Chapter Text
“-So she’s obviously an umamusume, right?”
“Oh yeah, tooooootes-”
Drinking with Maruzensky had become a bit of a tradition for the trainer. Every single Friday night, just as the ‘work’ cleared off and made way for the weekend, they’d hop on down to the nearest bar – pub-style, he’d insisted – with one goal in mind.
To get absolutely bloody toasted. On juice, of course. ‘Juice’. It was a tax thing, apparently. This stuff was sitting a healthy minimum of five percent proof, like a fruity lager. Even Creek liked to hop in here time to time and have a quick chat with him, with Maruzen, with…
“So.”
“So?”
“Why’s she hiding it?”
“Pfft- c’mon, can’t a girl have her secrets?”
“She can, she can, it’s just… Why d’you hide sommut like that?’
“Hm…”
It was often said that wine was the- uh- ah- made men fools, yes. That there were two selves who. Who. It made them fools and talk about dangerous things and-
“You monologuing again?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, shoot, I’ll let you-”
“No, no, it wasn’t going anywhere.”
“Awww-”
“This a sad drunk phase?”
“Naah, I’m feelin’- feelin’ more… Thinking, pal. Real spaaaaaaced out and-… Why would she do that?”
Very dangerous things.
“Not sure. Maybe it’s some sorta personal thing for Tazuna, y’know?”
“Right? But who’d not wanna go horsin’ around-”
“To be fair, she ain’t the type to horse.”
“That a verb?”
“You just used it.”
“What’s it mean? I’m lookin’ at being a philo-phil-phila- filler- filling my mind with knowledge, buddy-”
“Nice save.”
“Radical,” she slumped forward onto the counter. The trainer, had to slide a couple of the glasses away, “now, c’mon- serenade me, cutey~”
“With random facts?”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time. C’mon!”
“…”
“C’mooooooon-”
“-To horse around originated as a saying in about the late fourteenth century, when Chaucer described in the Canterbury Tales how the knight and her retinue were undergoing a training routine, though due to the great dietary requirements, particularly intensive training routines typically led to an ad-hoc feast afterwards, leading to the saying ‘to horse’ being associated with revelry, and-”
And Maruzen smiled. It usually ended up like this. Long chats, long laughs with shared jokes, over-explanations of small facts he was too drunk to remember to keep quiet on- some laughs, some outdated lingo- it was almost alright.
But the trainer was still thinking.
Why?
--
He.
Had made.
A mistake. No, no, another him hade made that mistake. Took a loan of three Long Island Iced Teas Maruzen had convinced him to knock back, which- which-
The present. Was paying. With interest, too. Motherfu-
Acid reflux. He choked it back down and plucked out a mint to counter it, not breaking stride for a second. The less time he spent on his feet the better. Just needed to reach his office, grab the papers he forgot, and trot along back home and straight back into hibernation- goddesses- his bloody- head!
No. No. Focus. Focus. Just get in. Get out. Get in. Get out. Avoid talking to Kiryuin to not concern her, try to avoid his trainees- Tachyon especially. Bless her heart, she tried to make an anti-hangover potion, but it instead made colours have taste and emotion have sound. If Riko saw him he’d never live it down.
So, he picked up the pace. Wasn’t exactly a holy hour, or day, for him to be in, but a senior trainer showing up weekends wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary. Even if it was seven in the bloody morning. At least it wasn’t noon; he was already squinting his way through Tracen’s corridors as is.
At least Maruzen was suffering alongside him. She’d sent him a hieroglyph-string of sad faces, crying faces, one sparkle emoji he figured she found funny, and another crying face like she was doing a Winning Ticket impression. No disrespect, but the asphalt beneath a car’s tire looked briefly tempting when he heard Ticket’s noises mid-hangover.
But that was an aside. Indeed. That. Was an aside. The door was in front of him. He didn’t sense Gold Ship. Just. Needed to open the door and-
“Ah?”
