Chapter Text
Rejection.
Agematsu Yuuta had known the word, of course. Everyone did. It appeared in romance novels, in school dramas, in the kind of bittersweet coming-of-age stories where someone stood beneath a streetlamp with trembling hands and a heart too full to keep quiet.
But knowing the word was different from feeling it.
And Yuuta felt it now like a door slamming shut directly against his chest.
He had imagined confessing to Ookuwa Michiru more times than he cared to admit. In quiet classrooms after everyone had gone home. On the walk back from school, when the evening sun painted the streets gold. In the sleepless hours before dawn, when he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, rehearsing every possible version of himself that might be brave enough to say it.
He had imagined her surprise. Her blush. Her awkward laugh. Even, in his more pessimistic moments, a gentle refusal.
But not this.
Not the coldness in her eyes.
Not the sharpness in her voice.
Not the way she had looked at him as though his confession was not merely unwanted, but absurd.
And the worst part, the part that twisted deepest, was that she had not believed him.
Michiru, his childhood friend. Michiru, who had talked endlessly about her favorite web novel. Michiru, who had praised every chapter, every character, every tear-jerking twist and triumphant comeback.
Michiru, who adored the author of Digimas.
She had laughed when Yuuta told her the truth.
Not warmly. Not fondly.
She had laughed like he was lying.
Like the idea of Agematsu Yuuta being the person behind the story she loved was too ridiculous to even entertain.
By the time he reached the road home, the world had gone strangely quiet around him. Cars passed. Students chatted. Somewhere, a convenience store jingle spilled into the street as the automatic doors slid open.
Yuuta barely heard any of it.
His phone felt heavy in his hand.
The message box on his author account glowed up at him, blank and waiting.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then, with fingers that felt numb, he typed a simple message.
The last chapter of Digimas will be my final one.
He posted it before he could think better of it.
Then he lowered his phone and kept walking.
At first, nothing happened.
Then Japan broke.
In Hokkaido, where the wind still carried the bite of northern cold, a young girl sitting by her bedroom window read the announcement three times before the meaning sank in. Her dream had always been too large for the small town around her. People had smiled politely when she said she wanted to race, to shine, to stand on a stage someday and prove that her heart could carry her farther than anyone expected.
But Digimas had believed in impossible dreams.
Its heroes had stumbled, failed, cried, and risen again. They had told her, chapter by chapter, that longing was not foolish simply because it was difficult.
Now the story was ending.
The girl clutched her phone to her chest and bowed her head, her ears drooping as if the northern sky itself had grown heavier.
Far to the south, in Kyushu, fans sat frozen over dinner tables, in train stations, in clubrooms, and in dormitories. Some refreshed the page again and again, hoping the announcement would vanish. Others stared in silence, eyes glossy, wondering what had happened to make their beloved author say goodbye so suddenly.
Across message boards, panic spread like wildfire.
Is this a joke?
Did something happen?
Sensei, please don’t quit!
Your story saved me.
Please keep writing.
Please.
And in Fuchu, inside an office far grander than the woman occupying it had any need for, a folding fan snapped shut with a sound like a verdict.
The woman behind the desk looked much younger than she was, with bright eyes that could sparkle with mischief one moment and pierce steel the next. Perched calmly atop her head was a cat, as if this were the most natural arrangement in the world.
Yayoi Akikawa, chairwoman of Tracen Academy, stared at the message on her tablet.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then the air in the room turned dangerously still.
“Unacceptable.”
Her assistant, standing nearby in a green uniform, stiffened at once.
Akikawa opened her fan again. Across its folds, bold letters declared her judgment before her voice did.
“This reeks of circumstances.”
The assistant hesitated. “Chairwoman?”
Akikawa’s eyes narrowed.
“Prepare the helicopter.”
The assistant did not ask questions. Experience had taught her that once Yayoi Akikawa used that tone, reality had already lost the argument.
Meanwhile, Agematsu Yuuta was learning something he probably should have learned before accidentally causing a nationwide emotional crisis.
Namely, that his readers were everywhere.
His editor, Sakudaira Mai, had taken him to a quiet restaurant with the grim determination of someone trying to stop a person she cared about from making a decision they could never take back. She had ordered food he had not touched, coffee that had gone lukewarm, and then placed her tablet in front of him.
