Chapter Text
“Shibuya Station” is what the sign above her read. She looked at her phone to check the directions.
“So if I’m at Shibuya…” she muttered, finger sliding up and down her screen.
“...that means I’m lost,” she sighed, the ears atop her jet-black hair folding flat against her skull. She pocketed her phone, grabbed tight the straps of her backpack, and made her way down the winding tunnels of Shibuya’s metro station. There was a map showing all the train lines that she passed by. Maybe that will help her get to where she needs to go.
“So somehow I need to get to the red line,” she said, arms crossed and head tilted as she stared at the map.
“After that I need to take a bus to Tracen, right?” she asked herself, pulling out her phone to check.
“...yeah. I need to go to Roppongi and then…uh…”
Her tail, as black as her hair, swished behind her in a slovenly fashion while she tried to visualise her route.
“...what the Hell is a Mita and why does it have a line?”
“Trying to get to Tracen?” someone by her side asked her. She looked up from her phone and saw a girl who seemed to be around her age, with long, flowing chestnut hair that reached down to her lower back, a sort of elegance to its wildness that she couldn’t quite describe. The ears and tail told her that she was an uma, just like her.
“Yeah,” she answered, turning to her fully, her short ponytail swaying as she did so.
“Then it seems like we’re on the same path,” chuckled the other uma.
“Thank the goddesses,” she sighed, a wave of relief washing over her.
“I think I got lost like five times trying to get to it.”
“Yes, Tokyo is quite large,” she laughed airily.
“Katsuragi Ace,” she said, pumping her fist out towards the other girl, earning her yet another chuckle.
“Mr. C.B. Pleased to meet you,” she said, bringing her fist to her and lightly bumping it.
“So, got any ideas how to get there?”
“Oh, I was just going to run there.”
Katsuragi Ace blinked twice.
“It’s not that far.”
“It’s a couple of miles,” countered Ace.
“It’s not like I’m going to sprint there,” she laughed.
“And the weather is just perfect for running, wouldn’t you agree?”
“We’re underground.”
“All the more reason to go outside and run!”
“By the way,” Ace asked as she swept her gaze around C.B.
“Where’s your things?”
“Right here,” she answered, pointing to the beige and navy blue jeans she was wearing.
“No, I mean your stuff. The things you’re bringing to school with you?”
“Right here,” she repeated, once again pointing at herself and the white shirt on her torso.
“No, but surely you must have a backpack or something,” said Ace, once again looking around the two of them.
“Don’t need one,” said Mr. C.B.
“What do you mean you don’t need one?” she asked, baffled beyond belief by this woman.
“What about a change of clothes? And bathroom stuff?”
“I’ll just buy or borrow that when I need it,” she said, waving her hand dismissively, and Ace couldn’t believe how this woman’s brain worked.
“You really are something else, aren’t you?” she muttered.
“So, what do you say?” C.B. suddenly asked.
“Huh?”
“Feel like running?”
“To Tracen?”
“Where else, silly?” laughed C.B.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Well, suit yourself,” she shrugged, and took off running away from her, gracefully navigating the crowd of people.
“See you at Tracen!” she called out behind her, leaving a stunned Ace to simply stare at her back.
“...hey, wait up! You’re going to hurt someone!” she called out as she began to run after her.
A knock on the door of his office startled him from his unfocused daydreaming.
“Go away!” he called out, hoping but knowing that his demand would be ignored. His intuition proved to be correct once again, as the doorknob turned and the door opened. Inside stepped a man in a tan suit and an ironed shirt, holding a blue folder.
“Got a minute?” asked the man, tucking his free hand into his pocket.
“No,” he answered, turning back to look at his laptop.
“No, as in you don’t have a minute or no, as in you want to avoid talking?”
“Whichever one means no,” he murmured.
“Well, normally, no means no. But I’m afraid you won’t get rid of me that easily,” said the man as he waved the folder in front of his face.
“Come on, five minutes.”
“The colour of that folder tells me that it will most certainly take more than five minutes.”
“Fine, I lied. Thirty minutes,” said the man as he continued to wave the folder. He groaned and quickly snatched it from his hand.
“Don’t glare at me like that. Not like you’re doing anything important.”
