And so, time began to flow quietly again.
Only—unlike before—after that Sunday gathering, things shifted.
Driven by undercurrents on both sides, Komata Hajime's team changed their usual training spot, moving right next door to Kitahara Sota's team. Interaction between them became far more frequent.
But Kitahara didn't pay much mind.
After all, the only one worth worrying about on Komata's side was Super Creek. But she wasn't his tantou, and simply exchanging advice about care-giving wasn't a problem.
As for Tamamo Cross—that was even less an issue.
Up to now, she was the most normal Uma Musume Kitahara had met in Tracen.
Far from pushing her away, he wanted to spend more time with her—if only to keep himself from being assimilated by this madhouse without even realizing it.
His own team welcomed this too.
With Komata's team so close, there was no need to worry about her calling Kitahara away to steal time alone.
Now, if she tried to make a move, every one of her actions would be under their eyes.
And with the teams right beside each other, "happening" to overhear—or to step in—was perfectly natural, wasn't it?
Thus, in this strange calm, time slipped into early August.
August meant races—Agnes Tachyon and Tokai Teio both had events, and Agnes Digital was scheduled for an OP-level race later in the month.
Kitahara, thinking he had been far too idle lately, decided to act like a trainer for once and make some adjustments for them.
Of course—Tokai Teio was excluded.
Though she had joined the camp and regained her cheer, she still hadn't answered that question.
And Kitahara wasn't in any hurry. Honestly, her silence was better.
If she ever lost her head and actually wanted him as her exclusive trainer, that would be the real problem.
But before he could worry about Teio, or even get started on Tachyon and Digital's adjustments, a bolt from the blue left him frozen.
"Um… Trainer Kitahara, there's something I want to tell you."
Symboli Rudolf spoke—rarely hesitant.
"What is it, President?"
Kitahara looked at her, puzzled, unaware of how serious this was.
Rudolf cleared her throat, paused, and said,
"You should remember—I told you before, my family has been pressuring me into arranged dates…"
"Yeah, I remember. What about it?"
"Well, yesterday my grandmother called again. I was irritated, didn't want to talk about it, so I casually said I already had a boyfriend…"
Hearing this, Kitahara's brow twitched. That sense of déjà vu… An ominous premonition stirred.
"Wait. President. You don't mean to copy Trainer Komata—have me pretend to be your boyfriend, do you…?"
"That won't be necessary."
Rudolf shook her head.
Kitahara exhaled in relief.
Then the next second, she continued:
"…It's just that when she asked who it was, I gave your name."
The instant those words landed, Kitahara's face froze.
Gave your name. Gave your name. Gave your name…
The phrase echoed in his skull, merging into one huge character:
Screwed.
Rudolf, expecting his reaction, tried to soothe him.
"Don't worry. It's only a name. If that old woman—ah, I mean Symboli Speed—if she really sends someone, I won't let you appear. I'll explain it myself."
Besides, that old woman probably just wanted to watch her suffer. She wouldn't act right away.
Her words brought Kitahara a little back to himself, but his heart wasn't lighter.
Sure, he believed Rudolf had no interest in him. She probably was telling the truth.
But that didn't matter. The moment the Symboli clan heard his name tied to hers, they would focus on him.
And from what he knew of their style—what might happen next, who could say?
This was the Symboli family.
Though Rudolf swore nothing would affect his life, that she would face them herself if they came, that he could tell the truth if anyone confronted him, and she would clean up afterward...
Kitahara still wasn't reassured.
After thinking it over, back in his dorm he did something rare: contacted that ill-tempered elder Uma Musume he trusted, explained the situation, and asked for help if things escalated.
And—rare still—she neither scolded nor answered immediately. After leaving him on "read" for a long while, she finally said she needed to think.
Kitahara wasn't surprised.
In recent years, riding Rudolf's Triple Crown fame and seven undefeated titles, the Symboli clan had risen like wildfire.
They were already a first-rate house. Now, they stood alone at Tier 0.
Even if that senior's identity was extraordinary, openly clashing with the Symboli now wasn't something she could take lightly. She had her own family to consider.