“Read,” she had said.
Yuuta had not wanted to.
But Mai’s gaze had been steady, not harsh.
So he read.
Now he sat hunched over the table, eyes moving across message after message after message.
There were comments from Japan, of course. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands. People saying Digimas had helped them through entrance exams, injuries, loneliness, grief, first love, heartbreak. Some wrote in messy, emotional bursts. Others wrote long, careful letters as if speaking to him face-to-face.
Then came the translated messages.
Korea. China. America. France. Brazil. Germany. Places Yuuta had never been. Languages he could not read without Mai’s help. People who had stayed up late waiting for updates. People who had drawn fan art, written essays, made friends because of his story.
A girl in Italy said one chapter had convinced her not to give up on art school.
A boy in Canada said the protagonist’s failures made him feel less ashamed of his own.
A reader in the Philippines wrote that after every typhoon, when the power returned, the first thing they checked was whether Digimas had updated.
Yuuta’s throat tightened.
He had thought his world was small.
A classroom. A childhood friend. A confession. One girl’s opinion of him.
But the world on Mai’s tablet was vast.
It stretched far beyond the street where Michiru had rejected him. Far beyond the version of himself who had believed that if she did not see him, then nobody did.
His hands clenched around the edge of the tablet.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered.
Mai’s expression softened. The sharp urgency she had carried when she brought him here faded, replaced by something quieter and more careful.
“I know,” she said.
Yuuta looked at her.
She folded her hands around her cup, not drinking from it. Her eyes stayed on him, steady but not accusing.
“That’s why I wanted you to see it for yourself,” she continued. “Not as numbers. Not as rankings or comments on a page. People, Yuuta. Real people. They’ve been walking with your story all this time.”
Yuuta lowered his gaze.
The words hit harder than any scolding could have.
A few hours ago, he had felt invisible. Like one rejection had erased him completely. But now, faced with thousands upon thousands of messages from people he had never met, that feeling began to crack.
He had been loved.
Not in the way he had hoped for from Michiru.
But sincerely. Deeply. In ways he had never allowed himself to imagine.
“I almost threw that away,” he said, voice barely audible.
Mai’s face tightened with concern.
“You were hurt,” she said gently. “I’m not going to pretend that doesn’t matter.”
Yuuta swallowed.
“But,” she added, her voice soft yet firm, “I don’t want you making permanent decisions while that wound is still fresh.”
For a moment, Yuuta could not answer.
Then he bowed his head.
Not to Mai.
Not to the restaurant.
To the readers he could not see.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The words felt too small, but they were all he had.
He picked up his phone again. This time, his fingers shook for a different reason.
A new post appeared beneath the last.
I’m sorry for worrying everyone. I was overwhelmed and made a selfish decision. Thank you for every message. I’ll keep writing. Please wait for the next chapter of Digimas.
For one breath, the restaurant remained ordinary.
Then Mai’s tablet flooded with notifications.
Yuuta flinched, startled by the sheer speed of it.
Mai looked down at the screen. The corners of her mouth lifted, but there was no teasing in it this time. Only relief.
“They were waiting for you,” she said.
Yuuta stared at the endless stream of replies. Some were crying. Some were cheering. Some were simply repeating thank you over and over again.
His vision blurred.
Mai quietly slid a napkin toward him without making a big deal of it.
Yuuta took it and pressed it against his eyes.
“I really scared them,” he murmured.
“You did,” Mai said.
There was no cruelty in her answer. No exaggeration. Just honesty.
Then she softened.
“But you came back before the night ended. That matters too.”
Yuuta let out a shaky breath.
For the first time since Michiru rejected him, the pain in his chest did not vanish, but it loosened enough for him to breathe around it.
Mai stood and reached for the bill.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll take you home.”
Yuuta nodded faintly.
“Thank you, Mai-san.”
She paused.
Then, with a gentleness that made her seem less like an editor and more like someone who had been genuinely afraid for him, she said, “Don’t thank me yet. Keep writing. That’s enough.”
Yuuta managed a small, fragile smile.
“I will.”
