Chapter 4

"It still smells like milk."

It was a long time until the closing ceremony. Tamamo, having asked her tutor to let her out early, trudged out of the office. She had changed out of her milk-soaked uniform and put on gym clothes. However, she hadn't even bothered to change out of her soaked underwear, so when she lifted the hem, the pungent smell of milk still lingered.

"X tomorrow?"

Due to her difficult circumstances, she only had one uniform. And even that was handed down, from a graduating senior, as part of the school's welfare policy. Although it was a size or two bigger than hers, making it a little uncomfortable, she wore it gratefully. But it wasn't even bread, so who would have thought it would be soaked in grease?

"Ugh, it smells like tofu... Are you trying to show off that you're the daughter of a tofu shop? Why don't you go wash up?"

“What? How could you…”

“Hehe, I just happened to see him on the street. It’s a bit smelly, but being humble is the perfect job for you and your dad.”

“…What did you just say?”

A vague memory of that day came flooding back to me. It was my fault for throwing the first punch, so I have no intention of making excuses, but it was that woman my father looked down on first, saying she ran a tofu shop. It had been this way ever since they were on the same team. She was an annoying woman who often got into fights with me, as if something was bothering her. We’d never butted heads or had a serious argument before.

“Anyway, you’re annoying.”

Lucky man mundigasna. Thinking about it only irritated me more. Tamamo shook her head and erased the image of Dinah Carpenter that kept appearing on her screen like a moth, and quickened her pace.

“..”

“What’s that old man doing?”

As she made her way through the school building and approached the main entrance, she saw a man leaning against the wall. A middle-aged man with a Major League Baseball cap pulled down over his jet-black sunglasses and a shaggy, unkempt beard, he looked considerably older at first glance.

There was still a while until the school's closing ceremony, so why was he out front? Whatever his identity, he didn't look like a teacher or a parent. Wasn't he a wannabe delinquent?

Tamamo eyed him suspiciously as they passed through the front door. Just then, a distinct cough sounded from beside her.

"Um, your name's Tamamo Cross, isn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah... You have some business with me?"

"Ah, yeah, if it's business, yeah," the man muttered under his breath as he took a step toward Tamamo.

It was just another man, reeking of cigarette smoke, but Tamamo hesitated, intimidated. And with every step she took, the man drew closer.

"Wh-what? Here you come! Go ahead—I told you. I have unfinished business."

With Uma Musume's strength, she could easily overpower an average, healthy man. However, why is she so strangely difficult to deal with? Under the brim of her hat, a pair of dark brown, seemingly indifferent pupils stared straight into her eyes.

Tamamo gulped and glared at the approaching man. Before she knew it, a thick wall was behind her, blocking her retreat.

Finally, the man took something out of his pocket. It was a small, square object that fit in the palm of his hand. Tamamo's gaze was fixed on the neat, clear Gothic font against the white background.

Star of Team Speed, Katsumi Takahashi.

"B...Business card?"

"I'm just a coach, after all."

"Hey, why are you hesitating at the entrance?"

"Uuu..," the man urged.

Stepping into the open cafe, Tamamo kept looking around anxiously. Soft jazz music played, and the interior was deserted, perhaps due to the late afternoon. A vague sense of unease sharpened Tamamo's senses, but the café, with its acoustic guitar melodies, was filled with a comfortable and relaxed atmosphere.

"Stop looking around and sit down. I won't hurt you."

"Yes..."

At the man's words, she sat down in the chair opposite. However, her eyes, as always, darted from side to side, and her ears pricked up, as if on guard. She had been enticed by the man's words: "Hey, do you want to explore me?" and followed. Tamamo couldn't believe that she had been discovered by a professional team, not even an amateur team.

She knows her own abilities and trajectory better than anyone, the Uma Musume known as Tamamo Cross. No matter how high her rating, she's a third-rate racer with no future. That may be her objective assessment, but why would this scruffy-looking man sign such an inferior racer?

Of course, being signed is something to be happy about. It doesn't hurt at all. However, no matter how hard she tries to reason, she simply can't understand. And because she can't understand, her suspicions of him fill the void.

Amidst the awkward atmosphere, she sips the iced latte the man ordered. Silence descends, accompanied by a growl in the man's throat. Soon, the man takes a sip from his cup and speaks in a raspy voice.

