Chapter Text
The setting sun had cast long shadows across the track of Tracen Academy, painting the sky in a calm amber hue. The rhythmic rumble of running Umamusume filled the air, every stride carrying a determination fueled by passion.
Yet Kazuki Museki’s eyes had turned glassy, his lone figure leaning against the metal railing of the bleachers. The summer heat began to lessen its vicious assault on his senses as the sun went away.
Kazuki should have been paying attention to the mock race happening in front of him. He should have been on the lookout for a girl to scout, like every other trainer around him. He should have been feeling the excitement from watching this race.
And yet, he didn’t.
Expected thoughts and emotions never made themselves known. His mind remained stuck, struggling against a thick, viscous tar that had seeped into every crevice of his brain. All Kazuki could do was tiredly stare at the race track. Expending any more cognitive effort would only have strained his brain beyond what he could comfortably handle.
Even the thunder of hooves and cheers around him felt distant, as if the world had been hidden behind a silent veil and left just out of reach. The race blurred into motion without meaning, a spectacle he could no longer observe. This had all but become routine for him ever since becoming a trainer at Tracen.
The time for Kazuki to leave had come. He wasn’t doing much just standing around anyway. An apathetic trainer like him would only—
An abrupt cold struck—icy, refreshing—against his cheek, shattering the fragile thread of his thoughts.
Kazuki flinched, his head jerking away from the chilled plastic pressed against his cheek. The sharp change in temperature opened the door that had held back every sensation he had ignored. The roaring cheers of the crowd invaded his ears, and the aroma of kicked-up turf hit his nose.
“Now’s not the time for you to be lost in the clouds, Museki-kun. Any longer and you might have floated away with them.”
He recognised that voice, unfortunately. He couldn’t forget that bothersome, overly familiar tone even if he wanted to. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he turned his head toward the source of the voice. It could only have been her.
“...Nousei-san,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “Can you bother someone other than me? There are rookie trainers who would have loved to be in your presence.”
Eiko Nousei remained adamant, letting out a small chuckle as the corners of her lips curved upwards. She paused briefly, letting the condensation drip down Kazuki’s neck to make sure she had his attention, before withdrawing the bottle of tea from his cheek.
“Now why would I want to do that?” she retorted, twirling the bottle around in her hand before pointing it at Kazuki. “I’m specifically here to see how you—my favourite junior—is doing.”
His chest pulsed a dull pleasure, akin to someone prodding at a bruise he had pretended wasn’t there. Kazuki lowered his eyelids, looking toward his clenched hands.
“You have quite the silver tongue. I might’ve been lured astray if you hadn’t recycled that line every single time you talked to me.”
Once again, Eiko remained undeterred by his dry remarks. Instead, she moved closer to Kazuki, leaning against the same railing as him, letting the warmth radiating from her attempt to cut through his barriers. She let out a small chuckle and gestured the chilled bottle toward him in a quiet offer.
“I’m not trying to flatter you,” she argued, dropping her voice down an octave. “I enjoy talking to you. It's nice to interact with someone who doesn't revere the ground I walk on.”
He stared at the bottle for a moment, the droplets of condensation tracing slow, erratic paths down the plastic before falling onto the warm metal of the railing. With a reluctant movement, Kazuki reached out and took it.
“Colour me surprised. To think the legendary trainer of the ‘Empress’ would choose me as her favourite,” he said dryly. “You might need to develop better standards.”
Eiko smiled, attempting to hide the slight twitches in her expression. “My standards are perfectly fine. Perhaps your prescription needs to be adjusted, you might not be seeing clearly.”
“I don't think you need to worry,” he sneered, eyes narrowed, a hint of self-satisfaction crept onto his face. “My glasses allow me to discern the quality of your standards just fine. You, however, might need your own pair.”
Her face scrunched for a second, she was straining to see something beyond the track.
“Actually… I think you might be onto something there,” she conceded. “Air Groove did scold me about squinting too much when we were talking earlier.”
Kazuki studied her for a moment. Eiko was the type to talk about nothing in particular, yet this felt different—deliberate rather than idle chitchat. Whatever they were talking about, he was involved somehow.
“Speaking of the ‘Empress’, you’re here on her behalf, aren’t you?”
Silence filled the space between the two. Eiko looked at Kazuki like a deer in headlights, a little dumbfounded.
“Was it that obvious?” she pouted. “Air Groove figured you'd be more receptive if I talked to you instead of her.”
Kazuki began to take a slow, careful sip of the chilled tea. The cold sweetness soothed for his tired frame, but it did very little for the growing pit in his stomach.