The restaurant doors flew open.
Conversation died instantly.
Chopsticks paused halfway to mouths. A server froze beside the counter. Several customers turned pale with recognition.
In the doorway stood a very short woman with absolute authority radiating from every inch of her. A cat sat atop her head, serene and unbothered, as though it too held administrative power. Behind her stood a woman in green, composed but visibly resigned to whatever chaos was about to unfold.
Yuuta’s fragile calm immediately cracked.
“Oh no,” he groaned under his breath.
Mai looked from him to the woman in the doorway. “Yuuta?”
Before he could answer, a folding fan snapped open directly in front of his face.
Across its folds, written in bold, merciless characters, was a single word.
Unacceptable.
The small woman lowered the fan just enough for her bright, furious eyes to meet his.
“Yuuta,” she said. “We need to talk.”
Yuuta straightened on instinct.
“Y-Yes, Aunt Akikawa.”
Mai went perfectly still.
Then she turned toward him, eyes widening.
“Wait,” she said, her voice caught somewhere between disbelief and dawning panic. “Your aunt…”
Yuuta avoided her gaze.
Mai looked back at the woman standing before them.
“Your aunt is Yayoi Akikawa of Tracen Academy?”
Yuuta gave a weak nod.
The cat on Akikawa’s head flicked its tail.
Mai slowly lowered herself back into her chair, as if the evening had just become far more complicated than any editorial meeting she had ever survived.
Yayoi Akikawa loved family.
This was not a secret. It was not even a rumor. It was a fact proven through years of impossible schedules, sudden visits, surprise gifts, dramatic interventions, and one especially infamous incident involving a school board meeting, three trays of homemade curry, and a folding fan labeled Family Comes First.
So when her nephew, Agematsu Yuuta, nearly gave up something worthwhile, something that had brought him happiness and touched the lives of millions, Akikawa did not see it as a matter to be handled casually.
She saw it as a family emergency.
Which was how Yuuta found himself sitting in the Agematsu family living room later that evening, surrounded by his mother, his father, his editor, the chairwoman of Tracen Academy, and the chairwoman’s ever-composed assistant, Hayakawa Tazuna.
The atmosphere was strange.
Not hostile. Not exactly tense.
But undeniably heavy.
Yuuta sat with his hands folded in his lap, shoulders slightly hunched. The apology he had posted online had calmed the storm somewhat, but the ache in his chest remained. Michiru’s rejection had not vanished just because he had remembered his readers. It still sat there, sore and fresh, like a bruise he kept accidentally pressing.
Across from him, Akikawa opened her fan with a crisp snap.
The word written across it this time was simple.
Unacceptable.
Yuuta flinched a little on instinct.
Akikawa’s expression softened, but only slightly.
“I understand that your childhood friend was your inspiration,” she said. “Your muse, perhaps. The person who lit the first spark in your heart.”
Yuuta lowered his gaze.
“But, Yuuta-kun,” Akikawa continued, her voice firm but not unkind, “your work has gone beyond her. Your vision has gone beyond her. That may be harsh to hear, but it is the truth.”
The words landed quietly.
Yuuta’s fingers tightened together.
For so long, Michiru had been at the center of it. The first person he imagined reading every emotional scene. The first person whose smile he hoped his chapters might reach. Somewhere along the way, his dream had become tangled with his feelings for her until he could no longer tell where the story ended and his longing began.
But earlier, in that restaurant, he had seen the truth on Mai’s tablet.
His story had already crossed oceans.
It had reached people he would never meet. People who knew nothing about Michiru. People who had never sat beside him in class or walked the same streets or laughed at the same childhood memories.
They loved Digimas because it meant something to them.
Not because of the girl who inspired it.
Because of the world he had created.
Yuuta took a slow breath.
“I know that now, Aunty,” he said quietly.
Akikawa watched him over the edge of her fan.
Yuuta lifted his head. His expression was still fragile, but there was something steadier in his eyes now.
“I want to continue writing,” he said. “Not because I’m trying to prove anything to Michiru. Not anymore. I want to continue because I finally understand how much my work means to so many people.”
His mother, Minami, pressed a hand lightly against her chest, her face softening with relief.