With a huff, he opened the folder and scanned it quickly with his eyes.
“...I’m not taking any trainees,” he said simply as he snapped the folder closed and tried to hand it back to the other man.
“It’s been five years, Katsu,” said the man, leaning on the edge of the desk and steadfastly ignoring the folder being handed to him.
“Well, it’s nice to know you passed kindergarten. Counting past three is difficult for you,” said Katsu as he insisted on pushing the folder to the other man. He didn’t budge, simply staring at him with an unimpressed look before Katsu finally relented and opened the folder once again.
“What am I looking at exactly?” he asked as he read the name on the file.
“Katsuragi Ace.”
“Your new trainee. Got here directly from Hokkaido. She’s over at the track with all the other newbies and all the other trainers looking to scout some talent.”
Katsu merely hummed in response, paying his friend only half of his attention while reading over the statistics in the file.
“...she’s lacklustre,” he eventually said, hand gingerly rubbing his knee.
“Well, that’s certainly one way of putting it,” scoffed the other man.
“Her numbers tell me otherwise,” he countered, throwing the file onto his desk.
“Her times are slow on longer distances, and she’s too slow for sprints. An uma like that would only win one race per year,” he explained and then went back to stare at his laptop.
“Doesn’t mean she doesn’t have potential,” argued the other man, taking the file and thumbing through it.
“I think with a good trainer, she could perform better than expected.”
“Why do you care?” Katsu suddenly asked.
“If you’re so interested, why don’t you train her? Surely, the great Masato Kojima could win at least one G1 with her.”
“A favour,” answered Kojima.
“Her old trainer, an old school friend, asked me if I could take her.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Can’t, already have one scouted.”
“You can’t train two at the same time?”
“It’s more that I want to place all of my focus on this one.”
Katsu raised an eyebrow at him.
“You’ll see,” shrugged Kojima.
“Well, pity for you and pity for her then,” said Katsu as he stood up from his chair and limped over to the coffee pot in the corner of the room.
“Yes, it would be quite tragic for her, wouldn’t it?”
“Umas get dropped all the time,” said Katsu with a shrug as he poured two mugs of coffee.
“Not everyone gets in on their first try. I’m sure next year, someone will pick her.”
“See, I thought that too,” said Kojima in that annoying tone of his. The one he used when he was playing smug. It grated his ears, and he knew it.
He filled one of the cups with coffee to the halfway point and then filled the other half with milk. He thought about spitting into it, for good measure.
“But then I remembered that there’s somebody I know who owes me a favour.”
He pushed his fingers into his eyes and let out an internal groan.
“A certain someone who hasn’t had a trainee in five years? A certain Katsuichi Nakanowatari?”
Katsu finally turned to glare at the other man, who stood there, leaning on his desk with his arms crossed and a self-satisfied grin on his face.
“Ring any bells?”
“...why am I friends with you again?” asked Katsuichi, limping over to him and handing him coffee with milk.
“It’s been five years,” said Kojima, his voice now something more serious. He couldn’t tell which one he hated more.
“You keep repeating that,” he murmured as he moved to stand in front of his office window and glare at the outside world as if it personally offended him.
“And I’ll keep repeating it. They can fire you if you don’t do your job, you know,” he said, taking a sip from his mug.
“I’m here from nine to five.”
“Yes, and I see you’re very productive,” he said, waving to the game of solitaire on his laptop.
“The only reason the director hasn’t fired you yet is because of your seminars.”
He turned around to face his friend once again.
“She’s a frontrunner,” he added and his heart suddenly felt heavier.
“Don’t you think it's time you moved on?” he asked softly, as if he were afraid to even bring up the subject. Under normal circumstances, he would have most likely poured his coffee on him.
He was half tempted to still do so.
“...fine,” he finally relented, putting on the jacket that was hanging from his chair and grabbing the cane resting on one of the coat racks.
“You’re going to scout her?”
“I’m only going to take a look, because you’re going to bother me until I do. And to get rid of that favour I owe you,” he answered, downing his coffee.
“I can’t promise anything beyond that.”
He opened the door and allowed Kojima to leave first.
