Chapter Text

Chapter 1: To Be Myself

" I live for now, not for what happens after I die"

— Liam Gallagher

The interview room smelled like bleach and bad decisions.

Matsuo Nakayama. Twenty-four. Former national-level sprinter. Currently: a man sitting very still, pretending he wasn't nervous. Posture easy, eyes sharp — old athlete habits an injury hadn't managed to take from him.

Twenty-four. Either the start of everything, or another door marked not this one.

He was trying not to think about which.

"So." The interviewer tapped his pen. "Ito-san's apprentice. Final step of certification. How's it feel?"

"Good, honestly." Matsuo held his gaze. "I'm not riding his coattails, if that's what you're asking. I've got my own way of doing this."

"Psychology major, former national athlete." A skeptical flip through the file. "Impressive on paper. Doesn't guarantee a thing here."

"Wouldn't expect it to. But I've done the work."

The interviewer stepped out. Through the one-way glass, his voice carried: "You sure he's the one?"

Tazuna Hayakawa stood with her arms crossed, watching Matsuo through the panel. "Don't worry. He's Ito-san's apprentice."

Alone, his mind drifted.

Tokyo Racecourse, 2012

Twelve years old. Completely transfixed.

Haiseiko crossed the line in second — streak broken, career over. The crowd cheered anyway, that specific warmth of people who knew exactly what they'd just watched. Matsuo stood at the barrier next to Ito and couldn't say a word.

"Gramps." His voice came out small. "Someday I wanna be just like you."

Ito Masami looked down at him, face lined with something Matsuo didn't have a name for yet. "You will, Mats-kun. This old man will make sure of it."

Tears ran down Matsuo's face. He didn't wipe them.

Backstage, Haiseiko found them. Pulled Ito into a hug. "Trainer-san!"

"Seiko. How was it?"

"Incredible." Ears bright, tail swishing despite the loss. "Didn't win, but that rush, one more time—" She noticed Matsuo and dropped to one knee, ruffling his hair. "Mats-kun! Hope you enjoyed it."

"I did." He got it out clearly. "I wanna be just like Gramps someday."

She ruffled harder. He didn't stop her — never did, when it was his sister doing it.

Present Day

The door opened. Tazuna walked in.

"Matsuo Nakayama." She paused just long enough to make him sweat. "You've passed. You're an official trainer."

Joy hit him like a wall. He pumped his fist before he could stop himself. "Hell yeah—" Caught himself. "Shit. Sorry." Exhaled. "Thank you. I won't disappoint you guys."

Outside, the cold January air hit his face. He looked up.

"Gramps," he said quietly. "I fucking did it."

He found the café by following the smell of coffee.

An Umamusume with dark eyes and long black hair handed him a macchiato, precise and unhurried, ears still.

"Here's your coffee, Trainer-san."

"Thanks—uh—" He blinked. An Umamusume running the counter was not what he'd expected today.

"You're staring," she said, ears tilting. "Are you a trainer?"

"Yeah. Name's Mats—"

"Café!" Another Umamusume rounded the corner — shorter, brown hair, dark red eyes locking onto him with immediate, unsettling focus. "I have a favor—" She caught herself, snapped into politeness, ears perking. "Oh! Where are my manners? Hello there!"

"Agnes-san," the barista said, in the tone of someone issuing a warning, "don't use the customers for experiments."

"Right, right." Agnes redirected, and Matsuo took his coffee to a table, mildly concerned about what had just happened to him.

"Say, Café." Agnes's voice carried easily. "Who is that?"

Matsuo opened his book — Carl Sagan's Cosmos, beat-up paperback from university — to the page he'd marked years ago. We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever. He sat with that a while.

Tracen Academy, 2022

"Matsuo Nakayama!"

Ito cheered louder than anyone in the hall. Matsuo, crossing the stage for his diploma, found his face doing something embarrassing.

Afterward, Ito pulled him into a tight hug. "So proud of you."

"Thanks, Gramps. For believing when my parents didn't."