Beside her, Yuuta’s father, Shoji Agematsu, leaned forward with his usual bright, slightly overwhelming enthusiasm.
“That’s right, Yuuta!” Shoji declared, beaming. “Your work is a national treasure! From the young to the old, men and women everywhere have been touched by the world and story you’ve made!”
A brief silence followed.
Akikawa nodded solemnly.
“My goofy little brother is right.”
Shoji froze.
“W-Wait,” he said, his smile faltering. “Goofy?”
Around the room, several thoughts occurred at once.
Mai blinked.
Tazuna’s polite expression twitched almost imperceptibly.
Minami looked between her husband and Akikawa as if rechecking a family tree she had known for years.
Yuuta stared at his aunt.
‘Wait, she’s the older sister?’ everyone seemed to think at the same time.
Akikawa, either unaware of the collective realization or choosing magnificently to ignore it, snapped her fan shut.
“That is why,” she announced, “I have decided to invite you to my school.”
Yuuta’s head jerked up.
“Your school?”
“Tracen Academy,” Akikawa said, as though there were any other school worth mentioning. “Consider it a sabbatical from your current environment.”
Minami’s brows drew together, concern overtaking her surprise.
“Is that really okay?” she asked. “Don’t you run what is essentially an all-girls school?”
Tazuna stepped in smoothly before the silence could stretch too far.
“Tracen Academy does offer general studies,” she explained. “And if needed, we can arrange for Yuuta-san to attend his current classes remotely as well. His academic progress would not be interrupted.”
Yuuta listened quietly, but his mind had already begun moving ahead.
A sabbatical.
A break.
Not from writing, but from the place where everything had fallen apart.
Akikawa turned back to him, her tone more measured now.
“The purpose is not to run away forever,” she said. “It is to allow you to grow without your childhood friend constantly in your peripheral vision. You should not have to be reminded of that rejection every single time you sit in class, walk through the hallway, or hear her voice nearby.”
Yuuta looked down again.
The thought of returning to school had been sitting in the back of his mind like a storm cloud. Sitting near Michiru. Pretending he was fine. Hearing her talk about Digimas without knowing what expression he was supposed to make now.
Could he endure it?
Probably.
Would it hurt?
Definitely.
And if that pain piled up day after day, would he start connecting it to his writing again?
That possibility scared him more than he wanted to admit.
Minami’s expression shifted. She looked at her son, then at Akikawa.
“That... does make a lot of sense,” she said softly.
Then her motherly concern returned.
“But are you sure it won’t cause a problem for your students?”
Akikawa looked almost offended by the suggestion.
“Nonsense!” she declared, opening her fan again with a flourish. “Tracen Academy has hosted dignitaries, celebrities, executives, legendary trainers, and enough eccentric personalities to fill several government reports. One web novelist will not topple the institution.”
Tazuna smiled politely.
Her silence did nothing to confirm or deny whether any government reports actually existed.
“And besides,” Akikawa continued, eyes sparkling now, “Yuuta-kun can enjoy the many events held at the academy. Races, concerts, festivals, training exhibitions, student activities. Perhaps they will serve as inspiration.”
Inspiration.
The word stirred something inside him.
Yuuta pictured Tracen Academy as he had heard of it: wide tracks, bright uniforms, students with horse ears and tails racing beneath the sun with dreams burning in their eyes. Uma Musume were rare enough in ordinary schools that most people went their entire student lives without sharing a classroom with one. But at Tracen, they were everywhere. Athletes, idols, students, dreamers.
People chasing something with everything they had.
A place like that had to be overflowing with stories.
Yuuta slowly nodded.
“I’ll do it.”
Minami looked at him carefully. “Yuuta?”
He met his mother’s gaze.
“Aunty’s right,” he said. “Still attending class like normal, sitting near Michiru, seeing her every day... it’ll be a distraction. Maybe worse than that.”
His voice grew quieter.
“I don’t want to feel like I have to give up writing again.”
The room stilled.
Mai, who had been listening from beside him, softened at once. She had seen him at his lowest only hours ago. She knew exactly how close that fear still was.
She leaned forward slightly.