Later, though she didn't say outright she'd help, she did offer: if he wanted, she could send someone to fetch him from Tracen so he could hide at her place.
Kitahara refused.
He worried, yes—but not to the point of abandoning daily life.
And besides—even if the Symboli were the greatest threat, it wasn't like other houses were safe.
He still didn't even know which house his senior really came from.
If he accepted, maybe he'd escape Symboli… only to wake up facing the Mejiro ladies. Or Satono Diamond.
When he declined, she agreed unusually easily.
Not only easily—Kitahara even felt, strangely, that she was pleased.
Surely an illusion.
After all—text typed on a cold screen couldn't possibly carry joy, could it?
And as for Kitahara and Rudolf afterward—
Nothing changed.
Because nothing needed to.
They had no such relationship.
Their occasional chats while watching Tokai Teio's training, about her progress and how to guide children—
Far from looking like romance, it almost resembled an old married couple watching their daughter. To any Symboli spies, it was more than enough cover.
Whether it could fool the Symboli head herself—that was another question.
As for Kitahara's girls...
Seeing no intimate gestures, only casual conversations open enough for anyone to overhear or join in, they saw no spark of romance.
The talk was always about Teio.
So while the atmosphere seemed oddly warm, they dismissed it as simple trainer–senpai exchange.
And really—could the undefeated seven-crown Emperor, Tracen's banner, stoop to stealing a man from her juniors in this age of dwindling trainers?
Teio herself, though, had felt a pang at first when they stood too close.
But with time, realizing all their talks centered on her, that she was their focus—she began stepping lighter.
Especially after learning that Rudolf's change of heart had been thanks to Kitahara's persuasion—
She even started wearing the "decisive victory outfit" he'd given her, deliberately running near them whenever Rudolf came to chat, just like a child showing off to her parents.
"To be honest, whenever I see those three together, I can't shake the feeling it's a family of three," said one Vice-President Air Groove, anonymously.
By the way—
Since Teio moved in, Kitahara's dorm now had several game consoles.
Kids, after all. Of course they loved games.
And with so many of them, they could always scrape together enough players for those massive party games needing ten or more people.
Of course, fun was fun—Kitahara limited their play strictly, mindful of studies and training.
Especially Teio.
She had the precedent of all-night gaming with her roommate Mayano Top Gun, nearly wrecking training the next day. Kitahara kept a close eye on her.
"Your roommate might never even debut, hasn't found a trainer. She can waste nights. You can't."
Teio bowed her head meekly, not daring to argue.
Still, with strict limits, sometimes they came up short on players.
And then—inevitably—their gazes turned toward Kitahara.
He didn't mind. He was idle anyway.
But three days later, even when short-handed, they never invited him again.
The reason?
Games big enough for so many were usually competitive.
And though Kitahara's body lagged behind Uma Musume in strength, his nerves, reactions, and endurance—outstripped even the top-tier girls.
Combine that with his focused nature and absurd learning speed—after only three days, facing him was pure misery.
As for holding back?
Impossible.
Not only was he too earnest to fake it—sandbagging was practically a favor-boosting move. He'd be stupid to do that.
Still, the game itself was fun, popular even among trainers. So Kitahara continued to play casually, giving him common ground with other trainers online.
And because his skills were so sharp, even with rare log-ins he climbed to a high rank, along the way picking up a self-proclaimed apprentice called "GraspVictory."
Well—apprentice was too strong. Kitahara never taught him a thing. The kid just invited him whenever he saw him online, and got pummeled.
And Kitahara wasn't worried he was secretly an Uma Musume.
The boy's chatter was full of current teen-boy topics. Once he even mentioned saving up for a motorcycle. Definitely not something a Tracen girl would say.
Kitahara had been in this world over a decade now.
Though he'd kept the important Uma Musume info memorized, naturally, some details had blurred.
So while something about those chats felt oddly familiar—he couldn't recall what. He dropped it.
Once he confirmed the Symboli clan had taken no immediate steps, and the Black Forest needed no intervention, Kitahara turned back to his work—preparing Tachyon for her race.
Checking her recovery. Calculating safe maximum output.