Ito went quiet a second. "You're my kid too, Mats-kun. You and Seiko both. Don't you ever forget that."

Matsuo didn't trust his voice enough to answer. He just nodded, and left to join his friends.

At the banquet, Haiseiko slid into a seat and immediately stole whatever was on Ito's plate. "He's really gonna be a trainer, huh?"

"In time. You know, it—" The cough came without warning. Violent, chest-deep. Ito turned away.

"Gramps—"

He waved her off, pressing a napkin to his mouth. When he lowered it, there was blood.

"I'm fine." Firm. "Just tired."

He smiled. Haiseiko looked at the napkin. Then back at the smile. Tried to believe him.

Back in the café, present day.

"Haven't seen you here before."

He looked up. Agnes Tachyon had appeared at his table without a sound — impressive, given the amount of energy she was putting out. Ears angled forward, fixed entirely on him.

"Eh… can I help you?"

"You're unique." Already studying him. "Never seen a trainer built like an actual athlete. And that book—" She leaned in without apology.

"It's Matsuo, not—" She'd grabbed his hand. He stared. "Hey—"

"Callus pattern here suggests repetitive explosive movement. Sprinting, probably." She looked up, completely genuine. "You're interesting, Trainer-kun. Look forward to seeing you again."

She let go and was gone before he could respond.

Matsuo sat with his coffee for a second. Then went back to the counter. "Café?"

"Yes, Trainer-san?"

"That Umamusume. What's her deal?"

One eyebrow. "Isn't it a little odd to ask me directly about another customer?"

"Fair. She just grabbed my hand like that was normal."

"It is, for her." A brief pause. "If you're looking for her, she spends time at the track."

"Got it." He left a generous tip.

For the first time, something close to a smile crossed the barista's face. "Thank you, Trainer-san."

That Afternoon — Tracen Training Track

The track was mostly empty. No sign of the brown-haired eccentric with the smart handshake.

"Where the hell is she?"

What he did find was Tazuna at the railing, watching the last few stragglers.

"Mats-kun." She spotted him immediately. "Wandering already?"

"Looking for someone. Dark red eyes, kind of—" He hunted for the word. "Weird."

Tazuna's expression shifted. "Who?"

"An Umamusume. She read my hand and left before I got her name."

"That does sound like her." She looked back at the track. "Glad you two crossed paths."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing happens by accident around here."

A voice called from the other end of the railing.

"Mats-kun!"

He turned. Something in his chest did a slightly undignified thing.

Fuji Kiseki walked toward them — ears relaxed, tail easy, the kind of person who made a space feel more settled just by standing in it. She'd been a senior during his student years, decent to him during some rough stretches. He'd had an embarrassingly obvious crush on her the entirety of third year.

He'd grown out of it. As far as he could tell.

Mostly.

"Fuji-san," he managed. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." She grinned. "Look at you. Heard you passed this morning."

"Yeah. Just — yeah."

"Nice." She laughed. "Training staff now, huh? Was kinda hoping I'd run into you."

"You remembered me?"

"Obviously. You're hard to forget, Pony-kun."

His face went warm. Pony-kun. She'd called him that since third year, when she'd caught him trying to sneak a look at the Umamusume training schedule for reasons he'd never fully explained.

"Still with that nickname."

"It's earned." Her ears tipped forward, something more serious sliding in. "Heads up — Tazuna-san's putting you with one of my girls."

"What?!"

Fuji and Tazuna traded a look.

"Nothing," both said at once.

"Super reassuring guys."

Fuji smiled. "Okay, real talk. There's someone here I think about a lot. One of my residents. Genuinely one of the smartest, most extra people I've ever met. But she's chewed through, what, four trainers now?" Her voice dropped, more careful. "She cares so much it scares her. So she hides behind science instead."

"That's — a bit terrifying, actually."

"She just needs somebody who can keep up with that brain and still remind her racing isn't only numbers." Fuji nudged him with her elbow. "Pretty sure that's you."

"Me? I passed my certification like two hours ago."

"I know."