“Just to the point, we don't have all day.”
Eiko’s eyes wandered back to track in front of them. She seemed to allow the dead air to linger for a brief moment before speaking.
“…Tazuna-san and the student council have noted your lack of proactive engagement in scouting a trainee.” She remained motionless, her tone somber. “Should this pattern of behavior continue without sufficient justification, the academy will be left with no alternative but to terminate your employment.”
Kazuki’s hand clenched. Tension spread throughout his arm. He’d suspected as much, but the words still cut deeper than he’d expected.
“But luckily for you,” she continued, “you are the youngest trainer of this year’s cohort, which means that Director Akikawa is rather hesitant to let go of such a promising rookie. And that’s where I come in.”
“No.”
“Already? At least allow me to give you a sales pitch.” She winked, putting her palms together. “C’mon, give your beloved senpai a chance. I put a lot of effort into planning it”
Kazuki considered walking away from her without another word. Entertaining her any further would probably lead to trouble, yet walking away seemed just as likely to cause a bigger fuss. Both options looked grim… and he certainly didn’t want her following him around.
“...Fine.” He took another sip of his tea. Throat parched. “I’ll listen, but don’t expect me to change my answer.”
“You drive a hard bargain, but you’ll see,’ she said, pointing towards the race track.
Kazuki had missed the final leg of the mock race he had been watching. The staff were already preparing for the last race of the day. The sun had dipped lower. The afterglow now casted long, bruised-purple shadows across the track. The energy of the other observing trainers had shifted from the laid-back observation of the afternoon to the sharp, electric tension.
He had to wonder—who lurked in this race to cause Eiko and every other trainer around him to be on the edge of their seats? Whoever she was, the prospect seemed intriguing, at the very least.
“Number 7, Admire Groove,” Eiko whispered, her voice shedding its usual playful tone, hardening into that of a veteran. “She’s one of the most promising students currently under Air Groove’s wing, meaning she’s also under my wing too.”
He felt a familiar glaze cover his eyes. “Is that so? She must have some real talent to get everyone's attention.”
“At least pretend to be interested,” Eiko replied, her eyes honed on the Umamusume waiting at the gates. “Her times are nothing to scoff at.”
Eiko pulled a tablet from her bag, tapping it a few times until a detailed table filled the screen.
“Across 1600m, she was able to maintain a consistent pace of 12.1 seconds per furlong, and clocked 34.1 seconds in the final three.”
“That’s quite the remarkable spurt…” Kazuki muttered, reflexively dissecting the figures. “Still, that kind of finish only works if she’s well positioned going into the final leg, and even then, it hinges on a strong start.”
Eiko remained silent, yet her eyes sparkled with professional pride and a mentor’s excitement, a barely contained energy Kazuki tried to ignore. She was expecting too much from him.
“The data points to her having similar strengths to Air Groove—an exceptional late surger in medium distances. No wonder why there's a spotlight focused on her, she’s being seen as the first true protégé of the ‘Empress’. That being said…” Kazuki’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s the catch?”
Admire Groove appeared to possess immense talent and promise, and the numbers backed it up. Even so, he knew there had to be some issue with her. A rookie like him doesn’t get handed a girl like this on a silver platter.
Kazuki tried to read her expression. Eiko’s smile didn’t falter, but its remaining playful luster faded. Her gaze stayed fixated on her trainee as she stepped into the starting gate.
“Can’t slip anything past you, Museki-kun,” she admitted, slumping over the rail. “The catch is that Admire Groove is stoic to a fault. She doesn’t accept help—from anyone. She’ll follow my training plans, but she tacks on extra self-training instead of resting. Real piece of work."
By her presence alone, Admire Groove stood apart from the others at the gate. She remained enduringly frigid, allowing nothing to disturb her. The late sun only served to accentuate her dark, glacial blue hair.
“I don’t like her vibe. She seems a little too closed off for my tastes.”
“That’s precisely why you’re the right person for her,” Eiko countered softly. “You’re both cut from the same cloth. If anyone can get through to her, it’s you. I certainly can’t. ”
Kazuki didn’t respond.
“Are you feeling up to the challenge?”
“I’m not sure…” Kazuki said flatly. “She’s not what I am looking for, and besides, I am not fit to be the trainer of someone like her.”
“That was a terrible excuse,” she retorted, studying his face. “It feels like you’re inventing reasons to not train a girl. So tell me, what are you avoiding?”
Kazuki attempted to answer, his mouth ajar, yet his throat dried up. The words died before they could ever leave his mouth.
He didn't expect to be confronted so candidly.