It was Tazuna. Now, it was obvious she was an umamusume. From the general demeanour, supernatural physical ability- Kiryuin was an exception and should not be counted as a freak of nature- and her knowledge of racing that was more personal than it should’ve been for a regular trainer. Nevertheless, it was something personal. He never had the intention of pressing her on it, skulking about for answers and kicking open someone’s privacy for his own selfishness.
However, he did still think about what secrets she did have. Mainly as idle daydreaming about how generally closed off she was about her past as a whole. He had theories, ideas, so on.
But he never expected a gun.
SIG-Sauer P226. Customised grip with a reflex sight attached on top. Didn’t know the exact brand or model or what have you, he’d tuned out a little when Taiki started talking about that kinda thing. One Hell of a way to sober up though.
“…Mornin’.”
“Ye-ah,” Tazuna looked back at him. Eyes widened slightly. Her finger was off the trigger, index resting along the side with the sorta discipline that implied this weren’t exactly her first time with the piece. There was a familiarity with it. An ease in how it rested in her hand. Thinking about it, she was suspiciously good with a water gun and tried to rack it on reflex. “…Any reason you’re in my office?”
“Isn’t this mine?”
“No?”
“No, it-” he paused, and squinted at the do- “it’s yours.”
“It’s mine.”
“I’m-” she’d already stowed the gun. Under-shoulder holster, seemed like, “sorry, it’s-”
“It’s fine, trainer! You seem a bit frazzled, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, just a hangover.”
“Thought so. I should’ve locked the door anyhow,” she was all smiles. Something she put on a half-heartbeat, with barely a thought, “do you need any help?”
“Oh it’s-”
“Please!” She said, just a little bit pressed. “Please, let me help you. You’re in on a Saturday for the sake of your trainee, aren’t you? There’s nothing more I’d like to do than help, so while I’m at attention just tell me what you need. I’m free.”
“…I uh… Just needed to grab some papers for Opera O.”
“I can accompany you to get them, if you’d like.”
“Aye, yeah, that’d be good. I’m bit unsteady walking.”
“Affirmative-” the last syllable held for a second, “you likely got the floor room mistaken. Yours is just above mine.”
“That’s good to-”
“Please, do follow me now,” she smiled. Eyes closed. “…Just one more question.”
“Hm?”
“Do you see me?”
“…Depends on what I saw.”
Tazuna maintained the smile. She nodded. They walked down the corridor.
---
Tails. Tails. Tails. Luck was a weapon. He flipped the coin up, landing it directly on tails on the back of his hand. Each. And every. Time.
Heads. Heads. Heads. The trainer was a very lucky man. His trainees seemed to get the right brackets. The right weather. Recover from the wrong things in the right time, whenever they needed.
Side. The coin landed on its side.
It slipped back into his hand. He stopped outside of the door. It was slightly ajar.
Whether it was trainees having a spontaneous good mood, or winning the gate lottery more than usual, or having foresight that borders on unnatural, or anything and everything, the dice-roll of entropy seemed to always turn up high for the esteemed trainer. Yet this was the only time he wondered whether luck was truly on his side.
That was what the clock was for. It was not a clock. It looked a pocket watch, one he always kept slipped into his front breast pocket, hanging on a gold sort of chain he’d afforded a while back. It was a lifeline. It was the one thing protecting him, as the door in front of him slipped wide open. A passing evening breeze, naturally. Just through one of the open windows at the end of the corridor.
The trainer was a very lucky man. Which was how he was able to guiltlessly have a brief look into Tazuna’s office. The door was open, and somehow unlocked, after all.
It had been a few days since the incident, now. A crisp Thursday evening, days of regular training, regular planning, regular glances away from a certain green-uniformed secretary, the regular weight of a pair of eyes at his back.
She was not meant to have a gun. Non-government organisations were prohibited from carrying weapons in Japan, such was the nature of law. Of course, the definition of weapon could be stretched, or avoided, or warped as much as necessary. There’d even been a small edge case stating that organisations centred around racing, due to veneration for the three goddesses, were religious and thus were permitted to carry weaponry. Yet even then, that was a shaky precedent. One that was best to not rock the boat around.
