Chapter 3

"I packed all my textbooks... heh, perfect!"

The chirping of sparrows outside her window heralded the morning. Sunlight rose above the sill, warmly dissipating the lingering mist. A cool breeze blowing through the cracks in the window felt particularly refreshing at 7:30 a.m.

Tamamo woke up leisurely, calmly got ready, and slung her backpack over her shoulder.

"Good morning," she said, stepping out of her room.

"Ah."

A middle-aged man sat at the table, eating breakfast. He nodded slightly in response to her greeting and took a large bite of bread, spread thickly with butter to the very edges.

"So, you ran a race yesterday?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"What were the results?"

"Why do you ask? They weren't especially good..."

"I don't care if you came in last. Just tell me."

The man's narrowed eyes stared at Tamamo. Even though they lived together and saw each other daily, she turned her head away, feeling a familiar burden under his gaze.

"Third place."

"I see. That's incredible."

"It wasn't even a classified sprint. It was just a practice run..."

"Still, it's incredible. Everyone there gave it their all."

Their all.

Those words brought back a memory from after the race. The other Uma Musume had worn expressions of relief, exasperation, or utter exhaustion, as if they were about to collapse. Thick beads of sweat had formed on their faces. Unlike hers—a face that had only suffered an incomplete combustion.

"...Well, whatever," she muttered.

"Don't get discouraged. If you train hard, you'll win again someday. You’ve won before, right?”

Even if I did win, it was only a sprint, and that was only possible because the lead group self-destructed.

She barely held the words back. Instead, Tamamo spread strawberry jam on her toast. Perhaps because of her inherently contrary nature, all sorts of objections ran through her head, but she didn’t want to ruin this rare, peaceful meal with unnecessary comments.

"Are you still tired from the race? I’ll drive you to school today."

"Oh, no. It's fine."

"I have plenty of energy. Besides, the shop is closed today, so I have time. Go ahead, get in."

"Grrm... Thanks."

Why couldn't I just say thank you sincerely? Why act so shy, it's not like we're strangers.

Even though they’d lived under the same roof for over a decade, acts of kindness still made her uncomfortable. Tamamo inwardly cursed herself for her inability to express gratitude properly and swept away her now-empty plate.

"You haven't forgotten anything, have you? At your age?"

"Normally, people say 'at your age' to someone much older. Besides, even adults forget important things sometimes."

After finishing the dishes and brushing her teeth, Tamamo left through the front gate with her father. Normally, in the small single-car parking space to the right of the entrance, his old, worn-out, and outdated Treno would be parked in its usual spot. But today...

"What...?"

Inside the parking space was a scene of devastation. The windshield was shattered, the rearview mirror hung by a wire like a broken neck, and one of the wheels was missing its hubcap. It was a piece of junk, so badly damaged it looked ready for the scrapyard. It had been perfectly fine just last night...

"Those damn thugs again! Dad, wait here! I'm going to raid their house right now and—"

"Tama."

"Don't stop me! Aren't you even angry!?"

"Tama."

"..."

Her father's soft voice, as if he were addressing a wild animal, instantly deflated Tamamo's fury. She gasped and glared at him, but the car owner's expression was preternaturally calm.

"I'm sorry. I went to the trouble of offering a ride, but you'll have to go alone today."

"Dad..."

"Come on, it's already eight o'clock. I'll fix the car myself. You go on to school."

The voice coming from his small frame was soft for a man, but it held an unwavering determination. Tamamo looked into her father's eyes for a long moment, but his gaze didn't waver in the slightest. Perhaps it was because he was a former coach. Contrary to his calm appearance, her father had a core of steel. His daughter, who knew this better than anyone, finally relented.

When people hear "Uma Musume," the image of runners is usually strongest. But that doesn't mean all Uma Musume are runners. In fact, by sheer numbers, those who aren't runners far outnumber those who are. It's common to find Uma Musume active in every corner of society.

First of all, only a small number actively pursue running. And even among that small number, only a tiny fraction succeed as professional racers. Naturally, the number of prepared spots is extremely small compared to the demand.

The first gateway to success as a runner is to enroll in the private Tresen Academy, located in Tokyo. This is where Uma Musume who dream of becoming runners train to excel, and most of the top competitors in the central region belong to it. However, that doesn't mean only academy members can participate in races.

"If they officially register as athletes with the association, any Uma Musume who attends a liberal arts school can participate. However..."

Well... Alexander the Great actively pursued conquests... and created a new cultural style called Hellenism...

Tamamo sat at her desk, squinting her eyes. The gap between Uma Musume affiliated with Tressen Academy and those who weren't was as wide as the chasm between the central (Twinkle Series) and regional (Local Series) circuits. The gap was so vast that rumors like "Uma Musume who aren't affiliated with Tressen Academy can only become third-rate runners" circulated—a gap that far exceeded the vaguest conjectures of amateurs.

As it was a prerequisite for becoming a top runner in the central region, the bar for admission to the academy was naturally extremely high, and many Uma Musume were frustrated by it. Tamamo was one of them.

After all, she attended an ordinary liberal arts high school. Here, time simply passed. Listening with half an ear to the boring history lecture, Tamamo waited silently for the bell to ring.

"Uh... well, that's enough... class dismissed..."

"Hey, it's hamburgers today!"

Lunchtime arrived. The students stood up from their seats, ignoring the teacher's timid voice. Tamamo, too, rose bleary-eyed and pushed back her chair.

While lunchtime was a favorite for most students, it wasn't a particularly pleasant time for her, an apprehensive and friendless girl. She quietly left the classroom and headed toward the cafeteria, her gray tail swishing with each step.

