Chapter Text

A Bouquet for My Late Trainer

Naki Trainer-kun ni Hanataba wo

Author: Alice Hatter Original: Pixiv Novel #14963085 Published: 2021-05-19 Tags: Uma Musume, Agnes Tachyon, Trainer, TakiMoru, Death Fic

Author's Preface:

Thank you as always for reading. This piece is a continuation from my previous Uma Musume SS. It compiles fragments posted to Twitter that didn't make it into the previous work's (novel/14942839) Tachyon collection.

This is the story of a Trainer who has been diagnosed with a terminal illness and given limited time to live, and Tachyon on the eve of the URA Finals — a tale of doomed love. It is written primarily from the Trainer's perspective, with the latter half shifting to Tachyon's point of view. There are references to the training scenarios and main story, but almost no race descriptions.

The Trainer is written as a young man, though the first-person pronoun "watashi" is used so that the character can also be read as female.

There may be places where speech patterns or personalities differ from canon, so if that bothers you, please feel free to click away.

"—Huh? Doctor, what did you just—"

Cold sweat crept down his spine. His hands trembled with a cocktail of dread and despair, his mouth already going dry.

"I said... 'half a year, at best.' The disease has already progressed considerably through your body."

The doctor flicked his hand in a lazy, tired wave — the gesture of a man who'd answered the same question too many times — and read the words off the electronic chart aloud.

An unfamiliar disease name. No matter how many times he heard it, it sounded foreign, a string of kanji so dense he couldn't commit it to memory. The only words he could parse from the explanation were heart and lungs. That, apparently, was what was killing him.

"Ha... haha..."

A dry, hollow laugh scraped out of his throat. He slammed his clenched fist against his knee hard enough to bruise, trying to channel the frustration somewhere, anywhere. People said that in moments like these, you saw something like your life flash before your eyes. But the only thing filling his head was her — and the way she ran.

"Tachyon..."

He'd become her Trainer. Together, they'd dedicated themselves to chasing superluminal speed — not just through daily workouts, but through research, through experiments, through every angle they could find. And now this. A death sentence, dropped right in the middle of it all. They were supposed to spend three full years side by side, working toward the URA Finals as their first great milestone. Three years of lockstep partnership.

This is my own failure. A Trainer was supposed to manage not just his horse girl's condition but his own. He'd neglected his health — that much he knew, somewhere in the marrow of it. No amount of regret could undo what had already rooted inside him. Frustration, grief, rage, despair — every emotion he could name had seized hold of him at once and wouldn't let go.

"I'll be informing Tazuna-san about this..."

The doctor continued laying out the facts — there's nothing we can do, it's a miracle you've survived this long, medication can stave off the suffering but won't buy you more time — and none of it stuck. Not a single word found purchase in his mind.

The only two things anchored there were these: Don't tell her. And: Even if it kills me — watch her win the URA Finals.

✦   ✦   ✦

"So you intend to continue as her Trainer until the very end. And she is not to be told. Is that correct?"

Back at the academy, surrounded by Tazuna, the Chairperson, and a handful of other staff, he met Tazuna's question with a firm nod before speaking.

"Yes. If she found out, she'd almost certainly start researching my illness between training sessions. I want to see her run — truly run, at superluminal speed — before I die."

My situation is beside the point. It's better if only a few people know. Rattling her with his personal problems, costing her results — he couldn't face himself as a Trainer if he let that happen. And more than that, it would sadden her. It would corner her. What mattered above everything else was simple: if Tachyon could prove on the racetrack that she was the greatest horse girl alive, then he could die without regret.

"...Understood. If there's anything I can do to help... please don't hesitate to ask. I'm sure I can be of some use."

"Thank you. Now — I'd better get back to training. I need to make up for the time I spent at the hospital."

His body, to put it plainly, was falling apart. He kept his expression neutral, but every breath came short, every heartbeat landed wrong. Still — smile like always. Keep the energy up.

