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I had assumed she was someone who did not enjoy excessive physical contact.
She treated everyone warmly, gently, with careful attention — and yet her innermost self she never surrendered to anyone. The moment you tried to step one pace closer, she would slip neatly aside.
She was right there, and yet somehow far away.
A curious Uma Musume, like trying to grasp at smoke.
— That's what I had thought.
"Would you like to touch them?"
It was one afternoon after school.
Beyond the window, students returning from training practice were crossing the turf that had begun to flush a shade of red with the evening. The mountain of paperwork needed to register for an upcoming race had finally been cleared, and I was rolling my shoulders with a sigh of relief.
"…Excuse me?"
An odd sound escaped me. Dream Journey, standing across the desk from me, tilted her head a little.
"I said — would you like to touch them?"
Not joking, not testing me — just asking, as casually as if she were inquiring about the weather. That was how she said it.
I blinked several times.
"…Touch what?"
"You seemed quite interested."
And she gently stroked one of her own ears with a fingertip. A soft laugh. And with it — pico — a little tremor of those long ears.
My gaze was drawn there naturally. I tried to pull it away — but then a soft swish of her tail caught my eye instead.
"No, I mean, it's not—"
"Were you trying to hide it? During conversation, while you were reading reports — you were looking over here from time to time, you know."
"…That often?"
"Yes. Quite a lot, in fact."
"Ah — ahaha. How embarrassing…"
She had apparently been fully aware this whole time. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I wanted to bury my head in my hands.
It was true that I was curious. Since becoming her dedicated trainer, I had wondered again and again: what would those ears feel like to touch? Is her tail soft? I love fluffy things, which didn't help — but even so, I had never thought of casually asking to touch them, and beyond that, I knew it wasn't something that would simply be permitted. Uma Musume's ears and tails are deeply sensitive things, and I am her trainer. Messing with a student out of personal curiosity would be immediate grounds for dismissal. Yes to fluffiness. No to touching.
As if reading straight through those thoughts, Dream Journey spoke calmly.
"I'm not reproaching you. I simply thought — if there's something I can do for the trainer who works so hard for my sake."
Her deer-colored hair parted gently, and one ear turned toward me from within it.
"So please — don't hold back."
"…Ugh."
When the temptation was held right out to me, I felt myself sway. Did I want to touch them? Of course I did. Since Dream Journey became my assigned student, the number of times I had looked at those twitching ears and that softly swaying tail and thought I bet those feel wonderful was not one or two.
"It's just — as a trainer, is it really appropriate? Touching a student's private areas out of personal curiosity — ethically speaking, or socially speaking…"
I waved both hands in front of my face to signal my refusal. I am supposed to be the adult in this relationship, the trainer, and she is the student I'm here to protect. I'm grateful for her trust — but being presented with ears and tail so naïvely on the grounds of that trust is its own problem. Even if she has no ulterior motive, I have a social standing to maintain.
"…So. If you'll accept my feelings in spirit—"
That was when it happened. Dream Journey gently caught the hand I'd held out.
"Oh—"
She paid no attention to my startled stillness. Her fingers slid smoothly around my wrist. Not tight — an easy grip I could pull free from if I tried. But I couldn't resist, and my hand was being led, slowly, toward her.
The destination was her own cheek. Soft contact against my palm. The warm skin made me catch my breath. My mind went completely blank from the sheer unexpectedness of it — and then she said, in a calm voice:
"First, the face. My skin is thin, I think — my cheeks flush quite easily, which I find troublesome."
Dream Journey tilted her head slightly, and the chain of her glasses glinted. Her words were unhurried; she made my hand trace the shape of her face, as if having me memorize each contour. Like stroking a cat's jaw. My hand followed her guidance upward, slowly. As if she were having me commit it to memory. And then — still being guided — my hand moved up a little more. A brush of deer-colored hair against my fingertips. And beyond it, those long ears gave a little twitch.
"…How is it? Is the texture what you imagined?"
Ah — this is a poison.
My fingertips rested against a slender, inhuman ear — moving with a will of its own, pliant and delicate. Warm, and soft, and yet with a firm cartilage core beneath. The reality of it was so much more delicate than I had imagined. My heart rate spiked; my vision flickered. What kind of situation was this? What was Dream Journey's intention in doing this—?
Inside I was in a full alarm-blaring panic, desperately wanting to run — and yet my body had no choice but to follow where her fingers led. My hand was being made to memorize her contours, like a blind explorer following a single path.
At last, her hand began — without releasing my wrist — to descend slowly but unmistakably.
"And this is—"
— The heart of an Uma Musume (mine).
Just before her fingers would have brought mine to that place, I snatched my hand free by pure instinct, pulling back from her slender wrist.
"Oh — oh wow — you scared me! That's going too far, even as a joke!"
I forced a twitching smile onto my face and made myself laugh, projecting bravado. Heart hammering, I turned my back to escape her gaze and put distance between us.
"Sorry — I just remembered something urgent I'd totally forgotten! So — class dismissed for today, bye!"
I was too frightened even to look at her face, and I fled from the trainer's room.
If I hadn't pulled my hand away. If I had really touched it — what kind of heartbeat would I have felt? The thought floated up and I shook my head quickly. Thinking strange things is exactly what makes me more self-conscious. Go home, take a bath, eat dinner, go to sleep early. I'll surely have forgotten by tomorrow.
That's what I told myself.
Told myself.
Told myself.
…But.
She was so fluffy.
The door she'd bolted through swung shut with a loud bang. Outside the window came the evening commotion. The light of dusk, stained red, cast long shadows across the trainer's room — where now I was the only one left.
"……I got a little carried away, perhaps."
The words fell out quietly, to no one. I should have stopped at the point where she touched my ears. She is a kind person. I take advantage of that kindness and lose control of myself. A bad habit of mine.
But I was happy. When she touched my ear. When — startled though she was — she moved her fingertips gently. Her hand was so tender.
And so I wanted her to know me. This body — neither quite human nor quite beast. And what lies beneath it.
But we are still too new, too far from each other for me to convey it. Still — there is time. I can advance the pieces slowly. And eventually I will reach her heart (checkmate).
"I'd like to know sooner rather than later."
I place a hand over my own heart.
What kind of heartbeat I live by.
What kind of feeling with which I watch her.
Even through my palm I can feel it — drumming fast as the moments after a race. As if this pulse were speaking in my place, telling her everything it longs to say.
200bpm.