Meaning, she was not meant to have a gun. Pretty good hardware, too. Of course, he expected Akikawa to be more on the ‘spare no expense to keep my precious umamusume safe’ side of things, but Tazuna with hardware that advanced?
It made him curious. Hubristic in the wrong ways, the ways that got people hurt.
People less lucky than him. So, he picked a day where she was busy. Always on Thursdays.
He stepped into the room. Her office was a comparatively bland thing. Stacks of papers at a desk, a cabinet, blinds cutting apart the dying daylight to slivers of amber cutting over the room. Nothing that was an easy pick up, at least. He tapped the door closed and-
Something pressed against his back.
“Nine by nineteen millimetre. Full metal jacket.”
“Sparing me the hollow point?”
“That’s because I like you.”
“I’m touched.”
“Step forward.”
He complied. Her footsteps drummed a heavy clop afterward, ‘till he met the desk. To restrict his movement, seemed like.
“What’s your angle?”
“Curiosity and a fair helping of hubris.”
“Even after the gun?”
“Leading cause of death for men like me.”
“Seems like it.”
“Was that a threat, Tazuna Hayakawa?”
“Who are you saying that to?”
“Depends. Is it Tokino Minoru?”
Her grip shifted. The barrel of the gun shifted where it was, grinding along his back like a metal gear. Solid. Cold. Cruel in the way it snaked up the spine. Just behind the heart.
“You’re calm.”
“Should I not be?”
“There’s a gun to your back.”
“And it’s not loaded.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I’m too charming for you to kill.”
“That’s big talk.”
“You think I’m joking?”
“…No. I think you have a good point.”
“So, is it loaded?”
“Are you really just here for your curiosity?”
“Of course. Of course I want to know what’s bothering my dear Tazuna Hayakawa.”
“This is an intervention?”
“I won’t pretend that’s all it is, but partially, yes. I’m here because I’ve wondered – just what is it that makes her grimace, slightly, when she’s sleeping at her desk after a few hours too many of work. Remember that?”
“…”
“I saw it. The faintest hint of a grimace. Before it seemed to brighten up, at least.”
“Maybe you’re a lucky charm.”
“So, I’ve heard. Now, do you believe me?”
“…”
“Do you, Tokino Mino-”
There was a faint click.
And nothing happened.
“Not even a flinch?”
“Because I was right.”
There was a quick, amused huff. The gun-barrel slithered away from his back, a reinforced boot tapping on the ground as she stepped back, “you got me~”
“My instinct’s a good one.”
“Too good,” he turned around. Tazuna’s smile was sharpened to something of a dark slash on her face, twirling the gun about her fingers, “you shouldn’t be that calm in front of a gun.”
“Nor behind it. Why pull the trigger?”
“I wanted to see if you bluffed. See if you flinched.”
“How cruel.”
“You did break into my office.”
“Touche.”
She tapped about the room, footfall landing heavy before she dropped herself into one of the sofas at the side. “Come on, now. May as well get yourself comfortable,” she patted the spot next to her.
“Next to my would-be executioner?”
“I thought you believed in me.”
“You still have the gun.”
“Don’t need one to kill you.”
“…Touche.”
The trained walked around and sat down next to the person who claimed to be… No, no, it was still Tazuna. There was still that sort of warmth in the back of her gaze, a subtler one now, but it was still present. Her dignified posture. That idling smile.
It was just from another angle. A shard from a broken mirror.
“So,” he started, “which name?”
“Tokino Minoru. You got it right first try.”
“No. Which name do you want me to use? I want to refer to you in the way you’re most comfortable with.”
“…Tazuna, please.”
“Then, Tazuna,” he hunched forward, glancing to her, “what do you want to tell me?”
“Why should I?”
“You shouldn’t. Your story’s a privilege only you can tell. It’s yours alone.”
“Then why break in?”
“Because I knew you’d be here, with a just little less masking. Why else would you leave your door unlocked after an incident like that? Most obvious trap I’d ever seen.”