Ritto Dormitory, That Evening

Agnes pushed open her door. Lab gear gleamed under the ceiling light. Straight to the desk.

"Well then." To the screen. "Let's see who you are, Guinea Pig-kun."

Files populated within minutes: academic records, publications, athletic history.

Ito Masami's protégé. She scrolled fast. Former sprinter, national level. Injury, 2018. Trainer program same year. Graduated 2022. Post-bachelor's in sports psychology, finished 2024. Twenty-four years old. Published research—

She leaned closer. "The Psychological Factors in Performance Optimization: A Holistic Approach to Athletic Training."

Skimmed the methodology. Integrated model, quantitative and qualitative. Explicitly flags the limits of pure data-driven approaches.

She sat back.

Most trainers could barely run a stopwatch. This one had a published paper at twenty-four.

The door opened.

"Agnes-san, please lock the door next time." Café came in with coffee and tea, settling into her usual spot. "What if Fuji-san asks why you skipped training?"

"I didn't skip it. I was conducting research."

"You were wandering around Tracen."

"The standard program is statistically inefficient for my parameters." She spun her chair around. "But Café — that trainer. He's weird, right?"

"You grabbed his hand without asking and called him the wrong name."

"For observational purposes! And honestly, fascinating." Agnes gestured at the screen. "Former athlete. Thesis that actually engages the gap between data and human experience. He gets both sides."

"He's a person. Not a lab rat."

"Obviously. That's what makes it interesting." She caught Café's look. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"Yes."

Agnes exhaled. "Fair." Eyes back on the screen. "Building actual rapport with him would be—"

"Agnes-san."

"—good. Having a friend. Not that I need more—" She stretched, ears drooping, tail doing something she probably wasn't tracking. "I mean. I have— I don't need—" A pause. Something flickered behind her eyes, honest and gone before she could file it away. "I'm curious about his methodology."

"So no ambushing him with experiments on day one?"

Something impish crossed her face. "I'll build baseline trust first. Proper method requires rapport before variables—"

"Agnes-san."

"Fine." Still smiling. "Thanks for the reality check, Café."

"Someone has to give it. Now sleep. Don't read his thesis until 3 AM again."

After Café settled in, Agnes pulled up race footage. Her last official race, six months back.

Hit play.

She crossed first. Perfect form. Personal best.

Watched her own face in slow motion.

Bored. Not tired, not disappointed — just empty, like solving an equation she already knew the answer to. And there, third stretch: something she'd been ignoring since she filmed it. A barely-there favoring of her left leg. One stride. Once. Not enough to matter.

She closed the file before she could look closer.

When did this stop being about the feeling?

She pulled up Matsuo's thesis instead, found the line she'd bookmarked.

The most effective training must account for the individual's psychological landscape as much as physical capabilities. An athlete is not a machine to be optimized but a person to be understood.

Across the room, Café watched, said nothing.

"Still up?" Café's voice from the dark.

"Finishing notes." A pause. "Café?"

"Mm?"

"Thanks for putting up with me."

"Go to sleep, Agnes-san."

Agnes smiled. "Night, Café."

Three alarms — 6:00, 6:15, 6:30 — and she lay back, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow felt important in a way she couldn't quite put a number on.

Low-probability hypothesis, maybe.

Not impossible, though.

The Next Morning

The morning sun hit the red GR Yaris as he pulled in.

He'd barely slept. Supersonic by Oasis was blasting from the car speakers, the song he'd put on before every race until the day he couldn't race anymore.

“You need to be yourself, can't be no one else.”

He got out, adjusted the strap on his messenger bag — laptop, stopwatch, heart rate monitor, a couple of worn books — and headed for the entrance.

"Mats-kun! Morning!"

Tazuna was already waiting.

"Morning, Tazuna-san." He fell into step. "Is it that obvious I didn't sleep?"

"Only if you know what to look for." A sideways glance. "First-day nerves. Normal. Ready to meet people?"

"As long as nobody grabs my hand without consent again."

"No promises."

