was gone. She can do that? 

Eheh… 

No—no. I am not gonna… We are not doing this, again.

I am not going to laugh.

Even while not looking at her, I can still see her from the corner of my eye.

Stop staring at me like that! 

That smirk… She knows… She knows!

I turn to her, holding it in. As my gaze meets hers, I can feel her sternness. And yet, that sternness doesn’t reach past her eyes.

She’s totally screwing with me. She’s gotta be. Look at that face. I can’t—

I break, letting out a hard laugh. Thankfully, so does Tamamo.

From the sideline, the trainer finally lets out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose like a man who’s already lost this battle twice today.

“You two… focus. As we were saying, Tamamo is correct. The proper form is to swing your arms naturally from the shoulder, forward-to-back. If you’re all-out sprinting, then you should aim for a more piston-like motion. If you’re just trying to keep your pace then I recommend letting them swing freely like a pendulum.”

I raise my hand.

“Question. If my arms are a piston, then when should I put the power into the swing? Should I do it while they swing forward or back?”

“Uhhh… What are you asking?”

I elaborate.

“Pistons, like for a motorcycle engine. A mini explosion forces them down before the crankshaft pulls the piston back up. So if my arm is a piston, do I explode when my arm goes forward or backward?”

“Like motorcycles, do you?”

He smirks, seemingly impressed. I give him an eye-closed grin.

Oh, he has no idea.

“Pshhh—yeah I do! They're cool!”

“Good to know. But to answer your question, it's neither. By piston, I was referring to the linear motion of swinging your arms. It doesn't matter if it’s sprinting or keeping your pace, you shouldn’t put any force into them. Let them swing naturally. As for your hands, it actually isn’t too important what you do.”

Haru’s head falls to the side. She clearly expected some strict rule or hidden trick, not this. She lets out a soft huh. Her hand then shoots up.

“Can I run with finger guns?!”

“I mean… if that’s what you want. Some trainers might tell you that you should keep a balled fist or an open hand, but really it doesn’t matter. You can do whatever, finger guns included. But if you want my recommendation, do whatever's comfortable. Don’t force anything.”

Now that I think about it, a lot of people run around with their hands balled into fists. I wonder how many people have accidentally gotten punched during a race?

Trainer moves on. 

“Shoulders next. They should stay down and relaxed. You don’t want them shrugging up toward your ears. Haru, you especially have a bad habit of doing this.”

The girl brings her hands up to her head, pulling at her hair.

“Daaaawwwwwwww…”

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. I just thought I’d mention it. The tension there steals your energy and throws off your stride. And another thing. Once you get short of breath, you tend to tilt your head upwards. It not only causes you to slow down, but it isn’t good for your spine. …Actually, if anyone sees Haru doing that, call it out immediately please.”

My ears twitch with a sudden realization, causing me to straighten.

“Wait—earlier you said something about working together. This is what you were talking about?”

“Oh cool! You remembered that. Yeah, since you won’t be able to see yourself, it will be difficult for you to know when your form is wrong. Obviously, I’m here to tell you… but your teammates are here too. You can help each other spot mistakes. That’s what teamwork is. Think you girls can do that?”

For a second, none of us say anything. My eyes flick to Tamamo, who’s leaning back with that cocky grin, then to Haru, smiling like sunshine. They both look back at me, then at each other. 

A small breeze blows past us, almost like the air is shifting.

Tamamo groans, breaking the silence first. 

“Fineee. I get da point. It ain’t baby-sittin’ so, I guess I can give it-a go.”

Haru leans forward, poking Tamamo lightly in the shoulder.

“You’d be too tiny to babysit anyone, Tamamo. You’re not taller than a baby!”

Tamamo freezes for a split second, then flicks one of Haru’s ears.

“Ain’t we da same height?”

I slightly chuckle before giving my attention back to Trainer. However, I am mortified to see that at some point in our group exchange, Trainer slipped off a shoe and a sock.

I jump back.

“WOAHH—Gross man! Put those toes away.”

He turns to let us see him from the side. Tamamo’s nose twitches and wrinkles. She brings both hands to Haru’s face, covering her eyes.

“Eww… come on, really? Right ‘ere? Ah jeez, ya gotta clip yer nails.”

Trainer, unfazed, glances at us with a sheepish grin. 

“Sorry… need to demonstrate the foot placement. Didn’t mean to… traumatize anyone.”

Haru, between the hands covering her face, chirps.

“Traumatize? That’s a good word for it. I’m Traumatized.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’ll give a warning next time. But, while I have your attention, the way your feet plant into the ground matters. On something firm like turf, aim to land on your mid-foot, then push off from the ball of your foot. On softer ground, such as dirt or gravel, things get a little bit trickier. The unstable nature of it means you need to be a bit more flexible.”

He plants his foot, demonstrating each and every stride.

Tamamo gawks. 

“Yer sayin’ it actually changes if we’re on dirt verses turf?”

“Mhm. And I expect you, more than Haru or Vodka, to be able to swap between them.”

“Ain’t no way I’m gonna be playin’ in the mud…”

“Suit yourself, but I think you could win. There’s other stuff too—like little tricks you can pull out if need be. For example, running closer to your forefoot is effective for a burst of speed. But, be careful. The risk of injury becomes greater. That’s why, personally, I don’t like it. But if you want to risk it then that’s your choice. Just know that, if you take it even further so that you’re fully running on your toes… the risk increases ten-fold with a minimal return. So please don’t do that.”

Haru’s hand raises, preparing another question.

“What about running on your heels?”

 “Oh no… listen to me. Absolutely. Do. Not… run on your heels. All you will do is put unnecessary stress on your knees and ankles. Again, we really want to avoid injury here.”

While reaching for his shoe, his eyes widen. He pulls out a green insole.

“Question for everyone. Do you wear custom insoles?”

I step a few more paces back as the man waves around his smelly foot-cushion.

“Nope. Didn’t even know that was a thing.”

It makes sense though. There’s custom cleats for the outside of your shoe, why wouldn’t there be custom insoles for the inside?

Haru covers her nose.

“No, I’ve never even thought about shoe stuff.”

“I heard of ‘em, but they’re a lil’ too pricey.”

He sighs, shoving the insole deep into his shoe.

“Okay, then I’ll see if the school can help out with that. If not, I’ll personally buy you each a pair. They are really really good for your feet.”

Finally, the shoe is back on the foot.

“Now for arguably the most important part of proper form, the lean.”

Tamamo folds her arms.

“Really? Come on Coach, ain’t an uma alive that doesn’t know about leanin’. I’m already doin’ dat.”

He bends down smugly.

“Are you? To me it looks more like you’re a duck.”

Tamamo pauses, her mouth partway open, blinking at him. I can’t help it… I snort before I even realize. He stands, eyeing me with that same cheshire grin.

“Oh Vodka, I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you.”

Crap.

“In fact, of the three of you, the only one that isn’t a duck is Haru.”

Said pink girl lets out a disappointed cry.

“Awwww…”

His pride gives way to confusion at the girl’s sudden agony.

“Haru, that’s… a good thing.”

Her cheeks puff out.

“Ducks are cuuuute.”

“Yes, but you’re the one who properly leans. Sorry, but you’re not a duck.”

“Daaawwww…”

She continues to mope. As Trainer attempts to comfort Haru by patting her head, Tamamo’s eyes narrow.

“Okay… so I’mma duck. Whats dat mean?”

“A duck is… a duck.”

“W… Well-dat don’t- ……Quack??? Like what?”

Tamamo’s arms are thrown into the air from the confusion. Trainer pulls at the collar of his black and brown-stained shirt while muttering to himself.

“Uh… I see your point. Why did she call it a duck again?”

As he pulls, his collar becomes noticeably loose. We all watch as the top button pops right off, falling somewhere in the grass. 

He notices too. And, for a moment, his eyes sweep the ground, unblinking. But alas, somewhere in the universe, a button lies in quiet triumph. He shall never touch it again.

“Man, this was my favorite shirt.”

“Really? We hadn’t noticed. It’s only like you wear that ugly thing every single day.”

I’m only joking, yet Trainer replies with an offended frown.

“It’s a plain black shirt, how is it ugly?! Besides, it’s not the same one every day. I have three of them. Er—two. Ugh… maybe I can get another button somewhere. Anyways—clap—I remember now.”

He begins to gesture about, trying to give us some semblance of understanding.

“Ducks… I think the logic behind calling it a duck was that a duck’s legs and hips are back here, you know? —But their body hunches forward. They don’t lean, they’re hunched over… like a duck. So if you’re a duck then—”

He plants his legs into the ground as though he's standing upright. Then, without moving his feet, he pivots at the hips back so his upper body falls forward against the railing, all the while his legs stay put. It creates this noticeable angle at his waist.

“—you’re crooked.” 

He straightens for a moment, then slowly shifts his weight forward from the ankles, keeping his back straight, torso and legs moving as one unit. The lean is subtle but controlled, like a pendulum ready to spring forward.

“But if I were to turn this into a proper lean…”

The motion is fluid. Unlike before, his hips and legs are also tilting forward with his torso, creating a continuous line from feet to head.

“It would look like this. Why don’t you all give it a try?”

Tamamo hops to her feet. She leans once, then straightens. 

“Done. Good? Can I go now?”

Trainer just sighs, seemingly unsure how to handle this girl.

“That was good enough, I guess… Yeah, go do your thing. But make sure you take things slow. You still have a race tomorrow.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll win regardless.”

As she walks off, I eye the railing and line myself up.

“Let me try.”

Hands in front of me. Feet flat on the ground. Okay… Lean. Don’t be a duck.

“Like this?”

“Girl, you have feathers and a bill. You are a duck.”

Trainer’s voice is exaggerated and soaring, like he’s hyping me up on a runway. Then, almost instantly, it snaps back to normal. He demonstrates.

“Try this. Stand completely straight and then let yourself slowly fall towards the railing. When you catch yourself, you should be leaning.”

Okay. Straight body, controlled fall…

“Is this better?”

“No… I can–”

He reaches, but stops himself.

“Would you mind if I?”

“Go ahead…”

I groan, only staring straight ahead from the embarrassment. 

He moves carefully, adjusting my posture with precision. My hips are shifted forward, farther than I thought they should go. The adjustment catches me off guard, like I’m about to tip over. Instinctively, my toes curl inside my shoes as I brace for balance. 