He knocked on her door and eased it open. Inside, Tachyon sat hunched over her research, sipping tea that had clearly gone cold a long time ago.

"Oh, Trainer. Welcome back. You certainly took your time — but don't make that face. I've been busy continuing our previous research, and I was quite absorbed in—" Her rapid-fire monologue stuttered to a halt mid-sentence. Those bright eyes had been scanning a sheaf of notes in one hand while she gestured with the other, but now they fixed on him, traveling slowly from the top of his head to his chest and back again. "...What's wrong?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"You looked sad, just now. Something in your face. It's not like you." She blinked, then snapped her fingers. "Ah — that reminds me. I prepared this yesterday. This dru— I mean, beverage. Drink it. It'll blow away your fatigue and probably a good chunk of your memories too. Far beyond anything as pedestrian as restorative tonic."

Her version of comfort, apparently. Tachyon's face lit up with that particular glow of scientific enthusiasm as she pulled a bottle of luminous yellow liquid from the mini-fridge beside her experiment bench and thrust it toward him.

"O-oh... thanks. I'll take it."

It smelled — actually, it just smelled like tropical juice. Normal enough. But the way it shone... that unnerving, almost radioactive brightness. Last time one of these made my whole body glow for hours...

I've only got about six more months of being her guinea pig.

The thought landed with a quiet, sideways sort of grief, and before he knew what he was doing — something he'd never done before — he tipped the bottle back and drained it in one go.

"My, my. Quite the bold display today, Guinea Pig. Hmm, how admirable, how admirable..." She nodded to herself with an air of supreme satisfaction. "Report your symptoms in writing five minutes after finishing, would you?"

With that, she settled back into her chair and resumed her research. Her ears flicked — pyoko, pyoko — in that telltale rhythm he'd come to recognize. She was hungry. He hadn't been able to prepare a bento for her since yesterday morning. He'd have to make something special. Something really good.

...But first, the lunchbox needed washing. He could use the sink right here.

He pulled the dish soap from the shelf beside the drying rack — the one cluttered with test tubes and beakers — and ran the sponge gently over her bento box. How many more times will I get to cook for her? Before he died, he wanted to figure out exactly what she liked, nail down every preference, and make her the most nutritious, most delicious bento she'd ever eaten.

He'd just finished cleaning up and was heading for the kitchen when her voice stopped him. He turned only his head to look back at her.

"It's been five minutes. Time for that report, Trainer— oh. Have you noticed? Look in that mirror over there."

"Huh?"

"It should calm down in about an hour, so don't panic."

"But that'll make lunch late."

"Wha— no! That simply won't do, Trainer! Everyone's used to seeing you glow gold by now — go make it immediately! Hurry, hurry!"

She clapped her hands, shooing him out. The scene was so achingly normal that it pressed down on him like a weight he couldn't name.

"What are you hesitating for? Hur-ry up and go make it al-rea-dy~"

"Alright, alright."

When she got like this, there was no arguing. ...Not that he minded. It was part of her charm, honestly.

✦   ✦   ✦

"Trainer, have you been dieting lately?"

The question came some time after the diagnosis.

"Wh-why do you ask?"

"You can't tell? You're visibly thinner — gaunt, even. There's no life in your face. Your cheekbones are sharper than they used to be. Crash dieting is poison for the body, you know. If you want to lose weight efficiently, you should—"

He let her lecture continue, turning his head just enough to study his own reflection in the mirror. One hand rose to his cheek. He hadn't been eating less since the diagnosis — not consciously — but the weight was falling off him regardless. He'd managed to hide it for a while, but once the cheekbones started jutting out, there was no disguising it.

"Oh — yeah, I've been a little worried about my weight. Think I overdid it at dinner a few times, started noticing my stomach... Thanks for the concern. I'll be more careful."

"...Is that so? Well, if you say so. But Trainer — I appreciate your dedication to me, but if you collapse, it all falls apart. Take care of yourself."

