The next morning, in Kuroha's private trainer's office at Central Tracen Academy.
Sunlight slipped through the blinds, laying dappled light and shadow across the tidy room.
The air held a faint blend of herbs and disinfectant—oddly reassuring.
Super Creek sat a little stiff on the sofa, knees together, hands folded on top.
It was early morning.
Because her legs needed treatment, Fumino had requested a week of leave for her.
At the main desk, Kuroha was reading through a thick stack of physical data reports.
Fumino had compiled them overnight and sent them over—everything from the past few months for Super Creek: heart rate logs, gait analyses, muscle load reports…
Kuroha leafed through the pages with care.
For her current condition he could get more from a glance with Body and Breath Perception than any spreadsheet could show.
But he wasn't studying the snapshot. He was tracing the growth curve.
One of the most gifted racers of the Oguri Cap era—Super Creek's developmental data was highly instructive.
"Before summer camp, body-strength gains were brisk. After September of Year 19, the growth rate slowed," he murmured while scanning.
"Especially October—compared to September, there was almost no measurable improvement…"
He cut a side glance at Fumino's usual training menu. "It could be the regimen—too old-fashioned, too rigid."
"Which means her potential hasn't been fully tapped? Or—more likely, like Fujimasa March and Little Inari—the raw attributes have reached a ceiling that's hard to push higher…"
After a beat of thought, he kept reading.
Beside him, Super Creek peeked up at the man seated straight-backed at the desk, engrossed in her files.
Kuroha-sensei really is professional…
Should I… make some tea?
Her mind drifted off track. She was still in middle division now, but with True Blooming her figure had been developing—"surprisingly." Her temperament had only grown gentler and more considerate.
Maybe that was why she'd picked up the habit of fussing over people.
Mm… better not. Kuroha-sensei gets very serious when he's reading…
If it were Fumino, she'd already be bustling. With Kuroha… Creek just couldn't quite work up the same pep.
Pak!
Kuroha closed the folder. The soft snap made the girl jolt like a student called on by a teacher.
"Super Creek—"
"Yes!"
The reply popped out before she could think; then color rushed into her cheeks.
Kuroha lifted his gaze, mildly surprised—then chuckled. "No need to be that tense. This is already your second convalescence here. Still not used to it?"
"Kuroha-sensei… I… um…"
Seeing the expression so unlike her on-track composure, Kuroha couldn't help a smile. He stood and stepped to her side.
"Don't call me 'Kuroha Trainer.' Too long, and awkward. I'm faculty at Central too—just call me sensei."
Super Creek nodded obediently. "Sensei."
Her eyes followed as Kuroha walked toward that spot—the one that made her want to cover her face.
"Come."
He patted the professional therapy table in the corner. "Same as last time. Off with the jacket and shoes, lie down."
"...Okay."
Her voice shrank. Heat crept across her face.
She dawdled through the motions, then burrowed into the soft pad. Cheek pressed to the quilted cover, she tried to hide something.
"Relax."
Kuroha rolled up his sleeves. The bashful sight of the brown-haired girl made him quietly nostalgic.
His seven girls were long since used to this massage course. Pure enjoyment—sometimes they even asked for overtime.
Fujimasa March's old "blanket-over-head" tactic? He hadn't seen that in ages.
Watching Super Creek revert to it tickled a fond memory.
He said nothing more, just set long, bony fingers to the skin beside the hairline fracture at her left ankle.
"Mm!"
Even that gentle touch sent a needle of pain snapping up her leg; she tensed like a bowstring—
—but then the sting melted into a tingling current that drifted through her body, pulling a breathy hum from her lips. "Nn~"
Whmp!
She yanked the quilt up over her head in a blur. Her eyes spun.
Figures!
It's this again!
This feeling… is so unfair!
Her pale, full, shapely legs twitched on their own and were promptly steadied by Kuroha's hand.
"Don't move."
His voice was steady, weighty. He pinned the kicking calf with practiced ease, and with the other hand increased the pressure a fraction, gliding along her taut muscle lines.
"M-mmm…"
Muffled sounds fluttered under the quilt.
That strange, sweet prickle seemed to gain intent—splitting into tiny streams of current racing through her. From ankle to spine, then straight to her head—draining her strength until she could only lie soft and pliant.
Shame tangled with an indescribable comfort, and her mind went white.
Calf, thigh, then up along her back and waist, and even down the arms—methodical, unhurried.
The world under the quilt spun. She felt like she would melt right into the table.
About half an hour later, Kuroha finally lifted his hands.
"Alright. Up you get."
"..."
Like a fish out of water, she lay there breathing for a while. Then she cracked a tiny corner of quilt open—revealing a crimson face and hazy eyes.
Kuroha chuckled. "It was half a month last time. With this course it may run a month. Time to get used to it."
As if anyone could just 'get used to' this…
Super Creek grumbled in silence, then carefully tested her left leg. Yesterday's sharp stab was gone; even the lingering ache had lightened a touch.
Of course, that was deceptive. If she tried to run, her bones would teach her the meaning of pain.
Uma Musume really were a peculiar race. For normal people, a hairline fracture meant bed rest, not even walking. For someone like Super Creek, walking—or even singing and dancing—wasn't affected much.
It was just running that was off the table.
Kuroha handed her a cup of warm water and a small vial of diluted Panacea.
"Drink. We'll do both—massage and medicine."
"Yes, thank you, sensei…"
She sipped, trying to let the warmth calm her still-uneven heartbeat and breath.
As the Panacea slid down, a gentling heat flowed through her limbs, and her eyes drifted half-closed in relief.
After a quiet spell, she couldn't help it: "Sensei, may I ask three questions?"
"Hm? Go on."
"You have several girls who can run the Arima Kinen. If you heal me…"
"…you might become their rival?" Kuroha finished.
"…Mm."
She hated to put it that way, but in her own judgment, she was first-flight even among Central's history-makers.
She'd lost to Inari One twice—but she wasn't about to write herself off.
Even if she pretended she wasn't strong, the girls she'd left nearly three lengths behind in the Autumn Tenno Sho wouldn't accept that fiction.
She was strong—just not stronger than Inari One.
(End of Chapter)
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