“We’ll see about that,” said Kojima smugly, slipping past him with an all-too pleased grin on his face. It took Katsu all his willpower to not trip him with his cane.
Katsuragi Ace stretched her arms high above her head, sighing when she heard a loud and satisfying pop from her left shoulder. She walked away from the field and to the sidelines, making way for the other umas to take on the sprint test she had just completed. She sat down on a bench and grabbed a bottle of water from one of the many coolers around her, relishing in the cool liquid going down her throat and the coldness spreading from her stomach to the rest of her body.
Today was Scouting Day, the first “unofficial” day at Tracen. The actual first day starts tomorrow with orientation and homeroom, but not everyone will make it to tomorrow. Because today was the day they would get scouted.
Scouting Day consisted of a series of small tests that are meant to show the umas’ speed, stamina, power, and as well as other exercises that tested motor skills and coordination.
Having run here from Shibuya with C.B., she worried that the long distance would make her perform worse on the tests, the possibility of pushing her body too far was always there.
A smaller, more cynical part of her wondered if that was C.B.’s intention.
But, thankfully, the pace the other uma set was fine. They didn’t go too fast; it was more like a more intense jog. It helped that the streets of Tokyo seemed to be accustomed to umas, even having separate lanes for them on the roads and sidewalks, something she hadn’t seen up north.
A gentle breeze blew past her as an uma sprinted by at full speed. Her eyes drifted towards the stands, where the trainers sat with their papers in their laps and binoculars in hand. Some of them were writing into their notebooks, while others were having private debates with each other, some even opting to use their papers to hide their lips. She managed to follow some of their gazes, and scowled when she saw what they were looking at.
Or, more accurately, who they were looking at.
“Of course it's her,” she thought bitterly to herself as Mr. C.B. effortlessly performed her long jumps. She had their eyes ever since this whole thing started.
Meanwhile, here she was: drinking water on the bench.
Alone and out of sight.
Her ears, though covered, caught excited whispers from the track’s railing. A group of umas in Tracen’s signature school uniform were standing behind the rails, leaning close to each other, and whispering in hushed tones of clear excitement. Their eyes were fixed on something, so she decided to follow their gaze.
Once again, she felt her scowl deepen.
Standing proud and tall on the turf, like a statue, was an uma she didn’t know. She seemed to be about her height, maybe slightly taller, with long brown hair flowing gracefully down her back, darkening near her face. A single streak of white hair blazed down her forehead, slightly covering her magenta eyes.
And not one person was paying attention to her.
She was starting to get annoyed.
If she didn’t get scouted today, she would have to wait a year before she could try again.
Which would mean that she came all the way here for nothing.
“Team A, prepare for the mock race!” came the announcement from the speakers.
“All runners who were assigned to team A, please line up at the starting gates!”
“It’s now or never,” she thought to herself as she downed the rest of the bottle and threw it in the bin.
“So?” asked Kojima as he and Katsu sat on the bleachers overlooking the track.
“She’s lacklustre, like I said in my office,” answered Katsu, one leg resting on the other and one hand gripping his cane.
“Yes, but now you’ve seen her in person as opposed to just numbers on a page.”
“And it only proves what I said,” he said, his free hand digging into his jacket’s pockets and pulling out his cigarettes.
“She lacks the speed to keep up with the other umas. She gets exhausted too quickly for a front runner. And she lacks the strength to propel herself forward to the front at the start of the race,” he said through the cigarette.
“No smoking on school grounds,” someone called out from behind them. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was, he could recognise that voice anywhere. Again, his heart felt heavier, and his face soured.
“It’s gum,” he lied playfully as he eyed the woman who sat down beside him on the bleachers.
“Really?” asked Maruzensky, clearly not buying his lie but nevertheless playing along.
“Then why don’t you chew it?” she asked as the loud pop of gunfire sounded, signalling the start of the mock race.
With a groan, he plucked the cigarette from his lips and put it back into the pack.
“Why did I think you were actually going to chew it?” asked Kojima.
“Shut up,” he snapped, and Kojima raised his hands in surrender.
“Just so you know, miss president, those energy drinks in the vending machines are worse for you than these,” he said, turning back to Maruzensky and waving the cigarette box in her face.