Before I can question it, his hands move to my shoulders, drawing them back. The motion feels exaggerated… unnatural. My chest opens, but at the same time my weight seems to only fall further forward.

“There you go.”

He pulls back, making a diagonal cutting motion through the air.

“Fsssh. Perfectly straight line. How’s that feel?”

“Like I’m going to fall over.”

“Perfect, that’s what running is. …Falling and catching yourself over and over again.”

THUNK.

“Haru?”

She looks up at us.

“I missed the railing.”

|—Many cups of coffee later—|

The apartment is quiet, almost oppressively so, save for the soft hum of my minifridge and the tapping of fingers against my keyboard. My clock reads 1:32 AM, its red digits glaring in the darkness like tiny embers. A mug of lukewarm coffee sits abandoned beside a stack of open notebooks. Their margins scrawled with numbers and schedules, pages filled thick with sticky notes and creases. The curtain flutters like a flag in a gentle draft from the cracked window. 

One such notebook details the intricate training regime that my uma’s have been following week by week. Another contains all the information I’ve gathered for tomorrow’s—or I guess today’s race. There’s even a cookbook highlighting the nutritional benefits of certain meals.

I slump back in my chair, shoulders aching, back stiff, fingers heavy on the keys as if the weight of the night itself presses down on them. The city lights smear against the windowpane like the memories of distant fireflies. My eyes sting from the glow of the screen.

Dear Maruzensky, 

This is such a bad idea. She probably hates me. I begin, shaking my head as I reread what I’ve typed.

It’s been a while. How have you been? 

That sounds… forced. This will probably look ridiculous from her end.

I know this is out of the blue, and for that I apologize. Actually, I’ve gone and become a trainer. Can you believe that? I know what you’re gonna say. No, I wasn’t forced into it. In fact, I’m working at Tracen. 

That’s actually the reason I’m reaching out. You see, I know of your position on the student council. And I need help with a rather ambitious trainee. 

Ambitious, right. That might be the understatement of the generation. 

She wants to run in over a hundred races. 

As of now, she’s a first-year, so she can’t make her debut until next June. Running the numbers, I’d have to enter her into a race every two weeks for the next four and a half years to reach her goal. That’s not including taking time off for vacation or injuries. 

Honestly, I’m not sure how feasible this is. But even if it isn’t, I want to do everything I can to help her get as close to her dream as possible. There’s a lot that could go wrong, but the longer I wait, the fewer races she might be able to run in. That’s why I am coming to you with a significant request. Is there any chance she could debut early? Even as a first-year? I know this is unusual, but any guidance you can give would be appreciated.

Thanks as always,

—Trainer

The whole thing feels all over the place.

I hover over the send button, then click. The blue bar creeps across the screen and vanishes. Sent. Done.

Ugh…

I slump back into the plastic chair, rubbing my eyes. They feel like static.

The lack of sleep is fighting for dominance in my body, but the coffee isn’t what’s keeping me up. Caffeine has long lost its effect on me. It’s the nerves. 

Tamamo… if she doesn't win tomorrow. I don’t know. 

I wonder, what will she say? What will she do? Will she look for another trainer? It’s not like she seems interested in anything I can do for her. 

What happened? She was so cooperative at first.

I don’t get it! She still seems fine with Vodka and Haru… mostly, They’re joking around at least.

Did I do something?

…

I shouldn’t be thinking about stuff like this. She’ll win tomorrow. I know she can.

A small beep comes from the other room… laundry’s done.

I reach for my mug, but stop halfway. 

No more of this stuff for tonight. Probably not helping with all these nerves. 

I stand, stretching my arms above my head. Grabbing the mug, I pour its contents into the sink before heading into the bathroom.

Clunk.

The dryer’s door hits the wall. Reaching inside, my clothes are warm. Soft.

A sharp buzzing resonates in the other room. I set the clothes into a basket before investigating the source. On my desk, a screen illuminates the room as it vibrates against the wood.

Who could be calling at this hour?

I frown… until I glance at the screen. For a moment, I just stare. An old image of the two of us stares back at me. Hesitantly, I answer.

“Yutaaa...” 

Her voice purrs, teasing under it, just like I remember. Damn near ten years later, and still the same spark. But whereas her voice has remained youthful, my own has become rough and low.

“Maru. It’s… uh… really late.” 

“Indeed, it is late. So imagine my surprise at receiving an email at 1:30 in the morning. And from you, no less. You could’ve just texted.”

I let out a tired chuckle. 

“I figured that might be a bit much, especially after all this time.”

“Mmm…”

She yawns.

“Really, I should be sleeping. And so should you. Or at least, you should not be emailing me about other women… especially at this hour.”

The faint smile in her tone makes me stand a little straighter. I swear, even over the phone, she has that way of snapping you to attention.

“Look, I’ve got a situation I… need your input on.”

“Yes, I read your email. First-year trainee, huh? Wants to run in over a hundred races. You want her to debut early to help with achieving her dream.” 

I run a hand through my hair.

 “Yeah… That about sums it up.”

A pause. Then her voice echos, measured, calm, and just a touch amused. 

“Normally, this is something Rudolf would handle. But I’m not about to just hand you off to her. No.”

“Then… is there any chance it could happen?”

Her tone softens, a playful hum underneath the words.

“Yuta… as much as I’d love to see this girl you’ve found sprint out of the gate right now, debuting early… it’s not going to happen. You remember the race calendar, right? Second and Third years, they can debut whenever. But there won’t be any suitable races for a first-year until next June. It’s all carefully structured. Even if she was approved, she wouldn’t have anyone for her to race against.” 

I sigh, leaning forward to press my weight against the desk. 

“Yeah, I figured. I just… wanted to make sure I wasn’t overlooking anything.”

She murmurs, teasing but gentle.

“You’ll just have to wait. Take your time.”

“Heh… take my time. That’s a bit ironic coming from you, don’t you think?”

A soft laugh emanates from my phone.

“Heeyyy!”

“I’m just saying, you always had to be doing something. Always in a hurry.”

“I’ve gotten a lot more mature since then.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Mmm… silly. If you’re on campus, you’ll see me eventually. I’ll prove it then. I’m not the same girl I once was… but I guess, in the end, I’m still me. Maybe I should start keeping an eye on you again, for old times sake.”

“Keeping an eye on me… huh?”

I pace around the room, ending up near the window. The city lights radiate a mystifying beauty. 

The weight exhaustion and nostalgia are both crumbling down upon me, yet it doesn’t feel suffocating.

“I never thanked you, did I...”

Her laugh this time is quieter, intimate, like she’s right here with me.

“Oh, you did. Though, I have to say, you always seemed better at showing it rather than saying it.”

“Alllright…”

I feel a slight blush on my cheeks.

“Then, at least let me apologize.”

Her voice softens, almost a whisper. There’s that familiar warmth under it, the way it wraps around me like a blanket.

“Don’t. There’s no need.” 

Her words echo, gentle but steady. 

“Really. I’ve always known, you were doing what you needed. You were trying to get away, to find space where you could breathe without being crushed. And even if it hurt me at the time, I understood.”

I stay quiet. Just accepting her words. It’s not reproach, nor the lecture I was expecting… just that quiet, unwavering presence I’d missed for years. It’s the same presence that used to make even the darkest nights feel lighter.

|—The next morning—|

I slow at the end of the hall, squintin’ at the sign on the door.

Figures we’d get da farthest, dustiest corner of the school.

I slide the door open. The place is bare… few foldin’ chairs, a chalkboard that’s prolly seen better days. Window’s cracked too.

Our so-called clubroom.

And there he is. Barely a coach... Head buried in his arms… Pen still clutched in his hand. His notebook’s open, covered in lines ‘n circles I don’t bother tryna read. 

He’s out cold.

“Tch.”

I step inside, ribbons brushin ‘gainst ma arms as I reach out and tap the desk with two fingers. 

He stirs, blinkin’ tiredly up at me. Dark rings under his eyes, hair a mess. 

“Tamamo… yawn you made it. Sorry, I—guess I dozed off for a second.”

“Looks like ya been hit by a truck.”

The new club room smells a bit of fresh paint ‘n polished wood. Sunlight cuts through the blinds, fallin’ in cracked stripes across the floor. 

I slump inta a chair, tail swishin’ with irritation.

Trainer’s hunched over a stack-a papers on the table, eyes half-closed. His shoulders are slumped like some sorta old dog. I can practically smell the exhaustion radiatin’ off him. 

Bet he stayed up all night. Typical. Doin’ all sorts-a useless junk.

He rubs his eyes while clearin’ his throat. 

“Tamamo… today’s race. I’ve been up all night planning. You’re going to need to—”

I tilt my head, pretendin’ to listen, but ma brain ain’t exactly followin’ along. 

He’s always going on about these plans like they some kinda magic. It didn’t take long to realize they ain’t. 

I only needed ‘em so I could line up at the starting gate. Dat’s it. The rest? Meh.

“Focus on pacing,” 

He just keeps goin’ on ‘n on, don’t he? 

“Keep an eye on the front runners. You’ll want to stay just behind them and conserve energy. Don’t let them get too far ahead. You’re a pace chaser, so play it smart. Remember the mid-turn surge—”

Who are ya to tell me how to run? You ain’t the one doin’ all the hard work. You ain’t doin’ anything. Just sittin’ on the sidelines, tryna tell me what to do.

You ain’t him.

“—and don’t get boxed in. Check the rail gaps early, anticipate when to move. And… keep an eye on Inari One. She’ll probably start off in the mid-pack and surge later. Treat her like you would Vodka. Respect her speed and try to read when she’s charging to the front. Once that happens—”

I tune out da rest. Keep an eye on someone else? Whatever. I ain’t gotta know who’s fast and who’s slow. Makes no difference. I’ll win all the same.

My legs ache as I shift in my chair, a reminder of yesterday’s trainin’.

Might’ve overdone it.

Nah, I needed to push myself. If I didn’t, who’s gonna? It ain’t this guy, das for sure.

That’s da real problem. If only I had realized sooner. I coulda been faster, stronger… better.

He leans back, exhalin’ through his nose. The man is rubbin’ his temples like he’s tryin’ to massage the tension out of his skull. 

“Tamamo, are you even listening?”

I snap my gaze back to him, eyes wide, fakin’ innocence. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah… totally. Got it.”

