Time flew by, and the vacation ended before anyone realized it.
Along the once-quiet, tree-lined paths of Central Tracen Academy, the silhouettes of energetic Uma Musume had returned. With the new term beginning, the girls trickled back onto campus—an omen that this year's much-anticipated autumn season was about to open its curtain.
During this stretch, Kuroha got a very real taste of what it means to be a "public figure."
In the spring races, the near-monopolistic, dominating run by "Chasing Light" pushed the behind-the-scenes trainer into the spotlight. More than once, he stepped out just to take a walk or grab something from a convenience store, only to be dogged by sharp-nosed paparazzi hoping to dig out a sound bite about his autumn campaign.
He, of course, didn't want to say a thing. Polite questions earned a smile and a gentle shake of the head—no comment.
But there are always a few self-important types who try to pry with taunts or crude jabs. So when one reporter jammed a mic almost into his face and crossed the line, the crowd witnessed a shocking scene: Kuroha one-handed the burly, tall reporter like a sack of rags and dropped him—accurately—into a sorting bin by the curb.
Honestly, that's something most Central trainers already do—if a reporter steps out of bounds, they have their own Uma toss the offenders into the off-campus trash. Kuroha was just unusual in that… he did it himself.
After a few rounds of such "physical persuasion," the press learned their lesson. They still shadowed Kuroha, but only dared shoot from afar. Almost none of them risked getting too casual in front of him anymore.
That morning, after finishing the daily drills, Kuroha walked alone back toward his office. The bell for first period had long since rung; the lively campus had settled into its usual calm. Passing by one of the training grounds—empty during class hours—he noticed an elderly figure on a bench by the track.
The man sat slightly hunched, cane in hand, quietly watching the deserted lane with an unreadable look.
"Ginjirou-senpai?"
Kuroha's eyes flickered. He stopped, studied the silhouette for a beat, then turned and stepped into the training ground.
He had just wrapped McQueen's morning session.
After watching Oguri Cap and Berno Light leave for class, Ginjirou Musaka let out a sigh and sat down on a bench.
"So… you're giving up the Japan Cup, and choosing the Mile Championship and the Arima Kinen instead…?"
He recalled Oguri Cap visiting him some time ago, stating her decision with newfound gravity. A complicated look crept across the old trainer's face.
"She's grown up."
Or rather—like a different person altogether. If it were last year's Oguri Cap, with that willful streak, she would never have given up the Japan Cup—she would have tried to run everything.
"How does that kid Kuroha even talk with Oguri Cap to get her there…?"
As Ginjirou muttered to himself, a cheerful voice drifted over from not far away. "What makes Ginjirou-senpai suddenly think of me?"
Startled, the old man looked up to see Kuroha approaching with an easy grin. Kuroha had only noticed Ginjirou sitting here alone and, out of respect for his elders, thought to come over and chat—only to catch his own name in the old man's murmur.
"Hmph, and what if I say a thing or two about you?"
Ginjirou shot him a sidelong glance and grumbled, though a faint, hard-to-see smile flashed in his clouded eyes.
Kuroha didn't mind. He sat down openly at his side, took a vacuum flask from his pocket, twisted it open, and gave it a shake. "Just brewed some goji tea. Want a bit, senpai?"
"…You're still young. Since when are you drinking goji berries?"
Ginjirou looked at the offered flask, half exasperated, half amused. Still, he produced his own lid and let Kuroha pour a small cup. One sip sent a warm stream sliding down his throat, chasing off the edge of the morning chill.
"No helping it," Kuroha said with a helpless smile. "Comes with the job."
"Oguri Cap's schedule—your suggestion, right?" the old man asked bluntly after setting the cup down.
"I only laid out the pros and cons." Kuroha leaned back, hands folded behind his head, relaxed. "The one who made the call was Oguri Cap. In the end, we're not the ones standing on the track."
"You sure have the time to spare, huh…"
They traded a few casual notes about training. Then Kuroha suddenly remembered the file he'd glimpsed in Symboli Rudolf's office before the break.
"By the way—Kitahara didn't pass again this year, did he?"
Ginjirou was silent for a moment, then nodded, no blame in his tone. "That kid Kitahara… yeah, he didn't make it this year either."
"No helping it. The license exam added several new subjects this year. Aside from those new ones, he passed the usual ones just fine." His jaw tightened a little. "If the Association's going to change the test, they should give a year's notice! Four months' warning? Now no one passed this year—that's just making a mess!"
Kuroha's expression went a bit odd at that. This wasn't really on those Central fossils. If anything, the change had been pushed by Symboli Rudolf and the family of that intern trainer under Kuroha.
Even so, when he'd seen that empty pass-list, he'd been surprised. From Kuroha's perspective, those exams shouldn't be that hard. Back when he'd just graduated from the Trainer Academy, a month of flipping through notes and memorizing key points would've cleared them easily. These local trainers had been out of school for years; with four months to spare, how did they still not get through?
"No wonder Rudolf and the Association want to clean house in Central. Aside from a few seasoned hands, I bet a lot of folks don't have their fundamentals down."
After thinking it over, Kuroha asked, "If Kitahara failed again this year, then for Oguri…"
He didn't finish, but Ginjirou knew what he meant.
"What else can we do? I'll keep handling her…"
"This year's already Oguri Cap's third. Even if Kitahara passes next year, by the time he gets to Central it'll be her fifth. How many Uma can still be racing in year five?"
Blunt, but not wrong. These days, few Central Uma Musume stay active that long. And those who do—like Symboli Sirius—often fight on past their peak, sheer grit holding up what the body can no longer support.
If Kuroha recalled correctly, Oguri Cap's peak would end completely around next spring's series…
Cinderella's magic was already on a countdown.
Kuroha pondered, then lifted his lid of goji tea with a wry smile. "So Kitahara must be feeling awful right now?"
"Not really. I haven't told him."
Ginjirou passed the cup back. Kuroha raised a brow and poured him another, remembering that veteran trainers had the right to view the acceptance list early. The public announcement wouldn't land for ten more months.
"Anyway, what's done is done. No use going on about it. Better to pour our energy into the races."
He seemed to have worked something through; a touch of ease showed on Ginjirou's face.
"Right—Kuroha. For the Mile Championship, who are you sending?"
A glint flashed behind the old man's sunglasses.
"…Fujimasa March."
Kuroha shot him a speechless look. Apparently, Oguri Cap and Berno Light hadn't shared that bit with their trainer, so Ginjirou had come fishing it out of him instead.
"Mm. Fujimasa March—the Osaka Hai winner… a very fine Uma Musume indeed," Ginjirou said with a sage nod.
Watching him put on airs, Kuroha couldn't help a small laugh. He stood, voice lowering.
"Ginjirou-senpai. Get ready for the Mile Championship—and the Arima Kinen."
His tone was gentle, but the confidence and imperiousness in it were unmistakable.
"I'll tell you one thing."
"This autumn, Chasing Light will take every turf G1."
"This fall, you'll witness a grand performance like nothing Central has ever seen."
Kuroha left.
Ginjirou Sat there stunned a while longer before he finally let out a long, deep sigh.
"Truly old now—letting a youngster overawe me."
"But… every turf G1, huh…"
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"What a wildly audacious kid."
"Show me, then—show me how you plan to challenge the entirety of Central."
(End of Chapter)
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