“I’ll let the school board know during the next meeting,” she said with a giggle.
“So, what’s popping?”
“We’re discussing Katsu’s new trainee,” said Kojima before he could even get a chance to answer.
“Really?” asked Maruzensky with a dramatic sigh.
“I haven’t decided on anything yet,” he grumbled as the student council president leaned over him to look at the file in Kojima’s lap, much to his annoyance.
“Who is she?” she asked, now scanning the turf for the uma but still leaning over his lap. He pushed her back into her seat.
“13. Jet black hair, on the first corner,” answered Kojima, pointing his finger at a group of umas running on the track.
This was bad.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
She was supposed to be in the front and stay there, but she was already seeing two other umas on both her left and her right.
They hadn’t even cleared the first corner yet.
“Come on…push!” she thought, desperately sending the command to her legs, who didn’t seem to comply.
Her lungs were burning, and she was having trouble getting air into her chest.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. That was what her coach taught her back when she was in third grade.
It wasn’t working this time.
“So this is what it's like,” she thought bitterly, trying and failing to ignore the aching of her thighs.
“This is what a race in the big city is like.”
“She’s falling behind,” he mumbled, never once taking his eyes off her the entire time she was running. The mock race had barely started, and she was already having difficulty keeping up pace to stay at the front of the group. Even from all the way up in the bleachers, he could see how hard she was sucking up air.
“She’s a cutie. Figures you’d pick a front runner,” said Maruzensky with a giggle.
“I haven’t picked anything yet,” he said, tapping his finger against his cane.
“She’s yet to give me a reason to pick her. So far, I’m not impressed,” he explained, watching her get overtaken by two umas.
“Well, at the very least you’re out and about and not stuck in your office all day.”
Though her tone was cheerful and her words playful, he could sense the underlying worry that seemed to permeate every single conversation he had with her.
He chose to ignore it.
“What about you, Koji?” she asked, hoping to continue this conversation with a switch in focus.
“Got anyone scouted?”
“Number 3,” he said, this time pointing to the uma that seemed farthest in the back.
“Late surger?” she asked.
“With those legs? How could she not be?” answered Katsu, watching as the uma suddenly picked up speed and slowly accelerated to the front.
“She’s fast,” she commented with a chirp in her voice.
“Faster than you?” asked Kojima.
“Certainly faster than my runner, that’s for sure,” he said before Maruzensky could answer, watching Katsuragi Ace get overtaken once again. He sighed and pushed his fingers into his eyes.
“Waste of my time,” he mumbled and made a move to stand up, but stopped as he heard a loud roar from the track.
“...not…gonna…make it,” was the thought that ran through Ace’s mind, her lungs screaming at her to stop and her legs on the verge of giving up. She felt her heart sink, deeper and deeper into her guts as the other racers continued to fly past her.
She was going to lose.
“I’m sorry…everyone…” she though, thinking of the folks back home and all the people who put their trusts into her, sending her off to the mainland with smiles and hopes.
Another girl passed her, but this one she recognised.
It was C.B.
Those unruly curls of her hair were flying with the wind, almost turning into a sort of cape. She was fast, navigating between the others with graceful ease she had never seen before. Air rippled around her, the wind pushing against her and creating a tunnel of currents that you couldn’t help but just stare in complete awe.
It was beautiful. There really was no other word for how C.B. ran. In her oxygen-deprived brain, Ace could swear she saw colours in streaks of green and yellow shooting from C.B.’s heels. It reminded her of the northern lights she saw when she was a kid. Though it was only once and it was nearly a decade ago, the beauty of it and that feeling of awe and grandeur she experienced was something she figured she would never forget and never experience again.
Until now.
When asked later, she would not be able to tell you how she managed to do it. She would scratch her head and simply say that she can’t remember.
But, in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter how she did it. It only mattered that she did.
Fresh air hit her lungs out of nowhere, and her first instinct was to scream. Letting out a mighty roar, she forced the muscles in her legs to obey her, like an emperor commanding his troops, and push herself forward.
She shot past all the others who had passed her before, their figures becoming mere silhouettes amidst the rushing wind. There was only one person she could see clearly, one person who captured her focus.