"Hahah..." He scratched the back of his head and forced a laugh. Was it convincing? Did it look natural, or did it come out crooked? She didn't seem suspicious, but there was always a chance one of her experiments would reveal something off. He just had to keep dodging.

"Right — enough talk, Trainer. Track, forty laps today, then swimming for stamina. Let's get to it!"

She stood, and his hand moved on its own — reaching out, settling palm-down on the top of Tachyon's head before he realized what he'd done. He snatched it back.

"Petting my head out of nowhere... you really are acting strangely today. Not that I minded."

"Ah— sorry. Got distracted. Let's go."

Her stride was beautiful. Superluminal particle — Tachyon. A name made flesh in her speed, her burst, her form. Every element refined to a degree that made him want to watch forever.

A blink, and the perfected arc of her run was behind her. He could only watch it for five more months. Next month, the URA would begin. He needed his body to hold out until the very end — but the strain was mounting, undeniable now.

She finished her target laps and walked toward him, still catching her breath. She looked nothing like the girl he'd first met. Stronger, sharper, more polished in every way.

A gust of wind — sudden and sweeping — wrapped around the two of them. A flock of birds startled from a nearby tree and scattered upward into a sky so blue it ached.

"...What's wrong, Trainer?"

"Hm?"

"You're crying. Smiling and crying at the same time."

Am I? No — that was ridiculous. He wasn't — then why was the world blurring at its edges?

Because he'd never see this again? Because he couldn't stand beside her and sharpen her running any further? Because he'd lose every memory they'd made? Because he'd lose her? ...No. All of it. Every reason at once.

"Snff... hk— hahah... that's weird. Must've gotten something in my eye..."

He turned away, dragging his jacket sleeve across his face to hide the tears. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, knew it was wrong, but the tears kept coming — pouring out, oblivious to his will.

"A-are you really alright, Trainer? Maybe we should stop for today—"

Even she'd gone serious now, watching him with open worry in her eyes. But stopping the session wasn't an option. He'd never forgive himself.

"No, I'm fine. Let's keep going. The tears will stop eventually — but I never want you to stop."

"...Was that supposed to be clever? Fine, have it your way. If you insist, then by all means, let's continue. Swimming's next — I've done quite a bit of research on optimal movement patterns. One theory suggests that—"

He listened to her eager lecture and volleyed his own thoughts back. By the time they'd walked all the way to the pool, debating the whole way, the tears had dried.

The hemoptysis was bad today. Maybe it was because he'd woken unusually early. Or maybe the disease had eaten further into him than he'd thought. Every time he tried to take a deep breath, his lungs refused — the air hitching, catching, never quite reaching where it needed to go. Two weeks until the URA. Two weeks until the moment that mattered most, and here he was, coughing blood in the dark.

He forced the prescribed pills down with shaking hands, chasing them with water, and waited until the tremor in his chest eased by a fraction. The only sound in the pitch-black room was the tick-tick-tick of the clock. While I still can — I should write down everything I know. Trainer's notes, compiled into something she could use after he was gone. Some proof that he'd been here. His hands were shaking badly, but a pencil would do...

"Morning, Tachyon."

"Ah, Trainer. Good morning. You're up awfully early today."

He'd caught her in the hallway, just as the academy was beginning to stir. She rubbed her eyes, still half-asleep, and took a sip from a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee.

"Set my alarm wrong — two hours early."

Every word she spoke, he savored now. Pressed each syllable into his memory like a flower between pages. Even the throwaway conversations were bonds, were memories — were theirs.

"Your breathing's elevated. Did you take the stairs two at a time?"

"Yeah, something like that... Couldn't wait to see you."

He covered for the labored breathing the way he always did — with a smile, with deflection — and then a spike of pain lanced through his temple and his eyes squeezed shut.

"Oh, Trainer! Good morning."

Tazuna stopped to greet him. He opened his mouth to respond, and the hallway warped. The floor tilted. The walls bent. His chest seized, his skull screamed, and by the time he understood what was happening, his body had already crumpled to the floor.