“You’re sore, aren’t you?”

“Me? Nah. Fine. Totally fine!”

Trainer is squintin’ at me, clearly suspicious.

“Alright… remember, mid-turn surge. You’re capable of catching the leaders. You have to keep them in sight, measure your energy. Don’t waste it. Timing is everything.”

I nod slowly, eyes glazin’ over. Timin’. Leadin’. Sure. I’ll do what I need. I don’t need yer lectures. As long as ya clear me to race, ya did yer job.

I’ll do mine. I’ll win.

Doin’ it for you, uncle.

|—Elsewhere that same afternoon—|

I line up along the railing, heels pressing into the dirt. She’s there a few paces away, arms crossed, watching. With just a faint tilt of her head, she seems to measure everything before a single word escapes.

My trainer.

The Baroness. 

“Arms.” 

She lifts one slowly, swings it forward, then back, her motion precise enough to make the air feel like ice. 

“Start doing it like this.”

I mimic her, muscles tight. My shoulders ache just watching, trying to keep pace.

“Too wide.”

Voice quiet but certain, leaving no space for questions. I narrow my swing. She doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t smile, doesn’t frown. Just watches. Always watches.

In the next lane, a girl wearing a bright white lab coat walks past.

Agnes Tachyon.

I glance at her. She glances at me.

No words spoken.

“Lean.”

My fingers brush the railing. I feel the weight of her gaze, the expectation behind it. Not a word of encouragement, just… alignment.

“...A duck.”

Her hand moves before I can react, resting lightly on my upper back. She nudges me forward, careful yet deliberate, until my shoulders line up the way she wants. My chest tilts just slightly, and my hips shift forward. The adjustment is subtle, almost imperceptible, but I can feel the difference immediately.

“Arms.”

I swing them back and forth once more. She steps closer, fingers hovering near my elbows, guiding them inward, correcting the angle of my swing. My arms follow, stiff at first, then gradually loosening under her touch. Every motion is deliberate. Every correction communicates what words cannot.

She steps back and raises her own arms, moving them through the motion again. I watch, frame by frame, copying the exact arc, the tiny twist of her wrists, the tension in her shoulders.

Her gaze never leaves me. Not a word. Not a smile. Just observation.

Finally, she tilts her head, a small, almost imperceptible nod. It’s just enough to say, this is right.

Chapter Text

—A week later—

Rain hisses against campus as I fight against the wind, my umbrella barely shielding me. The wet scent of asphalt mixes with the faint scent of pine and mulch. Sneakers slap puddles, as others run from building to building.

I take it in, the familiar ache from yesterday’s workout still humming.

The recreation center rises ahead, the largest building on campus. Completely modern looking, all glass and concrete. Lights spilling out of its windows, like a beacon to all who need shelter. 

Inside, it’s warm. My shoes splash the few forming puddles as I walk past the wet floor sign. 

The further in I walk, the more I’m met with the scent of sweat, chlorine, …and food? 

The smoothie place is still open. I wonder, what time does it close?

Students chatter, shoes squeak, I wait. 

Haru slides up next to me, shaking her damp hair.

“What a storm! One minute it’s sunny and then PSHOOO! Rain!”

“Yeah. It’s supposed to be like this the rest of the week.”

We scan our IDs at the kiosk, the card beeping acceptance. 

Moments later, our bags clunk into lockers as the scent of the locker room fills our nostrils. Changing done, we head down two flights of stairs, the steps slick with humidity, echoing faintly.

Metal clangs, the hum of the AC, faint thuds of sneakers against mats greet us as we enter the weight room. Towel draped over my shoulder, I scan the room. Haru behind me is practically vibrating with excitement. 

Figures, when it’s weight-day she acts like it’s Christmas. 

I’m not much different. Like dad would always say, WEIGHT ROOM BABY!

But now… where is he?

I glance around, eyes darting to every shadow, every rack, every corner where he could be blending in.

…

Okay… I get he’s hard to spot, but I thought I had gotten pretty good at–

“Yo.”

I nearly jump out of my skin, stumbling backward, heart hammering. My towel slips from my shoulders.

“Don’t do that!”

I glare, but he’s already snickering.

That little smirk plastered on his face… he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Haru bounces forward.

“Hi Trainer!”

“Hello Haru.”

He pats her head, which the girl seems to thoroughly enjoy.

“So, have you two seen any sign of Tamamo?”

He leads us toward the squat rack he’s already claimed. I mutter under my breath, tossing my towel on the bench.

“Tch. She’s ditching again?”

I stride off to grab two dumbbells, one lighter and one heavier, returning just in time to catch Haru muttering worriedly.

“That’s the third time this week. Maybe she’s still sore from the race?”

I sit down, sliding into conversation.

“Yeah, a sore loser.”

Trainer sighs, a stunned disappointment as he looks my way.

“Vodka…”

“I’m just saying! She kept declaring she’d win… and then she got seventh. Now she doesn’t wanna show up to practice? If she keeps slacking, she’ll bomb her next race too.”

“Vodka. Enough.”

“Sorry…”

Internally, I grind my teeth. 

It's not like I’m mad at her. Yes, I want to scream at Tamamo, but not for losing. She’s a damn quitter.

Frustration coils tight in my stomach.

Haru shakes her head, ponytail bouncing.

“Maybe she just needs some space. You know, to get her head right.”

I grunt, unconvinced.

“Space or not, she’s clearly avoiding us.”

Trainer doesn’t argue, but I catch the way his shoulders sag, like he’s carrying her absence on his back along with everything else.

“Maybe I pushed her wrong. Or maybe I didn’t push her enough. Either way, she wouldn’t be skipping if I’d gotten through to her. This is on me.”

Haru, never one to be idle, steps in front of me, grabbing the heavier of the two dumbbells from me with both hands.

“Alright! Spot me!”

“Hey—wait, that’s heavy!”

In spite of my warning, Haru presses on.

“It’s okay!”

She shoots back a stubborn grin.

“I got guts!” 

Trainer leans forward, concerned.

“Haru, maybe you should start lighter—”

Too late. She curls the dumbbell with both hands, arms wobbling like wet noodles. She fails to bring it all the way up. Her face squeezes tight as panic begins to set in.

“Vodka—help.” 

I snort, yanking the dumbbell out of her grip.

“You goof. Guts aren’t going to stop your arms from snapping in half.”

“I almost had it.”

I curl the heavier dumbbell myself, just to prove a point. Her eyes widen, disbelief painted across her face.

“Almost doesn’t win races either. Here. Start with this before you break in two.”

I hand her the smaller dumbbell. She huffs, but takes it anyway, immediately trying to curl faster than me, purely to prove a point. I match her pace, grinning.

Soon, we’re caught in a flurry of challenges… push-ups, planks, squats, whatever workout Trainer had planned for us. Who can hold longer, who can sink lower, who can endure more. 

Trainer tries to maintain a serious face behind his clipboard, but I catch the brief smirk twitching at his lips.

Still, every glance toward the empty space where Tamamo should be brings me a pinch of disappointment.

It’s strange.

We’ve been a team for a little less than a month. That’s all the time I’ve known her. And yet… I feel something. A thread of closeness that I’m almost embarrassed to admit. Part of me doesn’t want to acknowledge it, because if I do, it makes her absence hit harder.

I should keep these thoughts to myself. I don’t need to sound soft in front of Haru.

But even she seems to sense it. Her grin seems just a little too tight, her laughter ever so slightly dimmed as she pants between reps.

“Think she’ll show next time?” 

Haru asks, breathless between reps. I slam my weight down, sweat dripping, feeling that same frustration tighten in my chest.

“I hope so.”

—Later—

The rec center lobby hums with noise. The beeping of ID cards being scanned, wet sneakers squeaking on floor as students enter and exit, and the low whirr of the smoothie blender behind the counter.

I wait in line to order my own drink, towel draped around my neck, dabbing sweat from my forehead. 

Just two girls ahead of me, but the wait feels longer than it should.

“Vodka?”

I glance back. Scarlet’s behind me, hair damp, faintly smelling of chlorine.

“Smells like you’ve been swimming.” 

“Cross-training. My trainer thought it would be good for us.”

“Sounds like something my trainer would make us do. …Bet I could beat you in the pool, too.”

I smirk, and Scarlet scoffs. Water flicks from her hair as she steps into line beside me. 

“Please, you’d probably sink in the shallow end.”

I shoot her a look, not caring about her words, but rather, her actions.

Line cutter.

“So, are you actually getting something or are you just here to be annoying?”

She presses a finger to her chin, pretending to think. 

“Tempting… but no. I’m on a diet.”

“Figures.”

Her eyes narrow.

“Wait—are you implying I need a diet?”

“I… can I bail out of this conversation?”

We inch forward, the line moving painfully slow. She huffs, clearly pretending to be offended.

“Jerk.”

Finally, it’s my turn. I step up, not even bothering with glancing at the menu.

“One chocolate smoothie, add a scoop of protein.”

I tap my card, confirming payment before stepping aside.

“You’ve got the palate of a toddler.”

“Yeah? Would a toddler add protein powder? The chocolate just makes it go down easier.”

We’re mid-bicker when a voice cuts between us. It’s soft, sharp, and far too close.

“Ho-ho… if it isn’t my cute little junior.”

Scarlet stiffens. We both turn.

An uma with sharp crimson eyes and short brown hair is suddenly right there, leaning between us with a crooked smile. She wears a white lab-coat with sleeves long enough to completely hide her hands. The way she looks at Scarlet is unsettling, quick and appraising. 

It’s like she’s scanning data.

“Ag…nes… Tachyon..?”

Tachyon tips her head back, bringing a hand up, sleeve brushing her mouth.

“Of course, it is I! Your favorite teammate.” 

“You’re my only teammate.”

Scarlet’s voice is deadpan. Tachyon replies smoothly, voice pitching oddly up and down like she can’t settle on one tone to use.

“Ah—but would that not also make me your favorite?”

Scarlet blinks, at a loss. Tachyon goes on, leaning in closer.

“Regardless, this is all irrelevant. My umbrella was stolen. A cruel theft, wouldn’t you say? And I cannot risk walking home, possibly compromising my immune system to the rain! But it seems fortune smiles on me. I’ve found my adorable little teammate with an umbrella of her own. You’ll walk me back to my dorm, won’t you?”