And that uma was directly ahead of her, sparing a shocked look behind her. Those steely blue eyes immediately turned playfully sharp once they saw her, and she quickly turned her head back towards the front and picked up her pace.
A challenge.
One that Ace will gladly accept.
She knew she was pushing her body past its limits, but she didn’t care. They were at the homestretch now, and nothing else mattered except getting to C.B.
Though her limbs vehemently protested against it, she finally managed to catch up to her, though C.B. still led by a neck’s length. She spared one more glance towards Ace, eyes wild and crazed, before flashing her one last toothy grin and pushing even further ahead, widening the distance between them.
She tried her best to keep up, but ultimately, her body couldn’t handle the strain, and she fell back, just as her legs crossed the finish line.
She slowed down her speed to a shaky walk, her legs resembling jelly rather than limbs, and tried to suck in as much air into her burning lungs as she could. She was drenched in sweat and her body wouldn’t stop shaking.
She felt nauseous.
She doubled over and rested her hands on her knees, forcing down the bile in her throat and desperately hoping that her vision would refocus soon. As she stood there, sucking and coughing and spitting, a shadow loomed over her. Turning her head, she saw the other uma from before the race, the one with the white streak on her forehead, staring down at her with a slight glare, those magenta eyes unfocused yet sharp.
She was about to speak, say something or anything just to make the other woman stop staring at her like she was garbage on a hot summer day, but the brown-haired runner walked away from her before she could do that.
With what remaining strength she had left, she straightened herself and looked towards the scoreboard.
“1st place: number 3,” that was C.B.’s number.
“2nd place: number 15,” that was that other uma.
“3rd place: number 13,” that was her.
“Third place,” she wheezed out, her voice weak.
“All that…just for third place.”
And with that, she fell backwards onto the turf.
As Ace lay there on the grass, huffing and puffing loud enough to be heard in the cheap seats, Katsuichi Nakanowatari sat there, cane in his hands, gazing at the uma with the focus of a surgeon at the operating table.
A million thoughts swam through his head, and he had no idea which one he should focus on. But, out of all of them, one thought kept repeating itself over and over.
“She has potential.”
It would require a lot of work.
And the training would have to be tough.
But he could do it.
And that’s what was important.
He looked over to his right to stare at Maruzensky, who was gazing at the lying and exhausted uma with a warm smile, yet her eyes shone with a certain longing and sadness that he knew all too well.
“Don’t you think it's time you moved on?” Kojima’s words echoed in his right ear.
“I don’t think I can. How can I, when I can’t forgive myself?”
“At least you’re out and about and not stuck in your office all day,” Maruzensky’s words echoed in his left ear.
“At least in my office, I can't run into you. I would prefer not to see the reflections of my failure. I don’t want to see you fake your smile and lie to me.”
He looked back towards Ace, still lying there on the turf and still grasping for oxygen like a drowning man grasping for land. His knuckles tightened around the top of his cane.
“Do you regret it?” asked Maruzensky, her body shadowed by the evening sun as he lay there in the hospital bed.
“...tell her to come to my office tomorrow,” he said, rising from his seat and walking away from the course.
“Shouldn’t you be the one telling her that?” he heard Kojima ask, but he didn’t turn around.
He’ll have to make sure to dump the processing paperwork on his desk, seeing as how this was his fault, after all.
“Good running,” she heard someone say above her.
“I finished third,” she groaned, finally opening her eyes to see C.B. standing above her, her wild bangs sticking to her forehead due to the sweat pouring down her face.
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good run,” she countered, reaching out to help her get to her feet. Ace gladly accepted the help.
“You felt it, didn’t you?” she suddenly asked, catching Ace off guard, though she noticed that seemed to be a common occurrence with C.B.
“Felt what?”
“The wind,” she answered vaguely, her gaze shifting towards the other racers.
“There’s a certain breeze that can only be felt when you run with all your heart and soul. It’s light and clear and only those who are fast enough can feel it. Hear it. See it,” she explained, her gaze drifting upwards towards the lonely clouds above their heads.
“You felt it,” her eyes fell upon her again.
“I could tell. Could see it when you were behind me.”