“Would it be possible for me to keep in contact with Yuuta-kun about his work?” she asked. “As his editor, I mean. I don’t want to interfere with the academy’s rules, but we still have deadlines, drafts, and planning to manage.”
Tazuna nodded.
“I’ll help coordinate as best I can. Remote meetings should be easy enough, and we can also issue you a visitor pass so you may come onto campus when needed.”
Mai’s shoulders relaxed.
“That would work. Fuchu isn’t far from the main office anyway.”
Shoji looked toward his son, his earlier cheer dimming into something gentler.
“If you think this is best, Yuuta, I’ll let the CEO know.”
Yuuta blinked.
His father worked long hours, and though he had always supported Yuuta’s writing, there were still practical matters. Family schedules. Work calls. Explanations to be made. Things Yuuta had not even had the energy to consider.
He swallowed.
“Thanks, Dad.”
Shoji smiled at him, proud and a little misty-eyed.
Akikawa closed her fan with decisive finality.
“Then we shall not waste time.”
Yuuta stiffened.
“Not waste time?”
“My private helicopter awaits.”
Yuuta stared at her.
Mai stared at her.
Minami closed her eyes for a moment, as if silently asking the universe why the Agematsu family could never have ordinary relatives.
Akikawa continued, entirely undeterred.
“You can stay at my apartment on campus until we arrange proper accommodations for you in the Trainer Apartments.”
Yuuta opened his mouth.
Then the words caught up with him.
“Trainer Apartments?”
He paused.
Then realization dawned.
“Oh, wait,” he said slowly. “I forgot your academy trains Uma Musume.”
Tazuna nodded.
“That’s correct.”
Yuuta rubbed the back of his neck, looking faintly embarrassed.
“There are so few Uma Musume who attend normal schools these days. I guess I never really thought about it.”
“Normal schools tend to have difficulty accommodating an Uma Musume’s needs,” Tazuna explained. “Running space, specialized training schedules, diet, recovery, equipment, race preparation, performance events... and eating.”
At the last word, her smile became just a little strained.
Yuuta noticed.
“Eating?” he repeated.
Tazuna’s smile remained perfectly professional.
“Yes.”
Akikawa lifted her fan to hide her mouth.
“An educational institution must be prepared for all appetites.”
For some reason, that sounded ominous.
Yuuta looked around the room. His mother was worried, but she was no longer objecting. His father looked supportive. Mai seemed thoughtful, already planning schedules in her head. Tazuna was composed. Akikawa was radiant with the terrifying confidence of a woman who had already decided the future and was waiting for everyone else to catch up.
Only Yuuta himself still felt caught between fear and possibility.
Tracen Academy.
A new environment.
A place far away from Michiru’s shadow, but not so far that he was abandoning his life.
A place full of stories.
He looked down at his hands.
Earlier that day, they had posted goodbye.
Now they might write again.
His chest ached, but beneath the ache, something small and warm stirred.
Not happiness yet.
Not excitement.
But maybe the beginning of hope.
Yuuta lifted his head.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll go to Tracen Academy.”
Akikawa’s eyes gleamed.
“Excellent.”
The cat on her head gave a small, dignified meow, as if approving the decision.
Shoji immediately stood up. “Then I’ll start making calls.”
Minami rose as well, already slipping into mother mode. “Yuuta, pack enough clothes for a few days. Toiletries too. And chargers. Don’t forget your chargers.”
“I won’t.”
“You always forget one.”
“I forgot one time.”
“Three times,” Minami corrected.
Mai gave Yuuta a small, encouraging smile.
“I’ll send you your draft notes tonight,” she said. “No pressure to open them immediately. Just... when you’re ready.”
Yuuta nodded, grateful for the care in her restraint.
“Thank you, Mai-san.”
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded back.
“Keep writing, Yuuta-kun.”
Akikawa swept toward the entrance with theatrical purpose, her fan raised like a commander’s baton.
“To Tracen Academy!”
Yuuta followed after her, overnight bag not yet packed but future already shifting beneath his feet.
Behind the absurdity, behind the helicopter waiting somewhere outside, behind the thought of transferring into an academy famous for racing prodigies and impossible dreams, one truth remained clear.
His world had been larger than Michiru.