"Trainer! Hey! What happened — answer me, answer me!"

He could hear Tachyon shouting, could hear the panic bleeding through her voice — but he couldn't move a finger, couldn't form a word. The only sounds that reached him were his own rattling breath and a heartbeat hammering far too fast, far too loud, drumming against the inside of his skull as consciousness slipped away.

"—! Trainer, are you alright?"

Where...? He'd collapsed in the hallway, and then...

"Tazuna...san?"

She nodded when he murmured her name, offering him that familiar, warm smile.

So I finally went down. He'd felt terrible all morning, and his body had simply... given out.

"You've been unconscious for three days, Trainer. How do you feel?"

He nodded back to her. Three days of sleep — or maybe the medication — had smoothed the worst of the pain. His body felt more stable than it had in weeks. He could probably get back to training right away. Training — right. How was she? What had happened to—

"Tachyon found out about your illness, didn't she?"

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the whisper of wind through the window were the only sounds in the hospital room. Just the two of them.

"Yes. She was at your side the entire time you were being transported. When your heart stopped briefly during the ambulance ride, she never let go of your hand. After you were admitted, the doctor explained everything to her—"

My heart stopped? He really had been on the edge. Hearing that Tachyon hadn't released his hand, he looked down at his own. On the back of it, faint crescent-shaped scratches — marks her nails had left when she'd gripped him.

"I see... Where is she now?"

"At the academy. She's been locked in her research room since that day."

He had to go. She was almost certainly abandoning her own training to obsess over his condition. And that — that was the one thing he couldn't allow.

"Tazuna-san. I need to go."

"...I had a feeling you'd say that. You've been cleared, technically, but if you push too hard, next time it really will be—"

"I'll be fine. Her experiments have toughened me up. It'll take more than this to kill me — and I can't die until I see her win the URA."

"—Right! Let me call someone to help."

. . .

He walked the silent corridors of the late-night academy, each footfall deliberate and heavy, until the door he knew so well came into view. Always open — except tonight. He knocked on its heavy, muted surface, and pushed it inward.

Inside, in the middle of the night, Tachyon sat hunched over a stack of thick medical texts, turning pages with desperate speed.

"Tachyon..."

She hadn't reacted to the door. But at the sound of his voice, she whipped around.

"Oh— oh, Trainer!"

The girl who had never flinched at anything — who met every situation with that cool, amused composure — launched herself from her chair and ran at him. He caught her, stumbled, and they both went down, his back hitting the floor.

In his arms, she was shaking. Tears welled in her eyes as she pounded her small fist against his chest.

"Why didn't you tell me? I'm your partner — your horse girl. Aren't I?"

I'm sorry.

"When you collapsed and started coughing blood... when your heart stopped in the ambulance... that was when I finally understood what all the changes meant. The weight loss, the crying, the shortness of breath — all of it. All of it!"

I'm so sorry I kept it from you.

"Why? Why, Trainer? Was it because you don't trust me? After more than two years of walking this road together, you still think I'm—"

Tears streamed down her face, unchecked, unwiped. She shouted, she pleaded, she poured out everything she'd been holding.

"Say something, Trainer..."

"—I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry for keeping silent. I thought that if I told you, you'd do exactly this — drop everything to try and save me."

"And what's wrong with wanting to do something for you?"

"That's not — that's not what I mean. You've been undefeated this whole time. I want to see you win the URA and show the world the greatest run — the superluminal run. So please. Don't spend your time on me. Promise me. Promise me you won't research my illness — that you'll devote every last moment to perfecting your own speed."

Everything he'd done since the diagnosis — dragging his ruined body to every training session, grinding through the pain — had been for this. To see her run, to support her research. Disease or no disease, he'd made his choice the day he became her Trainer: his life was hers. And yes — God, yes, he wanted to live longer, wanted to see whatever came after the URA. The fact that he couldn't burned like an open wound. But if he could watch her cross every finish line with a smile — that was enough.