“...I don’t know what I felt,” mumbeled Ace, not really following the other uma.
“I don’t know if it was the wind or whatever, but…”
C.B. waited patiently, hand on her hip and head cocked to her side.
“...something inside of me just…forced me to catch up to you. You say you can see the wind, but the only thing I could see…was you.”
C.B.’s eyes widened at the confession before she let out a light giggle, her fist covering her mouth out of courtesy and her eyes fluttering with mirth.
“I certainly wasn’t expecting that answer,” she said through her laughter, wiping away a tear from her eye.
“Oy, it ain’t that funny,” grumbled Ace, arms crossed over her chest.
“Relax, I’m not laughing at you,” clarified C.B. with a wave of her hand.
“You’ll get it eventually.”
Before she could ask what she meant with that, a new voice called out to them.
“Yoohoo!” whistled an Uma as she walked towards them, cascading waves of light brown hair flowing like the ocean down her back. Walking beside her was a man in a tan suit.
“Good showing, both of you! Real groovy!” she cheered, much to Ace’s confusion.
“Groovy?”
“She’s saying you were both spectacular in your races,” said the man with a tired smile.
“Well, obviously! What else would I mean?” she asked with a laugh. The man sighed.
“Maruzensky. Your student council president,” he introduced her and that made both of them stand a little bit straighter.
“Stoked to meet ya!” she said with a wink.
“And my name is Masato Kojima; I’m a trainer here at Tracen. We came to inform the two of you that you have both been scouted.”
“Scouted,” the word repeated and bounced across the inside of her skull as she stood motionless and stunned.
“Congrats!” said Maruzensky, shaking her limp hand.
“T-thanks!” she finally managed to say once she snapped herself out of her stupor. What was once shock and awe now replaced with joy and euphoria.
“You’ll be under my care from now on,” she heard Kojima say to C.B., whose smile grew as he shook her hand. She looked around and behind the two of them for any signs of her own trainer, but found nothing.
“Your trainer unfortunately had to leave early,” said Maruzensky, noticing Ace’s search.
“Ah…” she answered, her ears drooping a little bit. She really wanted to meet them.
“Here,” said Maruzensky as she handed her a piece of paper.
“Go there tomorrow after Orientation.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled, staring at the written-down name and directions.
“Katsuichi Nakanowatari.”
“Once again, congratulations to you both!” cheered Maruzensky with a clap.
“You definitely deserved it,” agreed Kojima with a nod.
“From tomorrow onward, you’ll both officially be students at Tracen Academy! You’ll also be able to qualify for the national races.”
“Thank you!” they both said with a bow, causing the student council president to giggle again.
“What happens now?” asked Ace.
“Paperwork,” sighed Kojima as a shadow fell upon his face.
“We’ll need to upload your information to both Tracen’s and the URA registry. That includes height, weight, measurements, personal information, shoe size…” he listed off, counting on his finger with ever-increasing despair.
“Which is going to take a while,” he finally stopped, his face pale as a sheet.
“I’ll have to handle your registration as well, seeing as how your trainer decided to leave,” he told her, and Ace couldn’t lie that she felt bad for the guy.
“But after that,” chimed in Maruzensky, her tone brightening the mood.
“You’ll both be assigned to your respective dorms, and then you’ll be free.”
“But by the time you're done, it will already be late in the evening,” added Kojima, souring the mood again.
“I suggest we get this over with as quickly as possible.”
“Good job out there, Rudolf,” said a woman in a checkered suit and rimmed glasses, noting something down on her clipboard.
“Wasn’t good enough,” she answered as she made way to stand next to the woman and silently glared out to the turf.
“It was a mock race; don’t take it so seriously.”
“Every victory matters, trainer,” she countered, her voice monotone and even.
“Nothing else matters other than first place,” she added, her gaze lowering to the ground. The woman next to her said nothing, but out of the corners of her vision, she saw her looking at her with a worried expression that was as clear as day.
She looked like she wanted to say, like the words were right there on the tip of her tongue and just waiting to be unleashed.
She ultimately decided to swallow her words instead.
Rudolf was grateful she did.
“Let’s get your registration done with.”
“I need to use the restroom first.”