Scarlet sputters. 

“Walk… you back?”

“Yes. Immediately, please.”

Scarlet falters, glancing at me, then sighs and hands her umbrella over.

“Just… take it.”

Tachyon freezes, feigning surprise.

“But then you’ll be unprotected! I would hate for my precious teammate to fall ill.”

Her words sound insincere, as if she’s only faking niceness.

“I’ll walk home with Vodka. She’s my roommate.”

Scarlet’s eyes flick to me. I raise a brow.

“…Sure.”

Tachyon accepts the umbrella with reverence, like Scarlet just handed her a relic.

“Excellent! Your compliance has been noted.” 

She spins on her heel and vanishes into the crowd, coat flaring behind her.

Scarlet exhales, clutching her bag.

A voice calls out.

“Chocolate smoothie, one pump protein for Vodka?”

I collect my drink from the counter, taking sips as I head for the doors. Scarlet and I both take a moment to stare straight out at the sheets of pouring rain.

She frowns, but I can tell it’s not because of the weather.

“Still thinking about your… uh… favorite teammate?"

I take a long sip. Scarlet presses her forehead against the door’s glass.

“She’s never talked to me before, and suddenly I’m her precious junior? What does that even mean? …ugh.” 

That girl was clearly faking niceness just to get something from Scarlet. Seems like her team isn’t any easier than mine.

“Maybe she’s got a crush.” 

I smirk over the straw of my cup, watching as Scarlet’s entire body freezes.

“Wha—no! Don’t even joke about that.”

I shrug, deliberately casual. 

“Just saying. The way she leaned in… she was practically breathing your air. Pretty forward for a first-time chat, don’t you think?”

Scarlet groans, cheeks burning.

“You’re the worst.”

I grin, satisfied. Opening the door, my umbrella extends with a PHSSH. Scarlet eyes it skeptically.

“…That’s not going to work.”

She might have a point. This thing is barely big enough for myself. 

“It’s this or drown. Up to you.” 

I tilt it her way, sipping from my smoothie. With a grown, she quickly places herself to my right. But with a smoothie already in my right hand, Scarlet sees fit to grab the umbrella from me, holding it directly between us. 

We walk.

The air smells of wet earth and chlorine still clinging faintly to Scarlet’s hair.

The rain is relentless. Thick curtains fall across the courtyard, bouncing off concrete, pooling in slick puddles that shine under the streetlamps.

She edges closer, but not close enough. Half her sleeve sticks out past the umbrella rim.

“You’re getting wet.”

She jerks a step in, our shoulders brushing. Immediately, she stiffens. Her grip on the handle goes white-knuckle. I notice.

The rain hammers steady and cold, forcing us into a slow shuffle. Every few steps, a gust bends the umbrella back. Scarlet flinches, fumbling to adjust it.

“Stop twitching like a scared cat.”

“I-I am not.”

“You are! You keep jerking the umbrella around, I’m getting soaked over here.”

“T-Then… come closer!” 

She tries to sound sharp, but her voice is more hesitant than she likely wanted. It doesn’t help that she’s practically fumbling over her own sentences.

I lean in, more to stay dry than anything. Our arms press together, steady contact this time. Scarlet’s breath hitches. Her eyes flick sideways at me, wide and panicked, before darting away.

She clears her throat, fumbling for something to say. 

“The rain… it’s, um, heavier than it looked from inside.”

“Mm.” 

I don’t give her more than that, just a lazy hum. Watching her unravel over something as simple as proximity is more fun than teasing.

We walk slower than we need to, the storm drumming harder on the umbrella. Every puddle splash, every brush of shoulders feels exaggerated, magnified.

A car hisses past, spraying water across the sidewalk. Scarlet squeals, jerking the umbrella close, nearly bumping right into me. For one suspended moment, her face tilts up, eyes catching mine. Startled. Too close.

She looks away instantly, fumbling with the handle, muttering an apology I barely catch.

I let the silence stretch. The storm fills it, pounding heavy around us.

Why is she so… jumpy? It’s just rain. 

Eh… maybe she’s just… not used to sharing an umbrella? That could be it, yeah. She’s sensitive about her personal space. If that’s the case, then…

I sip. My straw hisses as air rushes in to replace the nearly empty drink. I shake the cup, annoyed that I finished it so quickly. 

“Yeah... This isn’t working. Wanna just find someplace to wait out the rain?”

Scarlet exhales, relieved, like I’ve just given her an escape. She nods. I glance across the courtyard spotting a large building with students rushing inside.

“There. Let’s go.”

We dart inside, sneakers squeaking on tile. The air is cooler, or maybe that’s just because our clothes are soaked.

Scarlet wrings out her damp hair, muttering something about Tachyon under her breath.

I grin, taking in the sprawling interior. At least five different campus restaurants are in the immediate vicinity and they're packed with long lines of hungry umas.

“What is this place?”

“You haven’t been to the Union building before?”

Scarlet shoots me a doubtful glance, and I shrug. 

“Meh. I usually stick to areas that aren’t this crowded.”

“Probably so you won’t be caught skipping class.”

“Tch. Yeah, okay. Besides, why would I even come here? I always go to the dining courts for food.”

Another small group of girls seeking shelter from the rain streams past us, and we follow them into the crowded hallways. We wander for a bit, until I notice a stairway leading into some sort of basement. At the bottom, bright lights hit us.

Flashing signs, a buzz of chatter, electronic jingles…

It’s an arcade! And it’s packed.

Scarlet’s eyes widen. 

“I didn’t know this was here.”

I mosey down the stairs, leaving my roommate behind.

“Wait—We’re going in?”

I shrug.

“Yeah, why not?”

She tries to protest, but I’m already scanning the machines. 

“Jackpot.”

I grab her wrist and steer toward the claw machines lined against the far wall. Rows of tiny, plush versions of our older classmates stare back through the glass. In the next machine, a rainbow of soft, cuddly animals smile at me.

Bleh. Not my style.

I’m about to skip over it, until something catches my eye. Hmm.

I stop, turning quickly until my eyes lock onto Scarlet’s. 

“E-Eh..?”

She tenses, crossing her arms as if to defend herself from my stare. I break, focusing back on finding a way to play this machine. Scarlet murmurs.

“You’re not seriously—”

I tap my ID to the reader, and the machine hums to life. I crack my knuckles, giving Scarlet a small smirk.

“Watch and learn. I used to be a master at these things back in middle school.”

Scarlet’s lips press into a thin line, a quiet huff of frustration escaping.

I carefully guide the claw over before slamming down on the button. The claw drops, sways, and misses by an inch.

“…Impressive.”

“Shut up! …I’m just a little rusty.”

She leans closer, shoulder brushing mine as I line it up again. She stiffens at the contact.

If she’s so sensitive about her personal space, why come so close?

I don’t comment, choosing to focus on getting the perfect drop angle.

“Alright, this is it. That fox is mine.”

The claw lowers, grips, wobbles, and actually holds. The fox raises into the air, slipping slightly as it’s carried towards the chute. The claw teeters to a stop, and then drops.

I snatch the little red fox, holding it triumphantly over my head.

“HAH! See? In. Your. FACE!”

Scarlet stares at the plush, then at me, with twitching lips. 

“…You’re insufferable.”

“Admit it. You’re impressed.”

She grins, giggling.

“No… not really.”

I toss the fox at her, smacking her lightly in the face. She blinks, surprised, but catches it. Her fingers curl around the plush. Her head tilts, and I shrug.

“Look, it sorta reminds me of you. Its fur is the same color as your eyes, so… yeah, that’s why I went for it. Don’t say I never give you anything.”

She blinks, startled, clutching it to her chest. 

“…Vodka…”

I’m already moving to the next machine. 

“C’mon. Let’s win some more.”

Scarlet lingers for a beat, staring down at the fox. She holds it tightly.

|—Elsewhere—|

The rain hasn’t let up all evening. Sheets of water blur the glow of the lamps that line the empty practice grounds. 

My poncho drips, boots splashing through shallow puddles as I make my rounds.

Track to track, one by one.

The north tracks are empty. No one in the south.

But then—

There, track twelve. A figure tearing through the rain, her pale-gray hair plastered dark against her head.

Found her.

She drives her legs like pistons, each strike against the soaked ground sending up arcs of spray. Arms pumping, chest heaving. She doesn’t see me. Doesn’t see anyone. For her, the world is only the lane beneath her and the clock in her head.

I take the stands, high enough to provide some shelter from the rain, but not close enough to protect from the winds. 

I pull my notebook free, pen already bleeding from the damp. My hand presses it flat against the page, scribbling what I see.

Stride too wide. 

Form breaking down in the rain. 

Breathing appears uneven.

She rounds another lap, shoes slapping harder now, kicking up mud and turf behind her.

Weight dragging lower into her hips. 

Her body is arguing with her, every step a protest. And still, she forces herself forward.

She stumbles, barely managing to catch herself. 

Ankles trembling, shoulders hitching.

The storm swells. Thunder rolls so close it rattles the bleachers under me.

She tries to step forward, but her foot lands in one of the craters that she previously kicked up. This time, she can’t catch herself.

Her body slams into the ground, water splashing.

I press my pen to the page harder. Notes collapse into scratches. 

This isn’t training. This is punishment. And I let her come to this.

Her knees shake, somehow managing to still hold her weight as she pushes herself to her feet.

She keeps going. Keeps running as though she can hammer the weakness out of her body if she just burns hot enough, long enough. Her chest heaves, her breaths crash louder than the rain for a moment, then vanish beneath another clap of thunder.

I lean forward, leaving the sheltered seating as I grip the soaked rail of the bleachers. My notebook soaks through, paper bleeding, water running down my wrist.

She’s drowning herself out there because of me. I wasn’t good enough to shoulder the weight she insists on carrying alone.

Her hair whips, water flying from the ends. Her knees drag. Her back arches. And still she won’t stop.

She never looks up. 

She never looks ahead. 

She never looks behind. 

…

She never sees me.

She screams. 

The storm answers her in place of anyone else.

And I keep listening.

Chapter Text

Feels like I’m runnin’ on sand. 

Each step sinks, digs, latches onto my legs. Heavy. Slow. 

Aching for rest.

My breath’s ragged, comin’ out in short gasps that don’t match the rhythm I want. 

Second place.

Too far behind the leader, too close to the pack swallowin’ me whole.