Now, for the first time, he was going to see just how large it could become.
The next morning, Agematsu Yuuta walked through the halls of Tracen Academy with Hayakawa Tazuna at his side.
He had seen pictures of the academy before. Anyone who knew anything about Uma Musume had. Tracen was famous enough that even people who did not follow racing closely could recognize its name, its uniforms, and the sprawling campus where some of the nation’s brightest hopes trained every day.
But seeing it in person was different.
The hallways were alive.
Uma Musume moved through them in every direction, some chatting brightly with friends, some carrying training bags, some walking with the exhausted satisfaction of people who had already finished morning drills before most students elsewhere had even arrived at school. Horse ears twitched at stray sounds. Tails swayed behind uniforms and training jackets. Laughter echoed against polished floors, mixing with the distant rhythm of running shoes somewhere beyond the windows.
Yuuta tried very hard not to stare.
He failed several times.
Tazuna noticed, but her smile remained politely understanding.
“It can be a little overwhelming at first,” she said.
“A little,” Yuuta admitted.
And by a little, he meant very.
In his old school, an Uma Musume would have stood out instantly. Here, they were the norm. Every few steps, Yuuta passed someone who looked as though they could become the protagonist of an entire series by themselves. A girl with sleepy eyes and an enormous appetite. A girl practically vibrating with energy. A girl being dragged away from what looked suspiciously like an attempted hallway performance.
It was too much material.
His writer’s instincts, bruised though they still were, gave a faint twitch.
Tazuna led him deeper into the main building, explaining as they walked.
“Your first stop today will be the student council room,” she said. “The council assists with the academy’s day-to-day operations alongside the teachers and trainers. In many ways, they function almost like staff members.”
Yuuta looked at her. “And they’re Uma Musume too?”
“Yes. Some of the best of the best.”
That did not make him less nervous.
By the time they reached the door, Yuuta’s palms had started to sweat. He wiped them discreetly against his trousers, then immediately worried that Tazuna had seen him do it.
She probably had.
She was kind enough not to mention it.
Tazuna knocked once, then opened the door.
Inside, five Uma Musume were waiting for him.
The first had the polished grace of a stage performer who could make even standing still feel like part of a show. Short black hair framed her face in a stylish pixie cut, with a pale streak near her bangs that caught the light when she tilted her head. Her blue eyes were sharp yet gentle, and the easy smile she wore carried the confidence of someone used to captivating an audience without ever making it feel forced.
Beside her stood a tanned Uma Musume with long, glossy blue-black hair and fiery red eyes, her presence bold enough to fill the room before she even spoke. There was a fang visible when her mouth shifted into a grin, and everything about her gave off the impression of a fierce competitor who would challenge someone one-on-one, beat them honestly, then make sure they ate properly afterward. She looked intimidating at first glance, but there was warmth under the heat.
Another waited slightly apart from the others, quiet and severe. Her long dark-gray hair carried a faint purple tint, tied back in a blunt ponytail, while a small bandage crossed the bridge of her nose. Her yellow eyes were sharp, almost predatory, and the green stem held between her lips only made her silence feel more deliberate. She had the air of someone who cared little for appearances, little for small talk, and everything for the act of running itself.
The fourth stood with disciplined composure, her sleek warm-gray hair neatly framing pale blue eyes sharpened by red eyeliner. A gold ribbon adorned one ear, and her posture was straight enough to make Yuuta reflexively fix his own. She looked strict, elegant, and highly capable, like someone who could organize an entire school festival, correct three disciplinary reports, tend a garden, and still have time to scold someone for poor form before lunch.
And at the center of them all stood a tall Uma Musume whose presence settled over the room with calm authority. Long brown hair flowed behind her, marked by a striking white blaze that made her seem even more regal, while her composed gaze carried the weight of someone accustomed to leadership. She did not need to raise her voice or move dramatically. The room simply seemed to acknowledge her as its axis.
Yuuta’s back went stiff.
For a moment, he forgot what he was supposed to do.
Then he remembered his manners all at once and bowed.
“I-It’s nice to meet you all.”
The tanned Uma Musume grinned, folding her arms in a way that made the gesture seem more friendly than confrontational.