“But you stuck your head in.”
“Curiosity, and hubris.”
“...Hm. Guess I was a little jumpy.”
“Twitchiness like that’s good for a racer.”
“It was,” she muttered, “…It was.”
She leaned back, staring up to the ceiling for a moment. Words mulling over her lips, hat tilted forward at a slight crook as it shifted slightly over her face.
The trainer decided to share the peace. Extend it, a little. Second by second by second by-
“I thought you were a spy, initially.”
“Me?”
“Corporate espionage stuff. Anyone can made to do anything, just need the right leverage. I was a bit uncertain around you being a P-O-I, but if someone as respected as you turned bad it would’ve been devastating. To us, too. The idea of you… Guess I wanted to confirm it too quick and jumped the gun and-… Yeah.”
“This racing stuff gets serious.”
“It really does.”
“That why Tracen has a militia?”
“Who do you think heads it?”
“It wasn’t on the documents.”
“It’s filed under religious concerns. That’s why it’s Three Goddesses Tracen Private Security Temple.”
“Bit of a mouthful.”
“Blame the law.”
“And I did check. Just said ‘T’.”
“You’re doing a terrible job of convincing me this isn’t corporate espionage.”
“Whoops.”
“I’d tell you why but-”
“-but then you’d have to kill me?”
“Not really, I just wanted to say that,” she chuckled briefly, “no, no, it’s- I-… It’s… Do you have a drink on you?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to do this sober.”
“Tsk,” she leaned back, “…”
“This can be the end of it, if you want.”
“But I don’t think I want that,” she sighed out. “Ah, well, you’ve gotten this far, we’ve talked enough, and if you’re actually a spy from European racing academies then that’s on me and I’ll-”
“You think I’d spy for the bloody French?”
“Just need the right leverage,” she winked. One that felt more like a threat than the gun. “Besides, you have deep chats like this to help your trainees, right?”
“This that jealousy you mentioned?”
“Seems like it. Guess this is just an indulgence then- a win-win. You get your information, and I get to spill my heart like an URA hopeful.”
“While sober.”
“Sober,” she lamented quickly, before chuckling and reaching for her hat. “Let’s do this properly, though.”
And she picked off her hat. A pair of umamusume ears flicking upward, twitching briefly as they met the air. A quick flick of the hand seeing her tail flicked out behind her as-
She stomped on the ground, blurring to her feet. Snapping to a salute and attention and wearing the firebrand smirk of a racer.
Of a conqueror.
“Tokino Minoru, standing at attention, sir. The soldier of fantasy. Japan’s own Eclipse.”
“The Phantom Umamusume.”
“The one and only. Now. Where to start,” she stepped to the side, pacing, briefly, “…No, I know. Because it starts with a dear, little girl. Little miss Perfect.”
“Talented from the start?”
“Hah. Hardly. Little miss Perfect was from an unremarkable family, with unremarkable history, unremarkable in every way that could’ve mattered for an umamusume her age. Unremarkable enough… To not be needed. It was closer to a bad joke. A little lady with bad prospects and bad legs- my career hardly hit the ground running – don’t worry, I’ll get into the military stuff later.”
“I’m insulted. I can go through hours of racing history as an appetiser.”
“What about melodrama?”
“Are you serious?”
“No. But we do still need to go home before midnight.”
“Touche.”
“Thought you weren’t French?”
“I stole it from the bastards.”
“Resourceful,” she gave an amused exhale through her nose, “though not all that relevant. But the melodrama isn’t that interesting either, I’m sorry to say. It was a very quiet few years for little miss Perfect. Watching all the racers in their beautiful silks run by. Colours rising up from bitter ashes. Tetratema was my favourite.”
“The Warrior-Nun herself?”
“Just the one. She would fly cross the track, like a bolt of lightning, but with the steady rhythm of a good song-”
“I’ve seen the recordings.”
“Work. Of. Art. Call me unpatriotic, but she’s still the greatest of all time, to me. No offence.”
“Want me to bring up with Secretariat’s PR team?”