I grit my teeth. 

C’mon. Move.

“Tamamo Cross holding steady in second! Can she keep this up to the finish?!”

The voice cuts through like static. I don’t care. Don’t wanna care. My body’s screamin’, fightin’ me. Shoulders heavy, lungs tight. Feels like the weight of every damn mistake I ever made sittin’ on my back.

Please… Move.

I push harder. 

It ain’t enough. 

My stride stumbles, awkward. It’s like my own legs don’t belong to me. 

Never enough.

Am I really this slow? 

Final straight. The roar of the crowd like deafenin’ thunder in my ears. 

Why now?

The finish line’s right there. So close… I can almost touch it. 

Da hell’s wrong with me?

I bare my teeth, trying to surge forward.

Nothin’ comes. My body betrays me. Won’t gimme more.

Someone blasts past on my left. Then another.

“No! Tamamo Cross is falling behind, slipping to fourth!”

Fourth.

Fourth?

My legs carry me across the line, dead weight. 

That wasn’t runnin’.

I can’t even look at the board. Can’t hear the cheers for the winner. Just the echo in my head. 

Ya lost. Again. 

Failure. 

Another gray-haired failure.

Is anyone surprised?

I don’t wait for applause. Don’t slow down. I cut off the turf before anyone can say a word. 

Weak. 

Useless. 

My stride leads straight to the tunnel.

Ya talk big, but you ain’t got nothin’ to back it up. 

The lights overhead are cold, dark. My metal cleats click sharp on the concrete. 

Damn reject.

A waste of everyone’s time. Of his time.

Every sound bounces too loud ‘gainst my skull.

Every thought bounces ‘gainst my pride.

And there he is. Whoopdy-doo.

Standin’ right at the mouth of the tunnel like he’s been waitin’ the whole damn time.

Bet he wishes he never became my trainer.

“…Tamamo.” 

I can’t even look ‘em in his eyes. My head remains glued to the concrete.

“That was a tough one. You—”

“Save it.” 

My voice cuts sharp, colder than I mean, but I don’t stop. Still don’t look at him. How could I?

Bet he’s angry.

“Listen, I know it hurts right now, but you’ve got what it takes. These are just pre-op races. You’ll bounce back. I believe in you—”

“Don’t waste your breath. …Not on me.”

Keep walkin’. Faster. He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t say another word.

The tunnel swallows me whole.

|—Hours later after the post race concert—|

I don’t know where I’m going. My feet drag across the campus paths, carrying me in useless circles. 

Not even past dinner, but the thick clouds overhead blanket the grounds in dark.

The lamps flicker on. 

Tamamo’s face keeps replaying in my head… Her eyes weren’t just blank, they looked hollow. Her electric spark had been gouged out and replaced with a dull, endless blue. A void. It was the kind of gaze that didn’t see me, couldn’t see me. 

Only could see the ground… no. She was staring through the world, drifting somewhere far beyond reach. Somewhere she might not come back from.

I should’ve said something different. Something right. 

Right… How could I even do that? I don’t even know what’s right anymore. 

I thought I did. I tried it all. Went through everything I was taught.

Push her harder. Ease up. Pep talks. Silence. None of it works. 

She’s slipping, and all I can do is stand there like an idiot.

My hands are shaking. What’s different? How do I fix this?

Maybe I missed something. God, I had to have missed something. Some detail, some crack in her armor I should’ve seen. Isn’t that my job? To know her? To know when she’s breaking? If I can’t even read her, what the hell am I doing here?

What if it’s me? 

What if I’m the problem? 

Maybe she’s drowning because I never learned how to throw a rope, just how to shout at her to swim harder. 

Maybe every word out of my mouth just drags her further under.

Why did she want me as her trainer in the first place?

“Torena?”

The voice is softer than I expect. 

I turn, Aoi’s there. A person. Someone who’ll look at me without pretending she understands everything and then ask anyway. 

She stands a few steps back, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her eyes widen, creased with worry the moment they take me in.

“You look awful.”

I let out a humorless laugh that dies before it reaches her ears.

“Yeah, thanks.”

She doesn’t move at first, just watches me. Then, slowly, she comes up beside me.

We move through the quiet paths, the only sounds are our footsteps on the gravel. Aoi doesn’t push. She waits. Eventually, the words claw their way out of my throat.

“She won’t talk to me. Tamamo… I don’t know how—I can’t reach her. She’s crumbling in front of me and every time I try, it’s like… like I make it worse.”

Aoi frowns, hugging her bag closer.

“That doesn’t sound like you making it worse.”

“I’m certainly not making things any better!” 

I snap. Too loud. I lower my voice, shame burning my ears. 

“I’m her trainer, I’m supposed to be the one who knows what to do. And I don’t… I don’t know anything.”

Aoi’s brow furrows. She glances away, then back at me. 

“…What happened? To make her like this?”

I shake my head helplessly.

“I don’t know! That’s the worst part. First week, she was fine. More than fine, actually. Focused, hungry to win. Then that second week hit, and it’s like a switch flipped. Now she’s… distant.”

Aoi chews her lip, hesitant, like she’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. Then she exhales.

“No one’s born knowing how to do this.”

Her voice is quiet but firm.

“You’re acting like there’s a manual, but people aren’t machines you just adjust with the right wrench.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? Just stand there and watch her tear herself apart?”

Aoi shakes her head. 

“No. You listen and try to see what she’s telling you without words. And you stand there so she isn’t alone. Don’t let her think she’s alone in this.”

I stop walking. 

“I’ve never wanted her to feel alone. Never. I’ve done my best to make sure she doesn’t have to go through that. Every time she’s out there, I’m watching. Every time. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

She stops, her eyes searching mine.

“I think you’re confused. You might not know what to say, but you care. You haven’t stopped showing up. That counts. More than you think.”

My throat tightens. For a second I can’t breathe around the knot sitting there. I want to tell her she’s wrong, that showing up hasn’t been enough, but the fight drains out of me before I can.

“She won’t let me in. When I try, she shoves me back out. I… I don’t know how to keep standing there if she keeps shutting the door in my face.”

Aoi’s face tightens. She tugs at the strap of her bag.

“Eh… anyone can get like that. They lock themselves away. You can either kick the door down, or you can sit outside it. I’d suggest the latter, but it all depends on her. She’ll either notice you, or she won’t.”

Her words settle heavy in my chest. I stare down at the gravel. Aoi nudges me with her elbow, small but grounding.

“You already care about your umas enough to feel like this. That’s a good thing. Don’t give up just because you can’t fix everything at once.”

I let out a slow, uneven breath. 

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

“Maybe?” 

She arches her brow.

“…Fine. You’re right.”

We keep walking. The lamps hum, casting long shadows across the track fencing as we drift toward the edge of campus. I’m not even sure where my feet are taking me until the faint sound of cleats pounding dirt filters through the quiet.

Sure enough, as the path bends, the floodlights of a track come into view. Figures dart along the curve, their strides rhythmic, steady. And standing at the rail, hands behind his back, is that old man Musaka.

The geezer doesn’t need to look up to know we’re here. His ears are sharper than his years should allow. Still, when his gaze lands on me, it lingers a beat too long, a crease forming across his weathered face.

“You look like shit.”

No judgment, no sympathy, just fact.

“Thanks. That’s the consensus today.”

Aoi shoots me a quick look, but Musaka isn’t done. He steps closer, cane tapping lightly against the ground.

“What’s eating you?”

I tell him. Not all of it, but enough. Tamamo slipping. Me failing. The silence, the confusion, the venom. When I finish, my throat feels raw.

Musaka studies me for a long moment, his lined eyes narrowing. Then, without a word, he gestures for us to follow.

He leads us a little further down the rail, to the far corner of the track. Tucked away is a girl in a cylindrical brown hat, crouched in the dirt near the bend, humming to herself. She pats down handfuls of loose earth, shaping them into little buildings. Not training. Not even pretending to train.

I blink. 

“…What?”

Musaka’s lips twitch, the ghost of a smile hidden in his beard.

“That’s Gold Ship. My newest headache.”

Aoi blinks, confused. 

“She’s… playing in the dirt?”

Musaka deadpans.

“Sharp eye.” 

“I don’t—what does this have to do with—”

“Everything.” 

He jabs a finger at Gold Ship. 

“That fool decided today she was building a sandcastle. Didn’t matter what I had planned. Didn’t matter what I said. This was her track, and this was her choice.”

I stare at him, baffled. 

“So you just… let her?”

“Not quite. Look again.”

I do. And slowly, the pieces click. The castle isn’t random. It's a model of the track. The base stretches along the curve, each tower aligned with the bends. 

“I told her, you can build your sand castle. But it has to be an exact model of the track, otherwise she’s doing sprints.”

Gold Ship paces back and forth, checking angles, correcting the little slopes on the turf. Her hands sweep over the dirt again and again, like she’s memorizing every inch.

 I realize.

“She’s learning the layout.”

Musaka’s voice softens, just a fraction.

“She’s training, whether she knows it or not. My job wasn’t to drag her away. It was to make sure that, by the end of the day, she’s learned something from what she insists on doing. If she plays in sand, then fine—make it productive.”

I stare, the words sinking into me like heavy stones. Musaka folds his arms.

“You’ve got to find the way that works for your uma, not the way that works for you. Meet the uma where she is, don’t wait for her to come to you.”

Gold Ship laughs to herself, patting another building into shape, dirt smeared across her cheek. I watch her, and then think of Tamamo’s hollow eyes. The pit in my stomach twists.

“So, tell me, boy. You willing to learn what she needs? Or you just going to keep shouting at a locked door?”

—-Not much later—-

The sky is overcast, the kind of gray that presses down on the campus, but the track is dry. Tamamo’s already on the running when I arrive—alone again. 

I won’t let you be.

Her strides pound against the turf, sharp but uneven, her arms slicing too tight across her chest. She’s not running with rhythm. She’s running like she’s being chased. 

Every lap she looks smaller, like the track itself is grinding her down.

I stand at the rail, notebook useless in my hand. Musaka’s words echo in my head. 

Find the way that works for your Uma, not the way that works for you.

Easier said than done. Let’s hope this works.

“Tamamo!”

Her ears flick, proof of acknowledgment, but no glances are spared in my direction. And she’s still moving, faster, harder.

I try again, louder. 

“Tamamo. Come in for a break.”