“Relax, guy. Your aunt filled us in, mostly. You needed a break from your old school, right?”
Yuuta straightened slowly.
“Yeah...”
The dignified Uma Musume at the center regarded him with measured concern.
“Are you comfortable sharing why?” she asked. “We will not press you, but it would help us accommodate you properly.”
Yuuta hesitated.
He had always been private about his work as Kamimatsu-sensei. Even before everything with Michiru, he had kept that part of himself hidden. It was easier that way. Safer. If no one knew, then no one could look at him differently.
But that secrecy had also become part of the reason Michiru’s disbelief had cut so deeply.
And these were people his aunt trusted.
If he was going to live here, even temporarily, then maybe letting a few people know would make things easier.
He took a breath.
“W-Well,” Yuuta began, fingers curling at his sides, “I’m a web novelist. My work is... pretty well known.”
The room remained quiet.
Encouragingly quiet, at least.
Yuuta continued.
“Recently, I tried confessing my feelings to my childhood friend. She was the person who inspired me to start writing. My muse, I guess.” His voice faltered, but he pushed through it. “But she rejected me. Harshly. And when I told her who I was, she refused to believe I was her favorite author.”
The strict-looking Uma Musume’s expression softened, though only slightly.
“I see,” she said. “Director Akikawa said you needed a change of pace so you could work in peace.”
Yuuta nodded.
“Yeah. I realized that if I kept seeing her every day after that, especially after how she rejected me, I’d probably start feeling like quitting again.”
The quiet, severe Uma Musume finally spoke.
“What’s the name of your work?”
Yuuta froze.
It was such a simple question.
Simple, and terrifying.
He looked down, then let out a small, defeated sigh.
“I write Digimas,” he said. “I’m Kamimatsu-sensei.”
Absolute silence filled the room.
It lasted just long enough for Yuuta to regret every decision that had led him there.
Then the stage-like Uma Musume’s eyes went wide.
“W-Wait!” she blurted. “You’re Kamimatsu-sensei?!”
The entire room jumped.
Even Tazuna startled, one hand lifting slightly in surprise. The other Uma Musume looked just as shocked, not at Yuuta’s identity, but at the outburst itself. Judging by their faces, seeing this particular girl flustered was not a common event.
Yuuta blinked rapidly.
“Y-Yeah, I am. Why?”
She stared at him as though he had just stepped out of a poster.
“I was hired to sing the anime opening and ending for the Digimas anime!” she said, her polished composure unraveling with every word. “It was like a dream come true! Not only getting to work on such a major project, but getting to bring the energy of your story into song—”
Yuuta’s eyes widened.
“W-Wait,” he said. “You’re Fuji Kiseki?”
Her face flushed.
“Y-Yeah.”
Yuuta was still staring at Fuji Kiseki when the tanned Uma Musume beside her gave a low, amused chuckle.
“Guess we shouldn’t let Fuji be the only one making an impression,” she said, stepping forward with easy confidence. “Name’s Hishi Amazon. I help keep an eye on the dorms, so if you’ve got trouble, questions, or you just need someone to tell you where not to wander by accident, come find me.”
Despite her fierce appearance, her grin was warm enough to take some of the edge off Yuuta’s nerves.
“R-Right,” he said. “Thank you, Hishi Amazon-san.”
The quiet Uma Musume with the bandage across her nose looked at him next. For a moment, she seemed as though she might decide introductions were unnecessary and simply let silence do the work. Then she shifted the green stem in her mouth and spoke in a low, blunt voice.
“Narita Brian.”
That was all.
Yuuta waited, wondering if there would be more.
There was not.
Hishi Amazon sighed. “Brian, come on. That barely counts.”
Narita Brian’s yellow eyes moved toward her.
“He knows my name now.”
Yuuta, unsure whether he was supposed to laugh, managed a nervous nod.
“I-It’s nice to meet you, Narita Brian-san.”
The strict-looking Uma Musume stepped forward before Hishi Amazon could complain further, her posture precise and her gaze steady.
“I am Air Groove, vice president of the student council,” she said. “While you are here, we will do our best to ensure your transition is smooth. However, Tracen Academy has its own standards and rules. I expect you to follow them properly.”