“Goddesses, no. The one thing scarier than a PMC is a billionaire’s lawyers.”
“Not war?”
“It’s just a job when you boil it down. Honour, courage, a soldier’s pride, it’s… What’s the saying.”
“There’s no atheists in foxholes.”
“Were you a soldier?”
“Just well read. Sergeant Reckless’ memoirs are quite the bloody ride.”
“They almost nicknamed me Mini-Reckless in- ah, I’ve skipped ahead. Yes. I’d nothing coming up. Tracen hadn’t quite hit its heyday yet, and I lacked the money or care for any of the half-good racing academies, or even anything with a decent track team. But… The thing with umamusume, is that there isn’t much of a lack of work. It’s the kind of work.”
“So, you enlisted?”
“So, I was scouted. An umamusume’s always worth the training investment, so the real problem for PMCs is actually trapping the suckers into the business. They need someone who’s the right kind of desperate. Who’s the right kind of prideful, to not do something like construction, or regular security work, or even branch into other sports. Someone who wanted to run. Right now. Who had a name to prove. So little miss Perfect, was now a good little soldier.”
“Diamond Horse?”
“Not yet. We were still Chevaliers des Tramontane. Knights of the North Wind. Old company, made by the usual sad, dispossessed types of umamusume troopers who had an idea. Of a world where victory could be bought. Victory could be sold. An army at the press of a button, crashing down like a northern wind ‘cross the mountain. Soldiers without borders. One of the first of its kind, I’m told.”
“Reduced to picking up the lost and vulnerable off the side of a street.”
“That didn’t quite settle in until I was knee-deep. I could go into it. Maybe I shouldn’t. I could go into the Cairo Incident, Operation Cataphract, the warlords- even got contracted by the King of Ireland for a bit, before everything collapsed and Diamond Horse rose from- but. But,” her gaze ran distant for a moment. “…Little miss Perfect wanted to race. A quick little debut anyone could enter between jobs, sprinting across the grass-… She didn’t expect to win.”
“But you did. Ten-”
“No. Perfect only ever won the one. After that, there was only one,” she sucked in a breath, and stood and parade rest. Hands folded behind her back, ramrod straight. “Tokino Minoru was the one who won the other nine. Little miss Perfect, had become invisible. There was only the Phantom Uma. And I was happy. For a bit.”
“And then disappeared. Like a fleeting dream,” he’d noticed it during the rewatches. How Tokino Minoru seemed to stagger after the finish, dragging her heel along the dirt. Like, “-were you injured?”
“…Shrapnel caught me in the leg. The collapse of CDT wasn’t exactly smooth. Being the last boss with a big powerbase meant that it was my job to pick up the pieces and make something else. Make something better… And I paid that price,” her voice lowered to a mumble. “I probably could’ve kept the foot if I didn’t compete in the Derby.”
“You have prosthesis?”
“The director’s not one to cheap out.”
“Except on snack budget.”
“That’s just Oguri.”
“Fair enough.”
“I can’t help but admire her, though,” she muttered. “Her will. Her drive. Being able to recover herself, to break through and win just one more time- maybe if I just didn’t compete I could’ve-…” Tazuna pursed her lips. “…Well, no point regretting things now. Akikawa hired me after DH fell through. Remembered me from when we did security detail for her mother, but it was my idea to go incognito to avoid tough questions. And now, I’m here. A little tired. Paranoid. Talking with a weird trainer-”
“Oi.”
“You treated the gun like an inconvenience.”
“It was, to be fair.”
“-getting lip from a strange trainer,” she corrected, “while not even drunk.”
“But not sad,” he noted.
Tazuna smiled. “How could I be? I get to be here, staying invisible, while the phantom pains of this eventful past ran numb. And I could make sure that nobody else can end up like poor little Perfect.”
She closed her eyes. And leaned back.
“And that’s it. The story of Tokino Minoru. So, what’s your response?”
The trainer paused. He contemplated. He considered. He leaned back against the wall, and-
“-Cuban?” She offered a cigar.