“I’ve heard a rumor in the last few months,” Eiko broke the silence, her voice unusually soft. “Some trainers are whispering about a younger Umamusume—a real gem, they say. One to keep an eye on in the next few years.”
Kazuki's eyes widened with familiarity, then flickered toward her.
This wasn’t the Eiko he knew. Eiko’s presence had shifted into something heavier, more probing. It appeared like she had been prepared for how the situation unfolded. Her steady, unwavering focus seemed intent on unearthing something long buried.
“Despite her reputation, she’s been rejecting every scouting offer sent her way,” she continued. “From rookie trainers to elite veterans… She’s rejected all of them.”
The plastic bottle Kazuki held let out one last agonising sound before falling silent, collapsing into a broken form under the force of his hands.
“It’s almost as if she’s waiting for someone,” Eiko remarked, allowing a knowing silence to creep in. “Do you have any idea who that trainer might be?”
“I’m afraid no one comes to mind.” he replied, showing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
“That’s a shame,” she trailed off, her jovial tone returning. “I thought the ever perceptive Kazuki Museki would’ve known… I guess not.”
He needed to leave... Immediately.
"Right. Since I’ve survived your sales pitch, I’ll be taking my leave now. I have some paperwork I’ve neglected to complete," Kazuki said, pushing himself off the metal railing, each word heavy with pretence.
He didn’t wait for a response. He turned his back on the track, on Eiko, and on the cheers of the crowd. Each step away from the bleachers felt like trudging through his own thoughts.
"You have three weeks, Museki-kun!" Eiko called out after him, her voice booming over the crowd. "Three weeks! If you don't have a contract by then, I can't help you!"
Kazuki raised a hand in a dismissive wave, not looking back. His office was comfortable enough to offer a brief respite—one he badly needed.
“If you keep looking away, you’re going to miss the ones who see you first.”
The door to Kazuki’s office rattled softly as he pulled it shut behind him.
The sound was meek, thin, yet it reverberated throughout the room—deafening to his ears. He stood there seemingly waiting, hand still resting against the recessed handle. Who or what was he waiting for? Even he didn’t know.
With a muted click, the door settled into place, sealing him off from the noise of Tracen Academy. The cheers from the track were reduced to a distant murmur, easily ignored. The world outside continued to move forward at its usual pace, blissfully unaware that Kazuki Museki had reached the end of his rope.
His arm went limp, no longer strong enough to stay upright, and fell cleanly off the handle. No one was coming. Nothing was going to happen. It was just him—what was left of the man called Kazuki Museki.
A deep, bruised indigo engulfed his office. Scattered across the surface of his desk were all manner of materials Tracen provided to their staff. Piles of paperwork, training manuals, and race records—markers of work completed. There was no sign that anything had been neglected by Kazuki.
He managed to drag himself toward the chair behind his desk and collapsed into it. The springs groaned under the pressure of his weight, he let the chair roll a few centimeters before bumping softly into the wall. The impact was gentle, reminding him that he was still here. Still breathing. Still expected to do something with himself. Kazuki let his head fall back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
“...Three weeks, huh… What a fuckin’ mess. ” he uttered to no one, letting out a pathetic laugh. Every word he said tasted disgusting. Bitter.
As if his mind preyed upon his moment of weakness, Eiko’s voice permeated his mind—gentle, teasing and harrowingly perceptive for his comfort. His chest tightened. His head struck by a dull, persistent ache.
What are you avoiding?
He didn’t have to do this to himself. He was given the perfect lifeline—Admire Groove. Any other trainer would be beside themselves if they were given a talent like her. It didn’t even need to be her that he formed a contract with.
Anyone would have been good enough. Any name. Any face. Any Umamusume would have been fine. All that was needed from him was proof he was still a trainer, that he wasn’t just a burden to Tracen Academy.
So why? Why did the thought of getting a girl to sign a piece of paper destroy him on the inside?
Images forced their way to the forefront: a younger Umamusume standing beside him, her hair flowing with the wind; the echo of cleats hitting the turf; an eager promise, filled with hope. The memory jabbed sharply, a hidden bruise throbbing with each hit.
His eyes shot open violently.
“Please…” he begged, as though the thought had spoken. “No more.”
He raised his hands into view. Both were trembling, a faint numbness seeping through them. They refused to listen to him, and it was enough to irritate him.
Kazuki stood up, attempting to reorient himself, his breathing uneven. His legs felt terribly weak, and each step ended in a stumble. A short huff escaped from his nose. His cerebellum had decided to call in sick that day.