Nothing. She powers through the curve, teeth clenched. The sound of her breath carries even from here—ragged, strained, furious.

Meet the uma where she is.

I know it wasn’t met literally, but here we go.

I step onto the turf. She doesn’t slow. I break into a run, heading toward her.

“Tamamo!”

I am not built for this.

I reach the curve just as she’s exiting the final straight. I plant my feet in the lane, arms wide. 

“Stop!”

Tamamo doesn’t. She slams into me, shoulder first. I hit the ground, sliding against the turf with the wind knocked out of me. But, at least she stopped running.

Pain crawling up my spine, I get up with shaking legs and straighten myself out.

Listen. See what she’s telling me without words.

I step in front of her again.

“Tamamo.”

The girl stands still now. Sweat drips down her chin, her chest rising and falling like she’s still in the middle of a sprint. Her eyes—sharp, cornered—pin me like I’m the last person she wanted to see.

All I see is pain.

“What?” 

Her voice is flat, drained, a bit brittle.

Aoi’s advice beats against my skull like a hammer. 

Kick down the door.

“Tamamo.”

I step closer, arms spread, but cautious. Not to block, not to trap. Just to be here.

“What?! What do ya want?!”

…

“I see you.”

“Don’t. Don’t start with that sappy crap.”

I hesitate. My gut twists. I speak, stepping closer.

“Tamamo. Look at me.”

“No.”

“Fine, but I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t get ta—”

She hisses, jerking backward, but I stay planted.

“I said I’m not leaving.”

I repeat, slower this time, letting each word hang in the air. 

“Not now. Not until you let me help.”

Her hands clench into fists, scraping at her knees, at the track, anywhere that isn’t me. She pivots, kicks the dirt, lashes out—her anger raw, unfiltered. 

“Ya don’t… you don’t know what it’s like! You can’t!”

For a second, something flickers in her face… shock, maybe. The brick wall slowly starts to crumble.

I take a cautious step closer. 

“I don’t know. But I know you’re hurting. And I know, whatever this is, you’re trying to carry it alone. I won’t let you.”

Her laughter is sharp, jagged, and bitter. 

“Tryna carry it alone?” 

She swipes at the air, at nothing, at me.

“Ya don’t understand. Ya don’t know who I’m carryin’ it for! My—he…” 

Her voice falters. 

“Uncle… he taught me everything! And now he’s… the hospital said he. I… I gotta do this alone.”

Her voice breaks, swallowed by a ragged exhale. Her toes scrape the track, pushing forward, pulling backward, unsure which direction she wants. 

“I have to prove… prove I ain’t…”

The words hit me harder than any girl could run. My hand tightens into a fist.

“…Then tell me what you need. I’ll listen.”

Her expression hardens, walls slamming back into place.

“What I need?” 

She laughs, bitterly.

“What I need is to not be a failure. Ya gonna give me that?”

I don’t answer fast enough. She turns, spitting curses under her breath, preparing to take off running once more. Frustrated, I grab her by the arm.

“Would you just wait?!” 

She stares at me, teeth gritted, nostrils flaring, fury and exhaustion painting every line of her face.

“Let go!”

She snaps, shoving past me, but my foot shifts just enough to make her stumble. It’s not enough to hurt, but enough to force her to acknowledge me.

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second. I can see the conflict… and then—

CRACK.

Her kick connects, a brutal strike. 

I hit the ground again, rolling instinctively. Pain explodes through my arm. I grit my teeth, swallowing a curse as I force myself upright despite the screaming pain.

“You… ya just don’t get it!” 

Her voice cracks, sharp as glass. 

“Three years! Three damn years, runnin’, trainin’, sweatin’, tryna prove something, and… no one… no one wants me! Teams, trainers… everyone looks past me!”

Her voice rises, a jagged mix of rage and despair. She twists, pointing at herself, voice almost breaking under the weight of her own words.

“All that time… in my own head… wonderin’ what the hell I was doing wrong, why I could never be good enough, why I’m always comin’ up short! And every day, it just… piles up! And then… ya think I’m doing this for nothing? Ya think I’m just failin’ because I’m weak?!”

Her words echo, as though they're not meant for me.

Her ears flick back, breath ragged, sweat dripping into her eyes, and she pauses, chest heaving like she’s pulling herself through the pain of every single thought.

“But no… it’s ain’t that simple! It’s the… it’s the way they see me.”

She pulls at her headband, tearing it off. But she doesn’t stop… continuing to pull, grabbing at her gray locks.

“All because of the color of my hair… my hair. My hair is what makes me worthless. It’s like… like I’m… I’m not even allowed to exist in the world they want me in!”

She collapses onto her knees, still tearing at her hair. Her eyes fixate—glaring at the turf as if it’s all responsible for her failures.

“A reject… a damn reject… I… I try… I push… I bleed… and it doesn’t matter! I’m… I’m worthless. All of it… all of it… wasted!”

Her whole body shakes, barely containing the sobs beneath the fury. I see it, the unfiltered truth of how she sees herself. Pain, shame, anger, despair.

Her eyes flare, chest heaving, and without warning, she jumps to her feet and lunges forward. I plant myself in her path.

“Tamamo—”

She slams into me, and a sharp crack jolting up my arm. My shoes are digging into the turf as I hold her back. 

“You’re not leaving.” 

My voice is firm and unwavering, even as my arm throbs.

Her tiny body convulses, unable to contain herself any longer.

“All I wanted… all I really want… is to prove… I wasn’t a waste of his time. I need to prove it...”

Her body trembles violently, small shoulders shaking as if the storm of her anger and despair has finally broken through. A sob slips out… then another, and another… choked, jagged, heart-wrenching.

“I… I just… I can’t… I can’t lose him… I can’t… he can’t…”

Her hands claw and flail at the back of my shirt, gripping anything, as if holding on could anchor her from falling apart.

“I… I’m so scared… if he… if he dies…”

I keep my arms to my side, offering presence without pressure. My own chest tightens, memories of helplessness threatening to claw through the surface… but I let them stay buried. I don’t speak of myself, not yet. Not now. This moment is hers.

Her words catch in her throat, swallowed by fresh sobs.

“I… I can’t lose him!”

She says again, louder this time. Voice raw, breaking apart, little body shivering with the weight of that terror.

Hesitantly, I raise a hand to the top of her head.

“I hear you. …I see you. You don’t have to carry it all alone.”

She flinches at the softness of my hand… the calmness in my tone. It’s as if she’s unused to someone staying when everything inside her screams to be alone. The sobs don’t stop, they can’t yet… but her flailing begins to tire, just a little.

“Yer… he… he’s the only one who ever believed… ever believed in me!” 

She steps back, shaking. Shivering. Her fists clutch at her knees, nails biting into flesh. 

“And if I fail him… if I’m… if I can’t…”

I swallow, feeling a familiar ache.

“I understand. It hurts… Having someone you care about… ripped away. You’re not alone.”

Her head drops, tears falling freely now, soaking into the track. Her chest rises and falls in ragged, uneven breaths, sobs shaking her from the inside out.

“I can’t… I can’t let him down… I can’t let him think…”

“You won’t.” 

I speak, still firm but gentle, letting my voice carry conviction. 

“I won’t let you.”

…

…

“I…” 

Her words trail off, sobbing catching in her throat again, and she leans slightly forward, trembling. 

“I’m… so scared…”

And finally, her legs give out. 

All of that pressure and strain is finally released. Now that she’s without it, there probably isn’t anything left to keep her standing.

I just stay there, kneeling, offering the quietest reassurance. I’m a presence that won’t leave, a silent reminder that she doesn’t have to face this alone.

Her sobs begin to slow, fragmented now. Her voice is barely a whisper.

“I… I don’t want him… to die…”

And I nod, only slightly. It’s just enough to let her know I understand. 

Maybe I don’t have all the details, not entirely—but the weight, the raw fear of losing someone who means everything. 

That, I understand.

She buries her face in her arms, knees scraping the track, shoulders shaking. I stay by her side. 

I let her take this moment for herself.

Grief is terrifying. You can shove it away, lock it up, pretend it doesn’t exist. But it clings to you all the same. 

No one else can take it from her. No one can carry it in her place.

So it’s been waiting, patient and merciless. It’s something she has to meet, slowly, whether she wants to or not.

Only now, it has been seen, acknowledged, felt. Only now can she let another soul share a piece of it.

|—Later—|

I’m sprawled on the couch in the club room, one leg tucked under me, the other dangling off the edge. Phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly. No one’s here. The quiet hum of the AC and faint squeak of the ceiling fan fill the space.

It’s nice. Peaceful.

The kind of quiet that makes you notice little things… the way the sunlight slices through the blinds, the faint scent of chalk lingering in the air, the way the floorboards creak just slightly when I shift.

I glance at the door half-expecting someone to wander in, but nope. Just me. Perfect.

I lean back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

I should really bring a blanket and pillow in here. It'd be a great place to hide from Scarlet when I’m ditching class.

…

Mmm…

I wonder what she’s doing right now. 

Probably pacing or muttering to herself about something minor she’s blown out of proportion. 

I could see that.

Or maybe she’s found some quiet corner of the library to read. A tiny little space, all to her own. 

She always needs that… space to breathe, to keep herself from snapping at everyone. 

I can almost picture her… hair falling in front of her face, brows furrowed in concentration, lips moving like she’s narrating something to herself.

I catch myself smiling, earning a quick jolt to my feet.

…eh? What the—The hecks up with me?

The door bursts open, forcing me to sort those thoughts out later.

Stepping through the doorframe, it’s Trainer.

Or some… disheveled, beat up version of him... what happened to his arm?!

Sweat slicks his hair to his forehead. His shirt is half untucked. He looks like he’s wrestled a thunderstorm, and the outcome was not good.

And on his back… Tamamo, eyes closed like she’s passed out cold.

He just walks past me, laying Tamamo down on the couch.

“Vodka.”

He speaks friendly, like he’s just saying hello.

“Trainer… Uh… what is this?”

One of his brows raises, slight confusion on his face as he gestures to the unconscious girl.

“mmm… Tamamo?”

“No—I—that’s not—ugh. DUUHHH, I can see it’s Tamamo. What are you doing carrying her around? …And is she unconscious?!”

“Yeah, she fell asleep while I was carrying her.”

“Wow. That still doesn’t answer why she was on your back to begin with!”