"Those eyes..." She searched his face. Then, slowly, the trembling stilled. "Alright. I promise. I'll show you the most breathtaking view you've ever seen."

Their gazes locked, her face still tilted up from inside his arms. They held there — a long, suspended moment — before she pulled herself free, wiped her tears on her sleeve, brushed the dust from her clothes, and tossed the medical textbook she'd been reading onto a random pile.

"I've lost quite a bit of time, but... I ran some simulations for the URA preliminaries. Would you look at my notes?"

Yes. This is it. Watching her chase the edge of speed, being the person who held the stopwatch and the notes and the faith — this was what he loved.

The night before the URA Finals. Tachyon pushed his wheelchair — his legs had stopped working weeks ago, all sensation gone below the waist, standing and walking now impossibilities — across the moonlit grounds.

Just the two of them beneath the stars.

My time is almost up. He could feel it, the way you feel a season turning. His arms still worked. His voice still worked. But the legs that had once run alongside her — nothing. Not even a ghost of feeling.

"Tomorrow's the day. You won two body-lengths clear in both the prelims and semis, so I think we're in good shape, but..."

"Don't worry, Trainer. I'll win. I've analyzed every possible scenario and honed every skill I need. I won't lose."

She said it with the kind of clarity that left no room for doubt — a declaration aimed as much at herself as at him. Those sharp, resolute eyes pinned him where he sat.

This conversation might be our last. Was there anything left to say—

"Tachyon. I'm glad I met you. I'm so, so glad I met you. You've made me happy."

"...We haven't even won yet and you're talking like this is goodbye."

"No — that's exactly why I want to say it now. I really... I wish I could've stayed by your side forever."

She said nothing. She would usually fire back a dry hmm or a wry comment, something barbed and warm at the same time — but tonight, Tachyon only kept pushing his chair in silence, wheeling him through the academy grounds without a word.

"—And taking first place: Agnes Tachyon!"

The URA Finals. True to her word, she demolished the field — a margin so vast it bordered on cruel. From the gate she'd maneuvered into perfect position, accelerated through the curve without losing a beat, and on the homestretch, with lungs full and legs blazing, she'd unfurled that devastating final kick. Superluminal speed, made real and undeniable. From start to finish, she'd been the most commanding presence on the track. Three years of accumulated experience and hard-won wisdom, compressed into a single flawless run. Every race she'd entered across three years — won. An undefeated record, spotless and complete.

She left the track and ascended the stage.

The opening bars of Umapyoi Densetsu crashed through the venue and the crowd erupted. Tachyon and her fellow performers burst onto stage in a blaze of color and sound.

He forced his dead legs to move — not walking, not even close, just rocking his whole body to the rhythm — and when she blew a kiss to the crowd, when her choreography hit its peak, he realized tears were already streaming down his face. Unstoppable. Every memory they'd shared bloomed in his chest and then dissolved into nothing, spiraling away into some void beyond reach.

So this is what they mean by your life flashing before your eyes.

The curtain fell. Silence reclaimed the venue. The audience trickled out toward their homes, and he sat there, fighting for each breath, waiting for her to come down from the stage.

"—Congratulations, Tachyon."

"Thank you, Trainer. You look like you're in real pain, though... Are you alright?"

"Yeah, it's... actually pretty bad. But I'm fine. If I'm going — I want it to be tomorrow. Today, I just want to feel you. All of you. Everything."

"Hmm." The corners of her lips twitched — not quite her usual smirk. "...Then let's head back to the room. I have new research to begin, after all."

She said it lightly, casually, as if nothing were ending. But her hands — gripping the hem of her own shirt, knuckles white, trembling — and her teeth, pressed hard into her lower lip, told a different story.

I'll never forget this. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to the day they'd first met.

"Tachyon... thank you."

"—Yeah."

✦   ✦   ✦

He died the day after I won the URA. We exchanged a few small, ordinary words, and then he slipped away — softly, like falling asleep. The image of it has seared itself behind my eyes and refuses to fade. He was the best partner I could have asked for, inseparable, the support beneath everything, family in all but name. Even now, long after losing him, the hollow inside me hasn't shrunk at all.