They were almost at the entrance when Fuji appeared, Jungle Pocket bouncing beside her, ears high, tail practically vibrating.

"Oi! Tazuna-san! Mats-kun!"

Matsuo felt his posture do the thing it did around Fuji that he was categorically not going to examine right now.

"Morning, Fuji-san." Normal. Fine.

"Always early." Fuji's ears stayed easy. "Jungle Pocket had extra energy. We put it to use."

"She's improving," Tazuna said.

Fuji's expression softened. "She's finding her own thing." She turned to Matsuo. "By the way — I'm the one who put your name in."

"Let me guess. And now Tracen wants to pair me with someone."

"Yup. Figured if anyone got pushing your own limits, it was—"

"HAH! I knew it— Wait— I get assigned a trainee today?" Matsuo gave her a shocked look.

"Oh, Mats-kun." Fuji laughed, knocked his shoulder. "Don't make me regret it."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Came out more sincere than teasing.

"Good. C'mon."

Trainer's Office

Papers everywhere, coffee mugs at various stages of neglect, a whiteboard packed with session notes — the office had the energy of people actually working. Matsuo felt instantly at home and instantly like an intruder. New experience.

"New guy!" A trainer popped up from behind a leaning tower of paperwork, grinning like he'd been waiting all morning for someone to talk to. "Okino Koji, Team Spica. Thank god, another trainer. Gets lonely being the only guy here who forgets to eat lunch."

Matsuo shook his hand. "Heard good things about Team Spica."

"Don't quote me on any of it. The girls do the actual work. I just stand there with a stopwatch, looking important." He leaned in, conspiratorial. "Half the time they're the ones giving me advice."

"Okino-san." Flat, from the next desk over. "Stop selling yourself short. You're barely functional, not useless."

"See, this is the kind of support I get around here."

The woman at the desk didn't look up from her laptop. Everything about her — the posture, the files squared to the corner, the pen capped and set at a precise ninety degrees — said organized. "Toujou Hana. Team Rigil." She glanced up. "Congratulations, Nakayama-kun. You trained under Ito-san?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

"Crossed paths at a few conferences. He spoke highly of you." A beat. "Also mentioned you overthink. A lot."

"He said that?"

"Fondly." She studied him a second too long. "Analysis is useful. Just don't let it be the reason you don't move."

"She's the serious one," Okino stage-whispered. "I'm the fun one."

"It's a coping mechanism," Hana said. "For him."

"For both of us." Okino grabbed the mug off her desk, got one sip in before she swatted his hand away without looking. "Anyway — my first month, I had these crazy plans. Special Week looked at the whole thing and said, 'Trainer-san, you're thinking too much. Just watch me run and tell me what you feel.' Threw it all out. Best decision I never made."

"His desk has its own system," Hana added, nodding at the disaster zone beside her immaculate one. "I've stopped asking."

"It's called organized chaos, Toujou-san."

"It's just chaos."

Matsuo liked them immediately.

"So," Okino said, leaning in, clearly delighted, "Tazuna-san said you're already assigned a trainee. Anyone we know?"

"You both know who it is, huh?"

Hana's composure cracked, just slightly. "Let's say we're very interested in how this goes."

"She once asked if I'd consider optimizing my emotional responses for training efficiency," Okino said. "Told her emotions don't work like that. She said, 'Not with that attitude.'"

Something tightened in Matsuo's chest. "Why does everyone keep building up to this?"

"Because it's a big deal." Okino's grin softened, went genuine. "She just needs somebody who can keep up with her and still remind her racing's not only science. She's just—"

"Lost track of why she started," Hana finished. "Needs help finding her way back."

Three measured knocks landed on the door before Matsuo could respond.

"Come in," Tazuna said.

Matsuo had met plenty of exceptional people — athletes, coaches, researchers. But there was something specific about Symboli Rudolf. Not performed. Just the plain result of someone who'd actually become what she set out to be. Long brown hair, that signature blaze, ears at perfect attention.