“Go ahead, this will take a while,” said the other woman with a dismissive wave of her hand. She nodded and made her way to the bathrooms with a precise and deliberative quickness in her step.
The toilets were empty.
Good.
With a robotic focus, she opened the stall farthest from the entrance and locked the door behind her. As soon as the lock clicked shut, she doubled over and emptied her stomach into the bowl. Acid burned her lips and her mouth as she continued to heave and spit. Some loose strands of her hair managed to sneak their way into her mouth, and she vomited again.
By the time she was finished and her stomach could empty itself no longer, she was left heaving and huffing, sitting there on the bathroom floor with tears down her cheeks. She took a few deep breaths and stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“You’re a Symboli,” she heard her father say as she hovered over the sink, the tap open and water flowing freely.
“Act like it,” she said, as her reflection glared at her. Cold water was splashed on her face before she turned off the water and exited the bathroom.
“I guess this is it,” she said to nobody, seeing as how she was currently alone and standing in front of a door that had a name plaque on it.
“Katsuichi Nakanowatari,” she read aloud and then checked the paper in her hands again, making sure that she got the right name. Confirming that she was at the right place, she pocketed the paper and knocked on the door.
She could dimly hear some sounds coming from the other side of the door, ones she couldn’t quite make out, but other than that, nothing.
She knocked again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
Frowning, she tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. Pushing the door open, she stepped inside the office.
The first thing that assaulted her was the smell of used cigarettes and the hazy smoke that seemed to hover around the small office like a miasma. In the corner was a coffee pot that had clearly seen better days, filled to the half with coffee. Next to that was a whiteboard. On the other side of the room was a leather couch and in the centre was a large desk with various papers, files, folders, and other documents randomly thrown about, as if a storm had recently come through.
And there, sitting behind it with his back turned towards her, was the person she assumed was her trainer. Standing on her toes to get a good look at what was in front of him, she saw a small television that looked like it was antiquated when her dad was young, playing some kind of drama in a language she couldn’t understand.
“Seriously?”
“You Katsuichi?” she asked, and the man leaned forward to turn off the TV. Slowly, he spun around in his chair and faced her.
Immediately, she became nervous, because the man in front of her looked like a foreigner. She didn’t know what exactly he was, but certainly didn’t look like a Katsuichi Nakanowatari, with his unshaven face, sunken hazel eyes, and black hair that was already starting to grey, even if he didn’t look that old. He wore a white shirt with the top button open, displaying a gold chain that rested just beneath his throat.
“Eh…” she tried to speak, brain desperately working overtime to try and muster up what little knowledge of English she had and hoping that the man would understand her.
“You’re a bit early,” he responded in Japanese as he looked at his watch, and Ace let out a sigh of relief.
“You’re-”
“Katsuragi Ace!” she finished for him, pumping her fist out in front of him with a proud smirk.
“...right,” he sighed, fixing the cuffs of his well-worn black jacket.
“From today and until the end of your athletic and academic journey here at Tracen, I will be your trainer,” he said as he grabbed a cane that was leaning against the desk and stood up.
“I’ve looked over your numbers,” he explained, as he hobbled on over to the whiteboard.
“Pretty impressive, right?” she asked with full cockiness.
“Impressively bad,” he countered, and it was like someone struck her heart with a spear.
“You’re slow,” another spear.
“You get tired too quickly,” another one.
“You’re weak in your legs,” another one.
“And you lack the know-how to avoid getting yourself boxed-in by the other runners,” and one more for the road.
“You don’t pull your punches, huh?” she asked weakly, lying on the floor in defeat.
“I believe honesty to be the best policy, Mace. I would much rather shatter your ego with the facts, than inflate it with lies.”
“It’s Ace,” she corrected, still not rising from the floor.
“However,” he began, and she weakly raised her head to see him drag the whiteboard out of the corner.
“You’re not completely hopeless.”
“Well, aren’t you just a sweet-talker,” she grumbled.
“Why do you run?” he suddenly asked, and the question caught her off guard.
“What?”
“Why do you run?”
“Why do I run?” she repeated, head tilting slightly.
“Don’t make me say it again,” he sighed.
