"It's over…"
Lying sprawled in the mud, Tamamo Cross stared blankly ahead.
Today was the day Kyoto Racecourse hosted a dirt-condition race, and Tamamo Cross was one of the horse girls competing.
For a horse girl, her talent—her very calling—was to run on the track.
So why was she lying here?
Mud had stained Tamamo Cross's ash-gray long hair. Even without a mirror, she knew she must look filthy right now. The cold, clammy feeling against her skin dragged her back to what had happened just a dozen seconds ago.
At the start, fifteen horse girls burst from the gates together. Tamamo Cross held seventh place, waiting for her chance.
Wind rushed past her ears; shoes struck the ground again and again with the heavy, muffled thuds of feet biting into wet dirt.
"Gah!"
A sharp pain shot through her foot, forcing a strange yelp from her throat. The thread of her thoughts snapped—and then connected again.
Right. The horse girl in front of me fell.
Tamamo Cross remembered.
In horse-girl races, the average speed could exceed 60 km/h. At that pace, a fall was potentially catastrophic—not only likely to cause fractures, but also to severely disrupt the runners behind.
To avoid the fallen girl, Tamamo Cross slowed and twisted hard, trying with all her strength to change direction. But in doing so, her center of gravity was completely thrown off.
The world tipped.
The earth rose to meet her.
Her consciousness vanished in that instant.
…So I fell too.
The pain in her leg wasn't intense—mostly surface-level. At Tracen Academy, Tamamo Cross had learned how to assess her own condition. This was probably just an abrasion. Her bones weren't damaged.
But that also meant one thing:
She couldn't finish this race.
Even though I took first last time…
Frustration. Bitterness. And a helpless resignation she couldn't fight. Tamamo Cross weakly punched the ground, and splattering mud smeared across her pale face. Her blue eyes stared emptily at the wound on her left leg as her already small body curled into a tiny black speck on the track.
"Are you okay? Do you still have the strength to move?"
A clear, youthful voice broke through her silence.
Her mud-stained ears twitched. She looked up toward the sound.
A young man in a yellow vest stood in the sunlight, holding out a hand to her.
…Why does it feel like he's glowing?
Was it just her imagination?
"I'm fine. It's only a small scrape," she said, her voice thick with the edge of tears.
She tried to stand and nearly stumbled. The boy reached out and steadied her.
"Here—this is lightly salted water. Drink some."
"And a towel. I'll go get you a couple more…"
"Thank you." Supported at his side, Tamamo Cross was led into the rest area. She accepted the salted water and towel and whispered her thanks.
"Um… who are you?" she asked.
"I'm a temporary volunteer at the racecourse."
He pointed to the nameplate on the left side of his yellow vest.
"Takayama… Gamu?"
Following where his finger indicated, Tamamo Cross quietly read the name engraved there—then her pupils suddenly constricted.
That badge… it looks familiar.
She searched her memory, and the source of that familiarity surfaced.
Isn't that the special credential badge only certified Central Tracen Academy trainers have after passing the exam?!
Gah!!
So this guy is a legendary, super-skilled Central trainer?!
"Um… are you a trainer?" Tamamo Cross asked cautiously, wiping the corners of her eyes.
"Yes," Takayama Gamu nodded. "I passed the spring exam this year. I'm still just a rookie."
He looked at Tamamo Cross—mouth slightly open, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't—and felt puzzled.
"Did I do something that made you uncomfortable?" he asked.
Takayama Gamu thought about it, but couldn't come up with an answer, so he asked directly.
He was a STEM-type. He wasn't good at thinking about these things.
"Absolutely not!" Tamamo Cross straightened up and replied at lightning speed.
But then she lowered her head again.
At Tracen Academy, trainers were exceptionally rare, highly specialized talents. They understood horse-girl bodies inside and out—able to craft training plans that better drew out potential and led to victory.
They could design race strategies, refine running form for greater efficiency, analyze opponents' weaknesses, and more.
Aside from President Rudolf, even those terrifying legendary horse girls had to admit how much trainers helped them.
And yet even at Central Tracen Academy, excellent trainers were still a scarce resource. A famous trainer might be responsible for multiple horse girls at once—and even then, many horse girls still had to train on their own.
Great trainers only signed with horse girls who were great as well.
And Tamamo Cross… was just a small, rural ash-gray horse girl who had only barely managed to debut after three races—slow, and unremarkable.
Today's performance had been a disaster. She probably wouldn't even have a result recorded. Someone like her could never catch a trainer's eye.
The two of them sat together in the rest room. The air was heavy with wordless gloom.
Tamamo Cross angled her gaze slightly away, stealing glances at Takayama Gamu.
He looked young, and handsome too—more like an entertainer or a student than a trainer.
"Um… that race just now was really unlucky," Takayama Gamu said, scratching his head. He could feel the low pressure in the room and thought he should probably do something.
After all, Tamamo Cross had been forced out of the race. There was no way she'd be in a good mood.
So he took out the laptop he carried with him and said, "That position you were in was actually pretty good."
How do you comfort someone who just lost?
Takayama Gamu had a bit of experience—back when he was a kid, he entered competitions all the time. Usually he won, and his parents would sometimes make him go comfort the ones who cried after losing.
But weren't they impressive too?
All you had to do was help them realize that.
The laptop screen lit up, drawing Tamamo Cross's eyes.
What is he doing?
Isn't he worried I'll peek?
For Central horse girls, it was common knowledge: a trainer's laptop wasn't something you casually looked at.
Every trainer had their own secret methods and special training insights—things so valuable that even a line or two could solve a horse girl's problems and massively improve results.
The confidentiality level was extremely high!
Tamamo Cross quietly turned her head away, refusing to look.
Then Takayama Gamu pushed the laptop right in front of her.
"H-Hey, what are you—huh?!"
She hadn't expected him to actively let her see. Tamamo Cross jumped.
The screen was filled with dense formulas and symbols that flickered and scrolled. She couldn't understand any of it, but even a glance told her it was serious, complicated stuff.
But what shocked her even more—
She saw her own name on the screen.
"These are your results from every practice race since you enrolled at Central Tracen," Takayama Gamu said, pointing at the data with a serious expression.
"I made a small analysis program based on a simplified version of the light-quantum computer, Crisis."
"Looking at the integrated data, you're better suited to turf. But even though dirt races limit you a lot, if you really want to win, it's not difficult. Look here—based on your previous races, I converted your late-kick burst and your stamina into a mathematical model. Let's compare it to the other runners…"
"Using your position at the time, and the speed of the horse girl who was leading then, we can project it. On the final straight—right here."
He pointed to a 3D model of Kyoto Racecourse on the screen and spoke with confidence.
"If you sprint here, you'll win."
"In my opinion, Tamamo Cross—you were the strongest horse girl in that race."
"H-Huh?!"
Tamamo Cross's mind completely short-circuited.
-------
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