"Good morning. Apologies for the interruption. I heard the new trainer had arrived, and as student council president, I wanted to extend an official welcome."

Matsuo's brain buffered for a second. He rebooted it.

"I—" Stood, bowed more formally than necessary. "Nakayama Matsuo, newly certified. It's an honor, Rudolf-san. I've watched all your races."

"My reputation precedes me, it seems." Small, genuine warmth. "We're colleagues. Raise your head."

"Right. Yes. Colleagues." He straightened, face warm.

"I understand you trained under Ito Masami-san," Rudolf said. "A trainer of exceptional caliber."

"He taught me everything. I just hope I can live up to it."

"Humility with determination. Both useful." Ears perfectly still, expression perfectly composed. "Though I do wonder — as a new trainer, would you say you're feeling somewhat... horse-struck right now?"

The room went quiet.

Okino made a sound like a man trying very hard not to laugh, and failing completely.

"Did you—" Matsuo started, stopped. A laugh escaped despite himself. "Did you just make a dad joke?"

"I made an observation about your current state." Her ears shifted, barely, with contained amusement. "If it happened to carry additional layers of meaning, that's incidental."

"Rudolf-san, that was terrible," Hana said, composure notably compromised.

"If one can't occasionally laugh at oneself, one becomes very dull company." Rudolf, the picture of dignity. "In all seriousness — welcome, Nakayama-kun. Your trainee is brilliant. She needs guidance that doesn't try to extinguish what makes her herself." A slight tilt of her ears. "I believe you're capable of that."

"I'll do my best."

"That's all anyone can do." She turned. "Okino-san. Your Team Spica reports—"

"Already submitted. Yesterday."

A genuine pause. "I'm impressed. And mildly suspicious."

"Special Week reminded me!"

"Mm." Back to Matsuo. "Your trainee has history with student council protocols. Consider yourself warned." A graceful bow, and she was gone.

Matsuo sat down. "That actually happened."

"Yep," Okino said. "Rudolf-san made a pun and you survived. Basically a rite of passage."

"Trust your instincts," Hana said, back to her screen, rooting for him anyway.

"Speaking of," Tazuna said, checking her phone, "we should head to Rudolf's office. Director wants to be there for the formal assignment."

Matsuo stood. "More Rudolf? Now?"

"Fuji-san's coming too."

"C'mon, Pony-kun," Fuji said from the doorway, smiling like she'd known this whole time. "Moral support."

"You all knew."

"The universe has a weird sense of humor," Matsuo said, and followed them out.

Rudolf's Office

Immaculate. Organized. Warm, somehow — shelves of racing records and old novels, a window looking out over the grounds where three Umamusume ran intervals.

Rudolf stood as they entered. "Tazuna-san, Fuji-san, Nakayama-kun. Director Akikawa will join us shortly."

Matsuo sat, Tazuna and Fuji flanking him.

"While we wait," Rudolf said, "your mentor believed the trainer-Umamusume bond required real understanding of who she was as a person. Not just as an athlete."

"Exactly what he taught. Said if you tried to fit every Umamusume into the same box, you'd get one of two outcomes — she'd break, or she'd leave." Matsuo paused. "Usually she'd leave."

"Your trainee has needed that understanding more than most." Rudolf went quiet a moment. "She'll test that philosophy considerably."

A knock.

Director Akikawa Yayoi entered — sharp-eyed, unhurried, the kind of presence that made a room feel more consequential just by being in it. But something genuinely enthusiastic sat underneath, like she loved this job and couldn't quite keep it off her face.

"Morning, everyone!" She moved to Rudolf's desk. "Nakayama Matsuo! Ito-san talked about you plenty — record checks out, very solid." A grin. "Good to finally meet you."

"Thank you, Director. Glad to be here."

"So — this isn't a standard assignment." Her energy sharpened. "Your trainee's exceptionally talented. But she's been unable to hold onto a trainer. No trainer means no competing. No competing means—" A brief pause. "She can't stay at Tracen."

"She'd be expelled?"