Once a sanctuary of serenity and productivity, the office had transformed into a bespoke prison, laden with deep indigo shadow. Kazuki leaned heavily on his desk, and each desperate attempt to remain upright sent tremors through its surface. The careful stacks of work materials destabilised with each tremor; the alignment of the stack became more and more uneven. And then—
FWUMP. THUD. CLINK.
The stacks had fallen victim to the whims of gravity.
Paperwork lay scattered across the floor. Training manuals and race records lay splayed open, the firm spines resisting the heavy impact. One sound had cut through the tar of his mind, the distinct clink of metal on the vinyl floor was unmistakable.
Among the sea of documents was a small, pristine, cacao brown notebook.
This notebook was bound in a soft paper-cloth material with subtle embossing. It was far from the premium leather-bound notebooks that were standard issue at Tracen Academy, yet it was still of excellent quality—affordable for a young student to purchase. A hollow clover brooch, coloured a light golden yellow, was attached to the string bookmark.
To anyone else, it was a trinket. To Kazuki, it was a physical manifestation of someone’s hope placed onto him.
He stared at the cacao brown notebook, remaining frozen for what felt like an eternity. The shadows of the room seemed to pool around it, highlighting the haunting, golden yellow lustre of the brooch. It looked out of place amidst the clinical, official documents of the Academy—too personal, too warm. The notebook had never been used, it meant too much to him.
Joining the wreckage made of his professional life, he knelt down and picked up the small brown softcover. Its small frame carried a surprising heft. His trembling hand reached out, fingers hovering mere centimeters above the cover.
He hesitated, and then picked up the notebook.
With an agonising apprehension, he opened the cover.
A single inscription lay in the center of the page, written in the careful, neat handwriting of a young girl who had diligently practiced her penmanship to make it easily legible.
For my amazing Kazu-nii. I want to see the beautiful view beyond the finish line with you by my side. No matter how long the journey may be, let’s reach the end together.
Kazuki let out a breath that was half sigh, half-sob. The emotions hidden in the back of his mind had escaped, now rushing out like water through an open dam. He felt his throat closing up… His eyes burned. Something unwelcome welled up within him.
Guilt. Shame. Contempt? It didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry…” he choked out, clutching the notebook to his chest. “I’m so sorry Buu-chan…”
Kazuki’s gaze lingered downward, lost in a trance. How long had he been in this position?
The moon had shifted its position in the sky, casting longer, faded shadows of the window frames across the floor. Time had evidently passed him by, yet Kazuki was eerily still. He remained kneeling, notebook still pressed to his torso, his consciousness left floating in a smog of fatigue and profound self-loathing. There were no more tears left to shed; his eyes stung.
~♪
A melody punctured through his silent prison. A foreign cacophony of synths and the hum of an oscillating theremin slowly crept into the room. It sounded like a transmission that came from a distant satellite that had caught an extraterrestrial signal. This was not any kind of music Kazuki had ever heard of. What was this music that filled his ears? It didn’t belong in the halls of Tracen Academy, nor did it belong in the grief-stricken silence of Kazuki’s self-imposed exile.
His eyes had regained their life, opening wide open. Kazuki’s grip on the notebook tightened. His heart, previously heavy and sluggish, began to drum a feverised beat against the strange melody.
The heavy, stifling atmosphere of the office was consumed by this alien rhythm. The melody didn't just play—it vibrated. It was cosmic, synthetic and utterly defiant of the nocturnal silence. He didn’t need the acute senses of an Umamusume to tell that the sounds came from above—the roof of the academy.
The office clock read 9:46 pm. No one was supposed to be on the roof at this time of night.
Kazuki forced himself to stand up. His legs were weak and unsteady, the wobbling eventually stifled by the adrenaline coursing through him. Sheer, perplexed curiosity had burned away anything left on his mind.
He left the notebook on his desk. The remnants of his struggle, strewn across the floor, remained untouched.
Compelled by an invigorating surge of curiosity, Kazuki navigated the moonlit hallways like a man possessed—each movement charged with frantic haste. He made a hushed detour to secure a rooftop master key.
The cold metal of the master key bit into Kazuki’s palm as he took the final flight of stairs.
With each step higher, the music beckoned him. It was no longer a distant, ghostly transmission.
Now it surged, a pulsing tide of electronic sound that seeped into every fiber of his being.
Opening the door had an unearthly smoothness. There was no resistance, no screech of metal, only a silent slide that coaxed Kazuki to proceed.
A sharp, biting wind replaced the stagnant air of the staircase, bearing the aroma of distant turf. But more than the air, the melody had no more barriers to overcome. Up here, under the vast eye of the moon, each note was untethered by unnecessary distortions.
