"Master, I've packed everything and said my goodbyes to Mom."
Tightening the straps of the backpack before her, Special Week bent down and heaved it onto her shoulders.
The luggage, nearly one and a half times her height, looked downright cruel pressed against her small frame—but Special Week carried it with an effortless grace.
The results of her childhood training were now evident. No longer the rough gem from the original story's beginning, this Special Week was tempered steel.
Determination, focus, endurance—through long, specialized training, these qualities had become her foundation. She didn't even take pride in them anymore; they were simply a given.
'When it comes to Master, isn't this just how it should be?'
If asked, that would likely be her only conclusion. Special Week's gauge for a Uma Musume's strength had been utterly dismantled by Platinum.
"Well, no need to be so tense. At the end of the day, we're just going to take an entrance exam. If the results aren't good, you can just come back and keep training."
Platinum wheeled herself out, casually covering a yawn, looking thoroughly worn out.
Yet her clothes and long, snow-white hair were neatly arranged—who knew if she'd done it herself or if Special Week had helped.
"But you're worrying over nothing. How's your grasp of the 'Domain' coming along?"
"I can just barely sense it... but I'm still very far away."
Special Week shook her head, a rare look of frustration crossing her face.
"It's been three months already, and it's still like this. Master... do I just not have the talent for it?"
"..."
"Master?"
By the time she snapped back to attention, Platinum had already slowly wheeled out the door, leaving only her retreating back. Special Week hurried to catch up.
"Master, you're doing it again—leaving me behind mid-sentence."
"Because I can't stand to see you like that. What is this 'doubting yourself' nonsense? If you won't affirm yourself, who else do you expect to affirm you?"
A slender finger poked Special Week's side. Platinum gazed at this... family member who had been by her side for so long.
"Did you want me to say something like, 'Even if everyone denies you, I'll still support you'?"
"...Would that be so bad?"
For once, Special Week's ears drooped, her tone subdued.
For Special Week, the Uma Musume by her side held a place almost as important as her foster mother. If she could have their encouragement, she would fear nothing.
Because everything about her—from her running form and diet plan, to post-training massages and supervision—had been handled by Platinum alone.
If someone asked who knew her best?
It would definitely be Centaurea. Special Week trusted the girl beside her more than she trusted herself.
"No."
The cold reply was accompanied by a slight, stinging pinch at her waist.
It felt a bit like that 180-degree twist some women seemed born knowing how to inflict on men, but then released almost regretfully.
To put it bluntly, it was nothing. Tumbling on her rear during training hurt more than this.
Looking down, she met Centaurea's pale golden eyes fixed on her, and Special Week instinctively tensed her muscles.
This was the look Centaurea gave her whenever she messed up in training or acted recklessly. Originally, Special Week hadn't paid it much mind—it was just a look.
Until one day, Centaurea produced a bow from who-knows-where and aimed it at the sky.
Twang!
With a dull thrum of the bowstring, about ten seconds later, a bird pierced by an arrow plummeted to the ground.
Special Week had seen it. When drawing the bow, Centaurea's eyes were just like this—calm and sharp.
Ever since then, whenever she saw that look, Special Week would immediately check herself, humbly awaiting guidance or scolding. It was still the same now.
Seeing Special Week before her—chest puffed out but head bowed, ears pressed forward weakly, radiating an "I know I was wrong" vibe—Platinum's intention to deliver a stern lecture simply evaporated.
"Look up. What I say next, you need to remember firmly."
"Yes."
Special Week let out a quiet sigh of relief. She knew that when Centaurea said "look up," it meant the matter was dropped. Otherwise, she'd have to keep her head bowed through the entire scolding.
She would ask about this point in the future, and receive an answer she never expected.
"Because you were looking at me with those pitiful eyes. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stay firm."
So said Centaurea, who was no longer Special Week's master.
"Don't look so relieved. Listen seriously."
Platinum rose from her wheelchair and stood before Special Week. She'd long grown tired of looking into those purple eyes, but the bond forged by time would never fade.
'I'm not alone anymore, am I?'
Platinum sighed inwardly. She felt the weight of trouble—because she was now responsible for Special Week's racing future.
More troublesome still, she had taken this on voluntarily. There was no option to abandon it midway.
"Do you think other people's support can become the starting point for your victories on the track?"
"It might..."
Special Week imagined the scene: herself racing on the track, with Centaurea and her mother cheering her on.
"That's why you're foolish."
Platinum rapped Special Week—Special Fool—on the head, unsure what expression to make.
"That's impossible. The only thing that can keep you striving on the track is the spark that bursts from within your own heart."
"Give up on the idea of fighting for others. An Uma Musume who hasn't established her own will doesn't deserve to be called an Uma Musume. It's not about insulting the race or anything—it's simply because such a girl won't make it far."
"But I think carrying others' expectations while I run would definitely make me faster. Isn't that how Nearl-senpai is too?"
"Ah~ Nearl is different. She's fundamentally different from all of you. If your potential as Uma Musume is like a blade, then the thing that supports your running is the hand that wields it. What kind of proper strike can a hand without its own will make? Let alone seize the laurels of victory."
"But Nearl is completely different. If you all are blades, she's a firearm. Her very 'caliber' is distinct. She doesn't need long-term training or fierce struggle born of strong self-will. All she needs is to aim at the crown of victory and pull the trigger. That's it."
Such blunt words gave Special Week an indescribable feeling. She opened her mouth, but for a moment, couldn't find any words.
"So do you understand? Nearl can run on the track for others, her heart tethered by many things, and still win—because her 'caliber' is different. But you, Spe-chan, cannot."
Reaching out, Platinum stroked Special Week's deep purple hair, her eyes softening slightly.
"You have high talent, but you haven't transcended the realm of 'blades' yet. So if you want to win, you can't rely on those beautiful but weightless things."
"Hone yourself through training, temper yourself with resolve, drive yourself with hunger. Only on that foundation will you understand what truly drives a Uma Musume on the track."
Seeing that Special Blockhead was still confused, Platinum lowered her voice.
"Spe-chan, the distance between you and fully awakening your Domain lies solely in this one point."
--+--
T/N: I have a Patreon! Webnovel will get 3 Chapters Every Day, and advanced chapters will be uploaded on Patreon.
It may not seem worth it now, but maybe in the future. Who knows!
[email protected]/AspenTL
If you guys wanna check it out.