"Academy rules require active training affiliation," Rudolf said. "After a six-month grace period—"

"She's been without a trainer four months," Tazuna said, direct. "You're her last shot, Mats-kun."

Fuji, who'd stayed quiet, stood. Looked at Matsuo — a small, private take care of her — and slipped out, shutting the door softly.

The room felt different without her.

"So, Nakayama-kun." Director Akikawa. "You actually ready for this? Not just training an Umamusume. Giving someone a second shot."

Matsuo took a breath. "Nervous. But ready. Gramps taught me every Umamusume deserves someone who believes in her."

Akikawa's expression opened up. "Good answer. Because—"

A knock. Less measured than Rudolf's usual visitors.

"Right on time," Akikawa said. "Come in."

The door opened. Agnes Tachyon walked in — energy first, ears sharp, dark red eyes scanning the room, cataloguing. She stopped when she saw Matsuo.

"Oh. It's you." Recalibrated fast. "Guinea Pig-kun. From the café."

"It's Mats—" He stopped himself. "Wait. What the hell—"

"Agnes Tachyon," Director Akikawa said, "meet your new trainer, Matsuo Nakayama."

Agnes's gaze sharpened, recognition sliding into reassessment. "You're my trainer? The one with the athletics background and the published paper?"

"You read my paper?"

"After yesterday. Standard protocol before evaluating a potential collaborator." Said with zero self-consciousness. "Your methodology's genuinely interesting — most trainers can barely operate a stopwatch—"

"Tachyon-san." Rudolf's voice, level and kind. "Do you understand what this meeting is?"

Agnes's energy dropped. Ears flat for a second. "I understand. Last chance to stay at Tracen."

She pulled a tablet and a stack of printouts from her bag, set them on Rudolf's desk with real care.

"My research. Five months of it. Training optimization models, biomechanical analysis, psych profiling for performance. Three hundred-plus races analyzed." She looked at Akikawa, then Matsuo. "Everyone assumes I've been avoiding training. I haven't. I've been trying to understand it well enough to break my own ceiling."

Silence.

"I know I've been difficult," Agnes went on, tail still, ears low. "But I haven't been giving up. I've been preparing." She turned to Matsuo. Her voice changed — less clinical, more specific. "Nakayama-san. I know this wasn't optional for you. But I mean it. I want to race. I want to know what I'm actually capable of when I stop analyzing and start doing it." She held his gaze. "I won't make you regret this."

She's never done this, Rudolf thought. Never this openly.

"Words need actions behind them," Director Akikawa said, but her tone had shifted.

"I know. That's why I'm saying it here, in front of everyone." Agnes faced Matsuo. "If you take me on, I show up to every session. I follow your lead, even when it fights my own research. I race with everything I've got." A breath. "I promise."

Matsuo looked at her. Not the research, not the tablet, not the credentials. Her.

He saw someone who'd built a fortress out of data because it was safer than hope. Someone who cared too much to just stop, so she'd made it a research project instead.

He knew that shape from the inside.

"Tachyon-san. One question first."

"Ask."

"Why do you want to race?"

The room went still.

Agnes blinked. Whatever she'd braced for, it wasn't that. The rapid-fire precision dropped out of her voice. Her ears sank. She looked at her hands.

"When I run—" Started, stopped. Started again. "Even just practice. There's this moment — doesn't last long — where all of it stops. The data. The analysis. What I'm supposed to be doing, why. It's just me and the track and this feeling of—" A pause. "Freedom. Possibility with no conditions attached." She looked up. "I want to know what happens if I can hold onto that for a whole race. I want to know who I am when I'm not thinking about who I'm supposed to be."

Something caught in Rudolf's chest.

Matsuo held out his hand.

"Then let's find out. Together." Easy, steady. "I accept you as my trainee, Agnes Tachyon. And I'm not giving up on you, no matter how many experiments you try to run on me."

Agnes stared at his hand. Ears came up slowly, then fully. She took it. Grip firmer than expected.

A small, unguarded smile. "I'll keep it to non-invasive experiments. We'll negotiate the definition of non-invasive."