Kazuki stepped onto the flat expanse of the rooftop, his breath catching in his throat. The sight that unraveled before him was surreal; his mind was perfectly tranquil—devoid of any superfluous inhibition.
There stood a lone ethereal figure clad in a stark white collared dress, whose sleeves enveloped her arms. Her deep ocean-blue eyes were fixed on the canopy of stars shimmering in the sky, their light illuminating her wavy blonde hair that hid a light cyan undercoat—an Umamusume…
Was this girl really one? The ears were unmistakable, yet their shape felt wrong—closer to antennae than ears. And even then, no Umamusume should have been capable of leaping onto the roof of a locked school building. Who, or what, was this girl?
The figure raised her arms to the sky as though she were offering herself to an indiscernible cosmos.
Kazuki’s breathing hitched, forcing a long swallow, followed by a deep breath.
“Excuse me…” he said, words wavering.
“…‘Communication’,” the girl said, ceasing her movement. Her eyes fixed sharply on Kazuki, her gaze piercing straight through him—indescribably cold.
An otherworldly air surrounded her; the sight of her sent chills down Kazuki’s spine. It felt as if she could see the entirety of his being, her eyes comprehending truths far beyond him.
“Would you like to try it? ‘Communication’ with Neo Universe,” she said, her voice soft and uniform, akin to a whisper. Slowly, she lifted her hands, bringing her index fingers toward each other. “If it’s… ‘INTI’ by you.”
Her words rang in his head. Neo Universe’s language was peculiar, but the meaning slipped through anyway, as if his mind were translating it without his permission—it seemed she was asking if he wanted to speak with her. The more she spoke, the more his curiosity grew. Any sense of rationality was eclipsed by his desire to know more.
So Kazuki spoke, seeking answers. “What are you doing on this school’s roof?”
“Neo Universe’s ‘disconnection’... I was trying to restore it.” she replied. “The current scale that rings… is one of my [Favourites]. When it resonates deep within, it brings me [Peace].
Whatever Neo Universe intended to say, the meaning slipped through to him. Standing before Neo Universe felt like standing at the edge of a precipice overlooking a galaxy he wasn’t meant to see. All he could catch was the sense that this place soothed her. Was it the music? It seemed to belong to her—perhaps playing through some unseen device.
Before Kazuki could respond, Neo Universe spoke. “You are designated… ‘mentor’. Are you a… [Trainer]?”
Kazuki took a breath, the rooftop’s biting air helping to anchor his drifting thoughts. The word “trainer” felt like a jagged piece of glass in his throat. It was a title he didn’t feel worthy to wear, like a costume that no longer fit.
"I am," he said, his voice stronger than it had been in the office, but still carrying the remnants of exhaustion. "The name's Kazuki Museki."
“Trainer Museki…” Neo Universe muttered. “If you are a complementary existence… Then you are what I wish to ‘seek’. ‘Observation’ of a ‘competition’... No, it’s more than mere ‘observation’”.
She seemed to struggle with her words, as if she couldn’t quite convey what she meant. He understood that she wanted to compete… Since she looked like an Umamusume, was she asking him to become her trainer for the Twinkle Series? Was she a student?
Before he could speak again, Neo Universe stepped closer, moving with a strange, weightless grace as if she were barely tethered to the concrete. The synthetic hum of the music appeared to vibrate in rhythm with both her pulse and Kazuki’s.
“First, to ‘manifest.’ To be ‘seen’,” she continued, each word carrying a vague meaning. “Without that requirement, [I] can’t ‘get on track’.”
Neo Universe stepped back, the white fabric of her dress billowing in a sudden gust of wind, yet she remained perfectly still. Her deep blue eyes drifted away from Kazuki, returning to the vast, obsidian canvas above. He watched her intently, his mind struggling to keep pace with her abstract vocabulary.
Kazuki opened his mouth once more to speak, but the words died in his throat. The alien rhythm in the air surged to a sharp, crystalline peak, shaking through his bones until his vision blurred for a fraction of a second.
He blinked.
The music had vanished, leaving only the mundane whistle of the wind and the distant, rhythmic chirping of cicadas from the world below.
The rooftop was empty.
There were no footsteps. No rustle of fabric. No trace of Neo Universe. Only a distortion where she once stood. Moonlight bathed the flat expanse of the roof, illuminating nothing but tepid stone and the shadows of the vents.
Kazuki stood alone in the silence, his hand instinctively rising to his chest as his heart hammered feverishly. For the first time in months, he was lucid. A singular question burned into his synapses.
Did she exist—or was this the first thing in months that made him want to find out?