She dropped her head back to the floor and thought deeply while she stared at the lazily spinning ceiling fan.
“...I run to be the best,” she finally said after some thinking.
“I run, because I want to prove to the world that even some no-name country bumpkin from the sticks can run alongside the best of the best and win. I don’t need no big shot from the mainland to look down upon me just ‘cause I’m not from around here. I’m going to show that eve-”
“Wrong.”
His voice cut her off, and she sat up to look at him with shock and indignity.
“Wrong?”
“You’re not describing why you run, you’re describing why you’re here,” he said plainly and bluntly, resting his hands on his cane as he stared down at her.
“...aren’t those the same thing?”
“Wrong!” he said again, a bit louder this time, but loud enough to make her wince.
“Umamusume are born to run; I’m sure that’s something that even you know. Goddesses know how much it's repeated in commercials and other promotional material the URA vomits out on a weekly basis,” he explained as he reached into his jacket’s pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes.
“It's in your blood. You come into this world kicking and screaming and covered in blood and plasma, and one of your first instincts is to run. Why?”
“...I’m not following.”
He took a moment to light up his cigarette before continuing.
“Every uma has a reason why they run. Not why they’re here at Tracen, but why they run in general. Or are you saying that your wish to get into this academy is the reason why you run in the first place? When you were little and running with your friends up north in the boonies, was Tracen on your mind as your tiny legs carried you up and down those mountains?”
“...no.”
“Then what was? What is your reason for running?”
Slowly, she dropped her gaze to the floor, unable to come up with an answer to his question.
“Throughout the course of your training, I will keep asking you that question,” he said, voice a bit softer now.
“By the end of our time together, I expect you to find that answer. But that’s for later. For now, we’re going to focus on your schedule,” he stated as he flipped the whiteboard around to a crudely drawn weekly training plan.
“You write like you’re half blind,” she joked, to which she received a nasty glare from the man.
“Based on your numbers and yesterday’s performance, I drew up this regimen,” he said, using his cane to point at the board.
“You will be training six days out of the week.”
“Six?” she screamed.
“You want to win?” he asked, grabbing a blue folder from his desk.
“Yeah, of course!”
“Not with these stats,” he said bluntly, waving her profile in her face.
“You’re not in the sticks anymore, Grace. You’re in the big leagues now,” he explained, limping over to his window to stare out of it.
“It’s Ace,” she complained.
“It's a cruel world out there,” he said somberly, his glare reflected in the window.
“It will feel no remorse and no pity when it chews you up and spits you out. Only disgust.”
The sentence was foreboding, and the way his eyes seemed to gloss over made it seem like there was kind of a story behind those words. She wanted to pry; her mouth was already open to do so, but he spun around before she could say anything.
“I will train you, have no fear about that. But it will be hard. You will run until you can no longer stand. You will sprint until your feet fall off. You will curse me, and you will curse my mother for giving birth to me. But with this,” he said, once more pointing to the whiteboard with his cane.
“You will win with this, that I can assure you.”
She turned her attention back to the whiteboard and at the regimen that was written on it. It was true that it looked tough, definitely harder than any training she had up until now. He was also probably right in saying that she’ll hate him for putting her through this.
But then again…
“...when can I start?”
“Tomorrow. After classes, go to shed 3-A.”
She nodded and stood up, dusting off her skirt as she did so.
“By the way,” she called out, hand already on the doorknob.
“Your Japanese is really good; where are you from?”
In her mind, it was an innocent enough question. She hadn’t met many foreigners in her life, but those she did barely spoke Japanese. She also thought it was a good way to start bonding with the man with whom she was going to spend a good majority of her time with from this day forward.
But from the way his face hardened and his lips set into a straight line, she could tell she made some kind of mistake.
“Okinawa, where I was born,” he responded curtly, anger and hate practically dripping from his tongue.
“A-ah!” she yelped.
“I’m so-”
“Little bit of advice,” he cut her off as he sat back down in his chair.
“There’s a name plaque on my door. Just because I don’t look like you doesn’t make my name any less valid.”
He turned his back to her, turned on the TV, and went back to watching the foreign drama from before.
Katsuragi Ace stared at his back for a while longer before exiting his office with a soft click of the door.