Director Akikawa's professional face cracked into something genuinely warm. "It's official, then! Welcome to the staff, Nakayama-san. This is gonna be good, I can feel it."

Paperwork moved fast. When it was done, Rudolf walked them to the door and paused.

"Tachyon-san. A moment."

Agnes stopped. Rudolf's expression softened, the way it did when she meant something instead of performing it.

"I'm proud of you," she said quietly. "What you did in there — being honest about what you're struggling with. That took real nerve."

Agnes went still, the analytical register dropping out completely. "Thank you, Rudolf-san."

"Go on. Fuji-san's waiting."

"She—" Agnes glanced down the hall. Something warm crossed her face, ears perking. "She waited?"

Fuji stood off the bench as they came out, easy and open. "Well? How'd it go?"

"Nakayama-san accepted." Agnes's usual energy, subdued.

"Heard some of it." Fuji's smile was real. "Proud of you. What you said in there was honest and brave."

"Was it weird?" Agnes asked quietly. "Felt... inefficient. All that feeling getting in the way."

"It wasn't in the way." Fuji's hand landed on her shoulder. "It was the point. You let people see you today. That matters."

Agnes's ears settled — lower than usual, but steady. "Fuji-san. You really think I can do this?"

"I know you can. Question was never whether you could. It was whether you'd let yourself be vulnerable enough to try."

"Vulnerability's inefficient." Old armor. No conviction behind it, though.

"It's normal," Fuji said simply. "Which is what you are, underneath everything else."

Agnes looked at her, briefly, genuinely afraid. "What if I disappoint everyone?"

"Then you learn and try again." Dryly affectionate. "But Tachyon-san — you're not doing any of this alone. You've got a trainer now. You've got me, Café, everyone in that building rooting for you even when you're being impossible."

"Even if I accidentally turn the dorm kitchen into a lab again?"

"Didn't say there wouldn't be consequences." A tilt of her head. "Different thing."

Agnes laughed — small, real, some of the tension draining out. "Thanks, Fuji-san."

"That's family for you." Fuji looped an arm through hers. "C'mon. Tell me about this research. The real version."

Agnes's eyes lit up, ears springing upright. "So — I've been mapping a correlation between stress markers and performance optimization that could totally reframe—"

"Tell me how you're feeling first."

A pause. "Nervous. And hopeful. Is that contradictory?"

"It's exactly right."

They rounded the corner, Agnes's voice trailing back — something about cortisol response — Fuji's amused reply fading after it.

Matsuo watched with Tazuna beside him.

"Fuji-san's good with her," he said.

"She is." Tazuna turned to him. "And now Tachyon-san's got you too. Don't underestimate what that means." A pause. "She's more fragile than she looks, Mats-kun. Take care of her."

"I will."

He meant it.

Later, going through his assignment paperwork, Matsuo hit the official documentation.

Agnes Watanabe (Racing Name: Agnes Tachyon). Age: 21.

Read it twice. "Her legal name's Watanabe?"

"Agnes Watanabe's her real name," Tazuna confirmed. "Tachyon's been her racing name since debut."

"Fits."

"Chosen because she's brilliant and impossible to catch." Tazuna looked at him. "Don't lose her, Mats-kun."

His phone buzzed. Unknown number.

"This is Agnes Tachyon. I have added your contact to my research database. Report to Track B tomorrow at 0600 hours for baseline cardiovascular assessment and initial performance evaluation. Comfortable athletic attire. Also list any food allergies — I am developing an optimized nutritional protocol. — A.T."

Matsuo stared at it. Typed: "Got it. No allergies. Looking forward to it. — Matsuo"

Reply came in forty-seven seconds.

"Excellent. Response time indicates adequate cognitive processing efficiency. Projected partnership compatibility: 94.3%. Favorable baseline. — A.T."

Matsuo laughed, drew a look from Tazuna.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah." Pocketed his phone. "Just getting a preview of what I'm in for."

He was looking forward to every second of it.