Hachiman's Perspective
A few hours had passed since I'd arrived at the house. Eventually, the day's excitement caught up with Rice, and she headed off to bed. For me, however, it was still far too early for sleep. Usually, this was my prime time for drafting training menus or aimlessly scrolling through the internet, but I couldn't exactly do that here. I was a guest in a stranger's home; I had to be on my best behavior.
"It's been quite some time since I've seen her sleeping face," her father murmured, his voice soft with nostalgia. "It feels like only yesterday I was reading her picture books until she drifted off."
"It really does," her mother added with a gentle smile. "Fufu... even if she's in the Senior Class and a little closer to being an adult, her sleeping face hasn't changed a bit since she was small. I'm so glad for that."
Her father turned his gaze toward me. "Indeed. Well, now that things have finally settled down, I believe we can have a proper talk."
"You look like you've been counting down the minutes," I noted. "Were you really looking forward to this that much?"
"Oh, absolutely," her mother chimed in. "I get to hear about the side of my daughter that I never get to see."
"Well, out of respect for her privacy, I'll tell you what I can," I said.
"That's all we ask, Trainer," her father replied.
From there, I began to recount the story of our time together, starting from the day we met. Rice's parents were the type who wore their hearts on their sleeves; they reacted to every little detail, offering commentary and emotional outbursts as I spoke. Their reactions were so earnest that it actually made telling the story feel... fresh.
"The horseshoe... on your f-forehead!?" her mother gasped, covering her mouth. "Oh, it really is hereditary... I'm so sorry, Rice-chan!"
"I see..." her father nodded thoughtfully when I explained her nickname for me. "So that's why she calls you 'Big Brother.' That was her favorite picture book growing up. It all makes sense now."
"I knew she'd had an incredible win for her first G1," her mother whispered, "but to think she was working that hard in secret... She's always been like that, you know? When she truly sets her heart on something, she works twice as hard as anyone else."
"I thought she'd be crying after her loss at the Satsuki-sho," her father added, his voice thick with pride. "But she... she's grown so strong, hasn't she?"
They listened to every word. I skipped the part about her appetite, since they clearly already knew she could eat a horse, and I decided to leave out the fact that I cook for her two or three times a week. If I mentioned that, they'd probably prostrate themselves in gratitude right then and there, and I wasn't equipped to handle that much sincerity.
"And that brings us up to the summer training camp," I concluded. "Rice has grown stronger—both in body and spirit—than either of you probably realize. You might not have felt it during a brief visit, but I can promise you, it's true."
"We can tell just by listening to you," her father said. "But Trainer, that strength is a reflection of your efforts as well. It's thanks to you that she's found that resilience."
"He's right," her mother agreed. "If any other trainer had taken her on, I don't think she'd be the girl she is today. We are so truly grateful it was you."
"I should be saying that to you," I countered. "She's a better horse girl than I deserve. The fact that she was the one who 'reverse-scouted' me... it's something I'm still proud of."
"But if she took the initiative like that," her father asked, "surely other students must have been trying to scout you as well?"
"Yeah, I had several offers. But I wanted to be the one to help Rice win. So, I chose her."
Two years already, huh? I thought. A lot has happened. Or rather, a lot has 'befallen' us...
"Trainer," her father said, his tone shifting to something more somber. "Regarding what comes next... would you mind if we asked about the Kikuka-sho?"
I hesitated. "...Are you sure?"
"We watched it on television," her mother said quietly. "But even through the screen, we felt it. The roar of the crowd that's usually there... it was absent that day."
"I watched the live broadcast," her father added. "It felt... wrong. Eerie, even."
"...As you likely know," I began, choosing my words carefully, "Rice's rival, Mihono Bourbon, was at the top of her game. She was an undefeated Triple Crown contender. When Rice won the Kikuka-sho, that dream died. The crowd's disappointment was palpable. Combined with the fact that the previous year's undefeated star had been sidelined by injury, the atmosphere in the stadium turned... cold."
And then came the newspapers. The headlines that followed should have been a celebration of their daughter's victory, but instead...
"Things have calmed down now," I continued, "but for a few weeks after that race, she was in a dark place. She hadn't done anything wrong, but with her personality, she took the weight of the world onto her shoulders. Since I couldn't follow her back to the dorms, I had to rely on her roommate to keep an eye on her."
Silence fell over the room.
"We saw the articles," her father said, his voice tight. "They read like an indictment of our daughter. We stopped looking at them almost immediately. We keep a scrapbook of every single win she's ever had... but we couldn't bring ourselves to clip the one for the Kikuka-sho. We knew that if we looked at it, all we'd see was our daughter's sad face."
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," I said.
"No, no!" her mother insisted, waving her hands. "You have nothing to apologize for, Trainer! You aren't the one at fault. In fact, no one is!"
"She's right," her father said. "It was a matter of public sentiment—something beyond anyone's control. But Rice still has people who cheer for her, doesn't she?"
"Of course," I said without hesitation. "I'm her number one fan, after all."
Her mother blinked, a soft light returning to her eyes. "My... that is very reassuring to hear."
"Yes," her father agreed, a small smile finally breaking through. "If her Trainer is her number one fan, then I suppose that makes us her official sponsors. We are her greatest allies. Please, Trainer... continue to look after our Rice."
"...I will. You can count on me."
This family... they're so warm it almost hurts.
Rice's Room
Rice lay in her bed, the covers pulled up high, tears silently streaming down her face.
Beside her, a small plushie—a piece of "Well-Done Steak"—sat propped against her pillow. She reached out, patting it rhythmically as she listened to the voices from the living room.
"...Thank you," she whispered into the dark, her voice trembling. "Thank you, Mother. Father. And... thank you, Big Brother."
She squeezed her eyes shut, the tears of sadness from months ago finally being replaced by something else entirely.
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