“You smoke those?”
“Only when I feel like it. I swapped to nicotine patches a while ago.”
“For your health?”
“For the smell. The Director’s cat nearly scratched my good eye out when they caught a whiff of it, and I don’t think these idols want someone who reeks of tobacco to tell them to get back on the dirt-”
“They don’t need to though.”
“If you don’t have the will, the drive- the guts to win the race in the first place, you’ll never succeed.”
“I don’t disagree. I just think you’re overestimating how much it’s necessary-”
“Who’s the one with a perfect win streak?”
“Perfect.”
“…” She exhaled and shook her head. She stowed the cigar in a small holder.
“Lost the taste for it?”
“Didn’t feel like it anymore,” she placed her elbow on the armrest, propping her head up at the hand as she looked off toward her desk. Ears twitching. “…Thanks for listening, by the way.”
“And thanks for telling.”
“Whether or not you have any magic words, it’s oddly nice to tell this to someone. Someone like you, at least. Maruzen would be supportive, but I don’t think she-”
“Do you want to go training?”
Her ears twitched. “…Huh?”
“I’m free tonight. Most nights really. We don’t have a curfew after all,” he met the challenge in her gaze. With a gaze as firm as it was kind, in a way only he could’ve managed, “so how about it?”
“…Trainer I… Don’t you have other trainees to manage? You shouldn’t overwork yourself.”
“Likewise.”
“Touche, but if I were to take time from them, I’d-”
“Nothing would be taken from anyone,” he answered. “Tazuna. Tokino Minoru. Perfect. Have I ever told about what I think is the duty of a trainer?”
“Not that I recall.”
“It’s to make their trainee’s dream come true. It’s to help make them achieve their dreams and ensure that it is they who achieves it. Not whatever other person they would be moulded into. To make sure that it’s them on the track, and that it’s them racing,” he reached out a hand. Open palm, “whatever your dream was, whatever is it, whatever it might be now- I want to make it come true.”
“I-… I-I… I’m- I’m not exactly Classics material now- or applicable, really. Or Dream series, especially with my foot and-”
“Civilian circuits. Local circuits. Parasports. We can look into all those together.”
“Is… Are-” she met his gaze, “-are you joking?” She breathed the question. One she knew the answer to.
“Do I look like I am?”
“…I…” Her hand quivered. And she took his. “…I’ll be in your care, then.”
“Who will?”
“…Let’s try again as Perfect. She never made it past her debut, after all.”
---
One lap. Slow. Her footing was a bit unstable- she didn’t do much more than short sprints ever since she joined Tracen, but with longer runs she had a bit of a lean on straights. The prosthetic leg was lighter than one made of full flesh, though it was graded for running after some research.
Two laps. A bit faster. With her experience, she was able to correct it- bit of an overcorrection, but she’d tempered it about halfway through. Her tail was swishing, slightly.
Three laps. A bit faster. Four laps, five, six- the trainer enforced a break, but she seemed ready to get back out. They talked tactics, he pointed out habits good and bad she’d remembered or forgotten or didn’t even know she had.
Seven laps. Eight. Nine- usually they’d stop, but he saw the smile on her face. The intensity in her eyes, the red flush on her skin like she was drunk on the feeling.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. More, and more.
Until she stopped. And nearly fell over- he caught her before she did. But she was laughing to herself, short chops of chuckling cutting through pants and brief apologies.
But it was fun, nonetheless. Amazing, she said. Like the umamusume who sold her world had just bought some of it back.
---
“…Yo Tazuna, girl, don’t wanna be a total killjoy but… Aren’t you being a little clingy?
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Trainer, you gotta tell her to chill.”
“She’s just an affectionate drunk.”
“That’s like, totally tubular and all but she’s basically hanging off your arm.”
“Who am I to judge.”
“You know, something like that is really-”
“Creek, you have no place to comment here.”
“Ah- eh…”
“…”
“…”
“Let’s just chill out and get wasted.”
“Aye.” “Of course.” “Perfect!”