Yuuta straightened at once.
“Yes. I’ll do my best.”
Air Groove studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“That is enough for now.”
Finally, the dignified Uma Musume at the center stepped forward. The room seemed to settle around her, not out of fear, but respect.
“I am Symboli Rudolf, president of the student council,” she said. Her voice was calm, composed, and carried naturally without force. “Director Akikawa has entrusted you to us, Agematsu Yuuta-kun. As long as you are at Tracen Academy, we will respect your circumstances and offer what support we can.”
Yuuta bowed again, deeper this time.
“Thank you. I know this is sudden, but I’ll try not to cause trouble.”
Symboli Rudolf’s expression softened with the faintest hint of humor.
“Trouble is not always avoidable,” she said. “What matters is whether one learns how to move forward after it.”
For some reason, those words reached him more gently than advice usually did.
Yuuta lifted his head.
“I’ll remember that.”
Fuji Kiseki, still visibly flustered, brought a hand to her cheek.
“Oh jeez...” she murmured. “!nemoD is going to flip that I got to meet you in person.”
Yuuta stared.
Before he could fully process that sentence, Symboli Rudolf cleared her throat.
“Let us not go overboard,” she said gently but firmly. “He is trusting us with his identity.”
Fuji Kiseki straightened at once, embarrassment crossing her face.
“Right. Sorry. I lost myself there.”
Then her smile softened into something more sincere.
“Digimas means a lot to me,” she said. “I’ve been chasing after my own mother’s shadow for a long time, so getting work in the business under my own merit... it really was a dream come true.”
Yuuta’s nervousness eased.
Only a little, but enough.
He knew that feeling. Wanting to become something real without being swallowed by someone else’s shadow. Wanting the work to prove that your dream belonged to you.
He smiled.
“Thank you for your hard work, Fuji-san,” he said. “I hope I get to hear you sing the opening in person soon.”
Fuji Kiseki’s eyes brightened.
For a second, she looked like she might say something dramatic enough to belong onstage.
Hishi Amazon spoke first.
“Geez,” she said, grin turning teasing. “First time I’ve seen you act so fangirl-ish before.”
Fuji Kiseki turned toward her quickly.
“Hush. Digimas is very popular, even in Tracen.”
That caught Yuuta off guard.
“Wait,” he said. “It is?”
Several of the Uma Musume exchanged glances.
Rudolf’s mouth curved faintly.
“It would be fair to say your work has a considerable readership here.”
Yuuta suddenly felt the floor becoming dangerous.
“Oh.”
Then another thought struck him.
“Wait, so does !nemoD attend here too?”
Fuji Kiseki’s smile became mysterious.
“Yep. But I’ll keep her identity a secret for now.”
Yuuta opened his mouth, then closed it.
That was probably fair.
After everything that had happened with his own identity, he could hardly argue.
Air Groove turned to Tazuna with professional composure.
“Miss Tazuna, we can escort Yuuta-kun around from here.”
Tazuna smiled gratefully.
“Thank you, Air Groove. That would be a great help. I still need to get his new apartment set up with all his essentials.”
Yuuta looked at her. “Already?”
“Director Akikawa requested that it be handled quickly,” Tazuna said.
Which, Yuuta was beginning to understand, meant reality had been given a deadline and was expected to comply.
Tazuna gave him one more reassuring smile.
“You’ll be in good hands.”
Yuuta looked back at the five Uma Musume before him.
A dazzling performer who had sung for his anime.
A fierce dorm leader who seemed ready to adopt him through sheer force of personality.
A silent powerhouse whose gaze felt like it could cut through excuses.
A strict vice president who looked capable of managing his entire life better than he could.
And a calm student council president whose authority reminded him just enough of his aunt to make him stand straighter.
Good hands, probably.
Overwhelming hands, definitely.
Yuuta bowed again, less stiffly this time.
“Please take care of me.”
Rudolf nodded with quiet approval.
“Welcome to Tracen Academy, Agematsu Yuuta-kun.”
For the first time since leaving his old school behind, Yuuta felt the strange, nervous shape of possibility settle in his chest.
It was not comfort yet.
But it was something new.
And for now, something new was enough.