He brings one finger up to his mouth, gesturing for me to be more quiet around the sleeping girl.

“Shhh… she couldn’t walk… What was I supposed to do? Just leave her on the turf?

“No, but why here? Why not her dorm room or, better yet, the infirmary?”

“Dorm rooms are off limits to trainers, and she told me she didn’t want to go to the infirmary after I told her about that one doctor.”

My eyebrows shoot up, remembering the needle repeatedly being shoved into my arm.

“That’s… fair. But I can’t imagine she let you carry her.”

He gives me a look like I’ve just asked him to explain quantum physics. 

“Noooo-ho-ho-ho. She hated the idea. But… I didn’t exactly give her a choice.” 

His jaw tightens as he opens a drawer, and he grips his arm, muttering under his breath. 

“God, my arm…”

I gape. 

“Your arm?”

He lifts it awkwardly, grimacing. 

“Yeah. She… kinda kicked me. Very… accurately.”

I blink. 

“You… I… don’t… what happened?!”

“Shhh… Better if you didn’t ask.”

Urrgh.

He uses his good hand to pull out a white plastic box, which he sets onto his desk with a dull thud. Inside… bandages, antiseptic, scissors, and a few other things that make it look like he’s ready to perform minor surgery.

“We have medical kit?”

“Vodka, I need you to stop asking questions and give me a hand.”

He speaks not even bothering to glance up at me. His focus is on digging through that box.

“Fine! Jeez, what do you need?”

He digs around in the box, grimacing as his other arm shifts awkwardly. Finally, he pulls out a roll of gauze. 

“Get her shoes and socks off.”

I freeze. 

“Uh…”

He glares at me, all patience-thin exasperation. 

“Please? I can’t wrap them like this.”

I crouch awkwardly at the end of the couch, tugging at her shoes and socks. The moment they come off, my stomach drops.

“Oh… no.” 

The words slip out before I can stop them.

Her feet. 

Goddesses.

The skin is angry red, raw in places where it’s been rubbed to breaking. Blisters swell along her heels and the balls of her feet, some already torn open, leaving wet, weeping patches. 

Old calluses crisscross her toes, split and scarred from years of abuse, layered over by fresher wounds that haven’t had time to harden. There’s blood where the skin’s given up entirely, dark smears against pale bandages that were already soaked through long before I ever saw them.

Every inch screams of miles and miles run past the point where anyone sane would’ve stopped. 

He walks over, swallowing hard. His face is tight, serious.

“It’s… about as bad as I expected.”

“How’d this happen?”

He kneels beside her, carefully examining her legs without touching them yet.

“It’s the result of someone so desperate to prove herself that she kept driving long after her body begged her not to. Running over and over… No break. No change in workout. Just running.”

I can’t move for a moment. My hands just hover uselessly over her, afraid to touch, afraid I’ll make it worse. 

Carefully, he lifts one of her legs. Almost immediately, a sharp grimace crosses his face. He swallows the pain.

I sit beside him, watching for a moment. After another wince of pain, my hesitation gives way into action.

“Here.”

I sigh, reaching for the gauze. 

“Let me do it. You’ve done enough already.”

He looks at me, startled for a second, as if he wasn’t expecting me to intervene. Then, after a beat, he nods reluctantly, letting me take over.

I lift her leg with just as much care and consideration as he did. He watches over my shoulder, muttering quiet instructions.

“Not too tight… cover the blisters completely… steady…”

I start wrapping, following his guidance, and his eyes stay on me, intense but relieved. 

“Good… just like that…”

I finish securing the first wrap around her foot, carefully rolling the gauze around her ankle and eventually leg. My hands move methodically, steadying her ankle as I wrap.

“Is she gonna be okay?”

Trainer leans back against the wall, one arm holding the other, exhaling like he’s just run a marathon and wrestled a tornado. 

“Her legs… yes. Maybe a bit of scarring, but no actual damage. A few weeks of rest, she’ll be okay. She’s just… exhausted. Emotionally, mostly.”

“...I’m glad. Er–not glad that she’s—you get the point.”

He chuckles, not replying as he holds his arm.

I continue wrapping, steadying her ankle as I go, moving up her calf. But glancing at him, I can’t help it. I laugh. Just a little. 

“You’re a mess.”

He relents a short, tired laugh.

“You know… everyone keeps saying that. I think the only one who hasn’t told me that today is Tamamo.”

“Well, she’s an even bigger mess, so…”

I twist the gauze gently, covering the rest of her lower leg.

“That’s true.”

I smirk, leaning back slightly as I finish wrapping one leg and start on the other.

“What did you even do? I mean… last I checked, she wasn’t being friendly with anyone. Least of all you. So how did you—”

Trainer lets out a dry sigh, shaking his head. 

“I kicked the door down.” 

His voice is ragged, but there’s a strange tenderness under it.

I roll the gauze up her other ankle before pausing to take a sip from my flask. The barley tea is, for once, unsatisfying. At a time like this, I’d rather be drinking my namesake.

“I can’t even begin to guess what that means.”

“Come on, you of all people should know.”

Huh?

My confusion earns a smile of disbelief from him.

“Did… you forget? The tryout races… you–”

He’s… OH.

I drop the gauze, instinctively grabbing the top of my head as I cry out in embarrassment.

“UUUAAAGGGGG. Whyyyyy… Why’d you make me remember thaaaat?!”

He laughs hard, hard enough for his arm to accidentally catch against the edge of his desk. My embarrassment immediately is replaced with concern as I watch him jerk away in pain.

“You okay?”

“Ah… Yeah… definitely broken though.”

Picking up the gauze from off the floor, I fix what work was undone before tucking the final end around her calf.

“You should really go to the infirmary.”

“No thanks. Not until she’s awake.”

I step back slightly, brushing imaginary lint off my hands, making sure the gauze is snug and secure on both legs. Tamamo doesn’t stir, her ears twitching faintly in her sleep, and for a moment the room feels quiet, almost serene.

The air in the room feels different, heavier somehow, like she's been shouldering a storm alone—and I’ve just… taken some of it. Not much, but a small enough amount.

Trainer lets out a dramatic groan, sprawling out onto the carpet beside the couch. He doesn’t move, only staring up at the ceiling before shutting his eyes. Seeing how tired and beaten he is, I sigh.

“Question. Why go through all this trouble?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Part challenge, part… curiosity. He doesn’t do all this for nothing.

His laugh is low, humorless.

“Why not?”

“…’Why not’? That's your reason?”

Even then, the tiniest wince sneaks through. He hides it fast, but I catch it.  

Stubborn idiot.

“What? Gonna tell me it's stupid?”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

He chuckles under his breath, but the sound catches, like he’s holding onto something heavier. His eyes flick toward me, sharp and tired all at once. But there’s something else too, something I’ve never seen from him.

I don’t know what it is.

“Everybody’s got their issues. I just… don’t want anyone to feel like there’s nobody left in their corner. You know? Like… even if they push others away, even if they don’t want it—I’ll still be there. I’ll still show up.”

I was prepared for another one of his stupid jokes, but this… it’s not the kind of thing you just say lightly. Maybe there’s more to him than I thought.

He stops, shakes his head, and forces a chuckle that doesn’t match his eyes.

“Listen to me. Getting all dramatic. Forget it.”

No–no–no, you don't get to backpedal that easily.

“Stop… that’s a good reason. It’s almost cool.”

Almost cool? Really? That’s the best I’ve got?

He grin is crooked, exhausted, but genuine.

“Getting called almost cool from you… That’s some high praise.”

“Shuddup.”

I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrays me. He notices.

“Hehe… but if it ever comes to it, I’ll do the same for you. Alright?”

“…Haru too?”

“What kind of… of course! But if the day ever comes where Haru Urara starts acting like this girl—”

He points to the passed out Tamamo.

“—the world is probably already ending.”

That cracks me up. For a moment, I forget the seriousness.

And looking at him—beat-up, stubborn, still finding ways to joke. I hate to admit it, but… he might be cooler than I am.

I rub my eyes, struggling to accept the fact that… maybe… I’m fine with that.

…

Ugh… nope. I gotta up my game cuz there is NO WAY he’s cooler than me. It’s different from my cool. It doesn’t count.

Damnit! 

…It counts.

I pour a stream of barley tea into my mouth. My hand raises, wiping my lips clean as I try to find anything to distract myself from these frustrating thoughts.

“So… what now? You just… stay here with her?”

He rubs his eyes, sighing. 

“Pretty much. Stay. Watch. Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid if she wakes up suddenly.”

I nod, finding a random chair to sit on, trying to look casual. He groans.

“...Actually, you mind if I take a nap? Surviving her was… strenuous, and this carpet is surprisingly comfortable.”

I raise an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you look like you’re about to roll-over dead so, go ahead man. I can keep watch.”

Soon enough, he sleeps. 

And I’m left alone to watch over two idiots.

—The next day after class—

I tug my jacket straight and set off across campus. No hesitation, no second thoughts. If Trainer can be cool without even trying, then I’ll just have to try twice as hard.

First, the courtyard. There’s a group of students hanging out by the fountain, talking about some assignment. Perfect. I stride right up to the stone edge, plant one foot on it, and lean forward with both hands in my pockets. Sunglasses on, even though the sun’s hiding behind clouds. I don’t say anything… just tilt my chin like I’m surveying the world. 

I hear someone whisper.

“Is she…posing?” 

I stay stone still, radiating mystery.

When it feels like the moment’s peaked, I push off the fountain, spin on my heel, and walk away without looking back. 

That’s the first rule of being cool. Never look back.

Next, the athletic fields. A soccer ball rolls near me, a group of students chasing it. I stop it under my boot like I’d been waiting for this exact moment. Everyone watches. 

I give the ball a little flick, catch it on my knee, bounce it twice. On the third bounce, the ball shoots too high. I scramble, arms flailing, trying to catch it out of the air.

I recover and kick the ball back to them. Clearing my throat, I brush my hands off on my pants, and walk away like nothing happened.

Finally, the library steps. A wide open stage. I sit on the railing instead of the bench, slouched just enough to look effortless. Then I pull out an orange from my bag and start peeling it one-handed. It’s harder than I imagined. The skin fights back, spraying juice across my sleeve. My fingers slip, rind tearing in crooked lines. A chunk splats onto the ground. I grit my teeth and keep going, face calm, like this is all part of the plan.