"Bread and milk..."

After receiving her lunch tray, Tamamo sat in a corner, trying to go unnoticed. Her eyes, fixed on the unappetizing food, were tinged with melancholy.

Even with bread, she was quite clumsy with plain milk. You could call her a picky eater, especially given her circumstances, but innate likes and dislikes were inevitable, right? Besides, since it was a school lunch, she never left anything behind. She simply frowned and muttered under her breath.

"...It's not tasty."

The words escaped her lips as she took a bite of a mayonnaise-soaked apple. It didn't compare to the cheap but carefully prepared meals she made at home. Since her father's housekeeping skills were practically nonexistent, Tamamo prepared most of their meals. Though she had to buy cheap ingredients in bulk due to financial constraints, her cooking skills were quite good. The daily meals, while not exquisite, were of a much higher quality than this.

"Ha..."

Her appetite was always small, but today it was especially so. A sudden memory of the morning assailed her, and Tamamo sighed, putting down her spoon. At the same time, her pointy ears, encased in red earmuffs, drooped slightly.

Her father in this life was a good man. She had grown up without a mother, but at least she had grown up without a lack of love, under his care. It was more than enough luxury compared to her previous life, where both parents were present but she had felt no affection.

However, in this world, being too kind could be a problem...

Recently, her father had been scammed. By a friend he had considered his best. He hadn't told her the whole story. All she knew was that he had tried to start a business with that friend, lost all the invested money, and then the man had disappeared. The betrayal of a close friend must have been more painful than the financial loss.

Yet, her father had overcome that pain and ran his tofu shop diligently. While the loss of money was regrettable, it wasn't the most serious problem.

The real problem was the others who held a grudge against him for that fraud.

The other investors. With the responsible traitor gone, they blamed her father, who had also been the CEO, and had hired a lawyer to transfer the legal debt to him. They didn't care that the man they resented was also a victim. Her father, a mere tofu shop owner, could never pay off that huge debt.

The car that was wrecked this morning was undoubtedly their doing. These same guys used to hang around and cause trouble in the past. They had threatened to punish him if he didn't pay.

Are they some kind of yakuza?

"Ugh, do you smell that? It smells like tofu over there—"

"Haha, that's right. It's awful..."

A loud voice beside her made Tamamo turn her head. Several students in school uniforms had surrounded her table. Tamamo's eyes locked onto the girl who seemed to be the leader.

A fluffy tail swished behind the matching uniform, and two ears perked up above a thick mane of wavy, light-brown hair that resembled seaweed. Her face held an unpleasantly smug air of superiority as she looked down on Tamamo.

Dinah Carpenter.

She was on Team Stairway, and while she hadn't won a major championship yet, she was a promising prospect in the Central Leagues.

"Really? Doesn't she realize she's such a nuisance? I wish she'd just disappear from this school."

She pursed her pink lips. Tamamo looked at her with open disapproval.

"What is it, Dinah? Looking for another petty argument?"

"It's not Dinah, it's Dinah Carpenter! I never gave you permission to call me that!"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Was today a particularly bad day? It was already awful, but seeing that unfortunate face made her already low appetite plummet. Finally, Tamamo stood up, holding her tray.

"Wait, where are you going? We have something else to talk about, don't we?"

"I don't know about you, but I don't."

"I told you to wait!"

No matter how much she talked, it was a waste of time. The moment Tamamo turned away without another word, a wet, warm liquid cascaded over the top of her head.

The sensation made her freeze. Soon, a white puddle trickled down her neatly ironed uniform and pooled on the floor. The distinct, sour smell of milk tickled her sensitive nostrils.

It was from the carton on her own tray.

"Wait, Dinah, isn't this a bit much...?" one of the other girls stammered, her face pale.

"It is exactly what she deserves. This is how she learns her place."

Dinah ignored her friend and squeezed the carton until every last drop was emptied onto Tamamo's head. Soaked and humiliated, Tamamo clenched her fists, her whole body trembling with rage.

"You didn't forget that you're the one who hurt my face, did you?"

"Tch...!"

"Good heavens! Like the ignorant brute you are, you're raising your hand again. Are you going to hit me? This time it won't just end with you being kicked off the team. Or... have you been making a lot of money lately to pay off that debt?"

Tamamo's small hands were clenched so tight her knuckles were white. Her eyes, bright as the summer sky, glared at Dinah with pure fury. Dinah flinched briefly but maintained her mocking smile.

"Well, I can't forgive you for hitting me that day, but I'll let it slide for now."

She paused, letting the tension hang in the air.

"Just... know this."

Dinah leaned in, gently patting Tamamo's stiff shoulder, and brought her mouth close to her ear. Her voice was a soft, venomous whisper meant for her alone.

"If you're trash, live within your means. Stop ruining your miserable mother's reputation any further."

The words were like a physical blow. Tamamo gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached. Her clenched fists shook with the effort of holding herself back.

However, Dinah just snorted at Tamamo's powerlessness, then led her group out of the cafeteria, leaving her standing there alone.

"Are they, uh, bullying her?"
"I think so..."

As she stood there, soaked from head to toe, she could hear the whispers swirling around her. The strange, sour smell emanated from her body, and her damp uniform clung to her skin unpleasantly.

But the most infuriating thing, the thing that cut deeper than the milk or the whispers, was the cold, hard truth that she herself couldn't refute Dinah's words.

If you're trash, live within your means.
Stop ruining your miserable mother's reputation any further.