"I really did think you were just a guinea pig, you know... Turns out you were something else entirely."

Truly. For the loss of him to hurt this much... damn it. If I'm being honest — close my eyes and he's right there, that's how far gone I am. I should have said it. I had every chance, and I never did, not once, not until the very end.

The day he died, Tazuna-san pressed a journal into my hands. Reading it, I learned for the first time just how brutal those final months had really been. Regret is useless now and I know that, but the grief and the agony and the rage at my own helplessness have knotted themselves into something I can only expel as a low, animal groan. Keep running. Keep chasing the limit. Those were his last words to me, and I owe it to him to honor them — so I've shut myself in the research room, but my thoughts keep fogging over, scattering before I can pin them down. My head is full of feeling now. Emotion has colonized every corner of me.

On the desk, the bento box sits untouched. Inside it — the midnight snack he'd made the night before he died.

"I'm hungry..."

But it's too soon to eat that. If I could, I'd freeze it, preserve it, keep it edible forever.

Well. Another day of blending something tasteless and choking it down, then.

"Tachyon-sa~n?"

She'd risen from her chair and was cleaning the framed photograph of him on her desk when the door swung wide.

"Scarlet. What brings you here?"

Daiwa Scarlet peered inside, scanning the room with cautious, darting eyes. Something in Tachyon's expression must have spooked her, because the moment she spotted her, Scarlet flinched and began to pull back.

"Wait. You came here for a reason, didn't you?"

"Y-yes... um, one of the instructors was looking for you, Tachyon-san?"

Ah, another lecture, no doubt. "Don't worry about it. Do as you please" — that's what he always told her. Trainer... oh. That reminds me.

"Scarlet. You're heading outside after this, aren't you? Would you mind taking this bouquet of roses to Trainer's grave for me?"

"Oh— I mean, sure, but... shouldn't you be the one to—"

"I'll go too, later. I want to go right now, believe me, but I—"

"Then all the more reason for you to—"

"Just take them. Go on, hurry."

"W-wait, don't push—"

She shoved the bouquet of three hundred and sixty-five red roses into Scarlet's arms and shut the door behind her.

He left me research to finish. She muttered it under her breath like a mantra — and the moment Scarlet's footsteps faded, the dam broke. Tears surged up without warning. She bit down on her lip to stop them. They didn't stop.

A beat later, the embarrassment hit — she'd handed the flowers off to Scarlet because she couldn't bear to deliver their meaning herself, couldn't stand the vulnerability of it — and regret flooded in hot on its heels.

She wrenched the door open and shouted down the hall.

"Scarlet! ...Wh— why are you standing right outside the door?!"

"W-well... I forgot to tell you something. Here — the bouquet. I'm giving it back. See you later."

Scarlet pressed the enormous bundle of roses back into Tachyon's arms, smiled — something gentle and knowing — and jogged away down the corridor.

Tachyon watched her go, then dragged her sleeve across her eyes.

His grave stood on a low hill just a short walk from Tracen Academy. From where the stone was placed, you could see the training grounds below — as though he were still watching over the horse girls who ran there.

"Hey, Trainer. It's been a while, hasn't it? Since that day, I think. I have a lot I want to tell you, but today I brought you flowers."

"You think it's not like me? Hahah... maybe not. But these red roses — they say what I — no. What I mean is—"

She set the bouquet before the headstone, and spoke to him. Her guinea pig. The one who'd endured every experiment without complaint. Who'd shown up to every training session. Who'd packed her lunch every single day. Who'd thought of her — every single day.

"I — 'miss you, every single day.'"

That was all she wanted to say to the person she loved most, sleeping now beneath cold stone. Thank you. She would keep her promise — keep researching, keep pushing past the limit, keep running.

"Watch over me from here, won't you... Trainer?"

A bouquet for my late Trainer — may happiness find you, wherever you are, my dearest partner.