I pop a wedge into my mouth, stare off into the middle distance. The juice immediately runs down my chin. Someone passing by frowns at me. Another student snickers. My jaw locks. Don’t flinch. Don’t move. 

Just let the aura speak for itself.

After a long, silent moment, I know I’ve lost the crowd. They drift away, unimpressed. I rub my sticky hand on my pants and sigh.

|—Just changing POV mid scene… don’t mind me—|

How did things ever get like this?

For the entire time we’ve known one another, Tachyon has barely spoken to me. Nods in passing, short replies, nothing more than that. A ghost with eyes as red as mine. 

All I did was lend her my umbrella. Something so simple, and yet now she won’t leave me alone.

Since then, she’s been… this. 

“Think about it, Scarlet! If we could accelerate the rate of perception, even just by a fraction, imagine the advantage! A single second stretched into ten. A heartbeat into a symphony. Entire strategies formed in the space between footsteps.”

Unstoppable energy, sudden monologues, grand excentrics, the sense that I’ve been caught in the wake of something faster than myself.

And now, out of nowhere, she’s inviting me to tea. In the library, of all places. I was ready to tell her that drinks and rare books don’t mix, but there's an entire part of the library carved out for tea parties.

Now she’s talking about the reaction speed of hummingbirds. It’s almost too much. I’ve been unable to get a word in the entire time. 

Her hands slice the air, white sleeves waving like flags. Her voice keeps tripping over itself, eager to arrive at the conclusion before her thoughts can.

I sit with my porcelain teacup, nodding in just the right intervals, sipping in small, practiced motions. It’s exhausting, yes, but in a way, oddly fun.

Then she bolts upright mid-sentence, muttering about a reference book, and strides off.

Finally.

I exhale, easing back into my chair, letting the porcelain cup cool against my fingers. A moment’s peace for me to just sip—

“Scarlet.”

The voice is low, deliberate. almost… cool.

My head turns, eyes met with a familiar face.

“…Vodka? It’s rare to see you in the library. What are you doing here?”

She drops into the chair beside me like she’s always belonged there. Not even a hesitation. 

“Being coo—I mean, studying. Obviously.”

The correction is clumsy, but she delivers it with that same straight face, that same blunt conviction. It makes it feel like she doesn’t care if I catch her or not. I shouldn’t find it charming. I really shouldn’t.

Confidence. Or… the illusion of it. It sits on her shoulders like a jacket thrown on carelessly, while I spend hours making sure every button on mine is perfect.

For just a second, I feel that same pinch in my chest. It always flares up when she’s nearby.

Envy. Fascination. Maybe both, I can never tell.

Footsteps rapidly approach, and Tachyon’s hand clamps down on Vodka’s wrist like a trap.

“My my… what do we have here? I step away for only a moment, and yet I come back to find my seat has been stolen.”

I sigh softly, a signal Tachyon has been learning to pick up on. No, I will not lend her energy for theatrics.

“Tachyon, you remember Vodka, right? My roommate.”

Tachyon tilts her head, squinting at Vodka like she’s a bacteria under a microscope.

“…Ah. Yes. You did seem familiar.”

I can’t tell if it’s meant as recognition or dismissal. With Tachyon, it could be both.

“Don’t worry, she’s harmless. Usually.”

The words slip out before I think. I meant to reassure Tachyon about Vodka. Instead, it sounds like I’m calling Tachyon harmless.

“Harmless…”

Tachyon repeats, testing the word. Then, with a sudden spark of energy, she snaps her fingers. 

“No, not harmless. Not to someone this promising. A sturdy frame, reactive posture—yes, yes, you’d do well. Tell me, Vodka, would you ever consider serving as my guinea pig? For science, of course.”

“Guinea pig?”

Vodka repeats, tugging her wrist free.

“Yes, yes, that can wait. For now, why don’t you join us?” 

Tachyon sits in the empty chair opposite us, allowing Vodka to keep her seat next to me.

“Join us? Tachyon, this is—”

“A tea party!”

Tachyon crows, sliding back her chair with the triumphant flourish of someone who’s just made a great discovery.

“The most elegant environment for discourse, don’t you agree? And surely, Scarlet, the presence of another participant will only enrich the exchange.”

Vodka shrugs, utterly unbothered. 

“Meh, sounds good to me.”

Before I can summon another protest, she reaches into her bag, produces a silver flask, and plunks it onto the table.

“Already got my own barley tea, so I’m set.”

I stare.

“…Of course you do.”

She drinks without ceremony, leans back like she’s belonged here all along. And somehow, she does.

I should resent it. Instead, I feel that same pinch again. Envy again. Or maybe something heavier.

Tachyon clasps her hands, delighted. 

“Excellent! The triumvirate is complete. Limit, Restraint, and Control.”

Vodka raises a brow. 

“Which one am I supposed to be?”

“The control group.” 

Tachyon answers instantly.

Vodka squints, unsure as to what that means.

But then Tachyon’s eyes slide toward me, and for just a second, the manic gleam dims. Her voice drops softer, steadier.

“That makes you and I, Scarlet, the restraint and limit.”

A chill slices through me. I sit up straighter, forcing out my voice.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, you do.” 

She speaks lightly, too lightly.

Vodka leans back in her chair, balancing it on two legs with reckless ease. One arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other raising her flask like it’s fine wine.

“Restraint, limit, control… yeah. I don’t understand a word of this. Sounds stupid.”

The chair rocks dangerously close to tipping, and my heart leaps into my throat. But Vodka just plants her heel against the table’s leg, steadying herself without a flinch, without even glancing down.

That confidence again, as if everything’s going to work itself out.

My spine stiffens.

“Don’t call it—” 

I start, but stop myself when I catch Vodka’s grin. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just a simple, unguarded smile. Almost playful.

I’ve seen it before.

When she should have been furious. Outraged at the fact that I held back. Instead, she smiled. Careless. Even brought me to meet her team.

The memory prickles under my skin. My blood runs too hot, my chest too tight. Because I wanted her to be angry. I wanted her to grab me by the collar, to demand an explanation, to force me into admitting the truth. To finally share my fragile secret.

How does she make it look so effortless?

I force my gaze down, but not fast enough. Vodka’s sharp eyes catch mine, lingering for a beat too long. And then she smirks, small, as if she knows. But there’s no way she could know this.

Heat prickles my neck. It’s not irritation. Something else. Something I don’t understand. Something I don’t want Tachyon to see.

Tachyon, of course, sees everything. She hums with a scientist’s delight.

“Oh… Fascinating.”

Vodka drops her chair back onto all fours with a loud thud. The sound jolts me, and I nearly spill my tea.

Nearly.

My fingers tighten around the cup until I worry it might crack.

Envy. That’s what it is. It has to be. Envy of her ease, her boldness, her impossible confidence. Envy of the way she shrugs off even the most serious of fights.

But then she smiles again, and it twists sharp inside my chest.

Chapter Text

Swish~ swoosh~ swish~!

🎀🎶 Mmmm-umadacchi! 🎶 uma pyoi! uma pyoi! 🎶💫

The sunlight peeks in like a nosy kitty, stretching golden whiskers across the floor. The beams sparkle-skip over the walls like jumping bunnies, making everything feel incredible.

My paintbrush dips into the bubblegum-pink puddle—plop!—and wiggle-waggles across the wall in a stripe so bright it’s practically giggling.

✨Swoosh! Swoosh!✨ The pink looks alive, hopping along with me.

The door squeaks open—creeaak—then swings out with a whoosh!

“Haru! Are you in he—wha… whaaat in the world…”

I spin, paintbrush 💫twirling💫 like a magic wand, and beam so hard my cheeks might explode into confetti. 🎉🎉

“Halo~! Welcome home~!”

Spin-spin! Twirl-twirl!

“I’m painting!! Ta-daaa!! ✨”

“Yes… I can see that.”

Halo tiptoes in, trying to look all serious-serious. Her dark crimson eyes glimmer, framed by her chestnut hair. She sets her hands on her hips. A stern pose, very official!

But… pfft. Can’t fool me. I can see the color around her. 

Always minty-green.💚 Cool, calm, fresh like spring mint-choco ice cream.🟢 Even when she frowns, she smells like a gentle breeze and kindness. 🌸

“You painted your whole side pink? Did you even—”

She stops. Her eyes flick to the walls, the floors, the blanket of crinkly newspaper mountains and shiny-plastic jellyfish sheets covering everything.

“…get permission?”

“💖Yup yup!”

I dunk my brush in the pink goo with a glop and slap it on the wall with a wet shlop. 🫟🫟

“I asked the Prez if I could make my room pink and she said yes! So! Pink room totally approved~!!”

Halo sighs. Bwooosh, like a sleepy meadow breeze. Her mouth fights a smile but I catch it peeking out anyway.

“Mm. I get the feeling she thought you meant ‘decorate,’ not ‘paint the whole thing,’ but okay…”

She flops onto her side of the room. 

Beige. Boring. 🙄

Her big mint sweater cuddles around her like a blanket. The green of said sweater almost blends into the traces of mint I see around her. 

“Everything’s covered, right? The books, the bed, the…”

“Mostly!! 🤭 Rice Shower said cover the floor + windows + furna—furni—furrr… stuff. So! I did that! Yay!”

Halo shakes her head, smiling softly.

“Thank the stars for Rice…”

🫟Splaaat! 🫟 Another pink droplet leaps off my brush and belly-flops onto the floor. 

“Oopsie…”

“…You’re going to get paint everywhere.”

“I knooow. Isn’t it fun?! 😆”

💫 Spin-spin! 💞 Sprinkle-sprinkle!💕 Little tiny pink confetti scatter onto the walls, the floor, even a few on Halo’s sweater. She frowns. (Kinda.)

“Eheh… sorry~.”

“It’s fine. This sweater already has holes in it anyway.”

See? 🟢She’s never really mad.🟢 Not even when I turn her into a polka-dot display.

A pink drop plops onto my cheek. I smear it with my finger, giggling at the streak it leaves.

Halo tilts her head, looking at me like I’m a puzzle piece shaped like a cupcake.

“You’ve really gone all out… This is very… you.”

“Of course! 🌷 Pink is me!! 🖌️ Just… one more… reach… stretch…”

I stand on my tiptoes, wobbling, brush reaching high-high-high!