Adjusting her running style. Custom, targeted drills.
After all that, a few calm days passed.
And then—Tachyon's race day arrived.
Hokkaido, Sapporo.
It wasn't a graded stakes, only OP class. Compared to Digital's G1, the hype was smaller.
But the stands were packed. Professional commentators. Full broadcast.
Because OP races were still official tier, beyond the reach of most.
For Tachyon's debut generation, URA rules allowed only five OPs and two G3s in total.
Of those seven, four were short-distance mismatches for her. One even a G3.
The other two—the single G3 included Tokai Teio, an untouchable rising star. Tachyon, though improved, still carried fragility. Against Teio, no chance.
So she avoided it.
Even so—qualifying for an OP so soon marked her as elite of her cohort.
After all, with so few races, even prodigies had little chance to step up.
And the more talented, the more they raced early, to bank points and buy time for bigger goals.
Thus, those gathered here—every one a standout. Their names would echo in future stakes.
Kitahara could see it before the race began.
Their movements, their focus—even the weakest here wouldn't have ranked below that second place in Teio's debut race.
If it were the old Tachyon, he'd have no hope.
But now…
From the trainers' stands, Kitahara watched calmly.
Watched Tachyon stride onto the field. Watched the whole race. Watched her take the win—by two lengths.
Her rivals were strong. She still held back.
But under Kitahara's adjustments, her power was already far beyond what her old self could reach.
And even this ridiculous growth—was him holding back.
After the race, just like after her debut, Tachyon sat down in the prep room—only him and her inside—and slowly raised her leg.
Kitahara blinked.
Seriously? She's still hung up on that?
He'd always known she bore grudges. She'd tried so many times to tease and provoke him. But to hold onto this too?
Well, whatever. It was only shoes.
And he knew this was her "gift." So he agreed, went over, and helped.
But unlike last time, her body had healed, and he'd touched her legs plenty during care sessions. No loss of control now. Just calmly slipped off her shoes.
Until...
When he finished the second shoe and reached for the fresh pair—
Her legs pressed together. Ankles twisted, clamping his hands.
Then—awkward, hesitant—they began to rub lightly against his trapped palms.
Clumsy. Stiff. Almost timid.
But the decisive victory outfit was expensive for a reason. Even black stockings could feel exquisite.
And clumsy though it was, paired with her earnest expression, the gesture carried a raw, fresh allure.
Kitahara froze, then looked up.
"…Tachyon. What's this supposed to mean?"
"Still don't get it, guinea pig-kun?"
She stared at him, playful, tail whipping faster behind her, shame smoldering beneath her smirk.
She leaned down, face near his, hand reaching slowly toward his cheek.
"I'm making it obvious. Guinea pig-kun, how can you not see it? I—"
At the very brink, she froze. Words cut off.
Not from interruption.
She simply couldn't.
So close. His breath warm. The voice inside her screamed.
But her courage failed.
After a moment's stalemate, she straightened, mask of playfulness restored.
"Of course I meant for you to give me a massage."
She stopped the rubbing. Her tone tilted sly.
"You didn't just get the wrong idea, did you? If you wanted… well, considering all your help lately, giving you a little 'reward' wouldn't be impossible…"
"…Spare me."
Kitahara shot her a glare.
Truth be told, her gesture had caught him off guard. For a heartbeat, he'd almost believed she was confessing.
But it passed. He saw it for what it was: another trick.
She must still be holding a grudge over that medicine fiasco. This was payback.
And after this scare, Kitahara resolved—never again would he take her words at face value.
Even if she threw a straight confession, he'd call it a joke.
He wasn't stupid. She'd tried this kind of thing before (though never this far). If he still didn't learn, he might as well go sell roasted sweet potatoes.
But that didn't mean letting her off.
If she dared this much now, unchecked, what worse would she try later?
So—when Tachyon released his hands, Kitahara struck back.
He grabbed her ankle.
And before she could finish her next word, his fingers slid, pressed a point, and applied force.
Her voice died.
Moments of silence.
Then the whimpering began—pleading, muffled sobs filling the prep room.
And they didn't stop for a long time.