"Come to think of it, I haven't even formally introduced myself. I'm Takahashi, Takahashi Katsumi. You can call me 'Coach.'"

Tamamo's expression is slightly tired by the man's emphasis on the word "sir." While drinking the orange juice placed in front of her, Tamamo looked again at Takahashi's appearance. His beard and hair were unkempt. His sunglasses, when removed, revealed a fierce gaze, as fierce as a totem pole. Despite his somewhat ferocious demeanor, he didn't seem to have a bad temper. However, he didn't seem trustworthy. He looked more like a yakuza agent than a coach.

"Oh, I haven't decided to join that team yet."

"So what? He's no longer affiliated, right? I heard he was kicked out a while back."

"What..."

"Do you need a coach?"

Only Uma Musume runners participate in races, and at crucial moments, a coach can only watch. However, the benefits of having a coach are undeniable. Race registration, training program coordination, and most importantly, course preparation. Tasks that would be difficult solo can be easily accomplished with a coach.

So while not all Uma Musume have coaches, all successful runners do. This is something Tamamo, who has been working as a solo artist lately, has seen firsthand...

"I honestly can't believe it. Since you contacted me, you probably already know my records, so why did you sign me?"

"It's because you saw the strength of a great runner."

“Is there some other reason?”

“Uh…”

“A great runner, me?”

Tamamo was momentarily taken aback. Takahashi’s sharp gaze fixed on her.

“Surely this is another Uma Musume, right?”

The man left Tamamo muttering this to herself and took another sip of his iced latte.

“Anyway, letting a monster like you rot? It’s obvious even without looking. The coach of the team you were on must be pretty bad.”

“Even if you say that, Team Stairway is pretty popular with the non-Tresen Academy teams…”

“It’s because they’re so bad that they can’t join Tresen Academy. They just pick off anyone who looks useful."

"The rest are just garbage."

Tamamo's eyes widened at the tone of voice that seemed to look down on teams not from Tresen Academy.

"Hey, are you a coach from Tresen Academy?"

"No way, you only registered as a coach recently."

"Huh?"

"Well, they'll be in touch soon enough, you know. As long as you're here."

The man's outstretched index finger pointed precisely at Tamamo. Was he talking about another Uma Musume this time? Tamamo looked around for a moment, and seeing no Uma Musume, she pointed at herself with a shocked expression.

Then, the man's head slowly swung around. Tamamo's eyes widened.

"Huh? Is it me?"

"Yeah, you're a monster. It's still too much for you, but with the right training, you have the potential to win the G1, or even one higher."

"G1...!”

The G1, a race considered one of the highest in Japan’s major leagues, even within shogi. It’s a dream race that every racer dreams of winning, and it’s a race so prestigious that any Uma Musume who wins, even once, is considered top-class. Just imagining participating fills their bodies with adrenaline.

Tamamo gulped at that word, so foreign to her, who, at most, was at the conditional competition level.

“Ah, is it really possible?”

“Ah, if it’s you, it is possible.”

Tamamo looked straight into the man’s eyes, but those eyes met hers without hesitation. They were filled with immense confidence. His lips trembled pitifully, but Tamamo managed to open them.

“Then…”

“If you’re trash, live within your means. And don’t ruin your mother’s miserable reputation any further.”

At that moment, when her elation and excitement reached their peak, a word she had heard earlier that day came to mind. The gaze that looked down on her, and she herself, unable to utter a word like a mute, clenched her fists and trembled.

Her parted lips stuttered, forgetting what she was going to say. Tamamo tried to move her tongue, but her normally fine tongue seemed to be stuck to it like glue, and now it wouldn’t move well.

The man sitting across from him looked at Tamamo curiously, and Tamamo instinctively dropped his head to the floor.

It was over.

There was no point in regretting it now, but the truth was, he wanted to refute him. He wanted to punch him in the face right then and there and scream "no." He wanted to beat him up until he finally apologized. He didn't care about being called a monkey; he wanted to vent all the pent-up anger he held inside.

But whatever the circumstances, he couldn't. Not only had he been insulted, but even his own mother had been insulted, and yet he couldn't even throw a punch, let alone spit in a bathtub.

To be unable to get angry when you should is nothing more or less than being a fool. And he knew better than anyone why that was.

"...Whatever. Accepting someone who can't even earn money will only waste money and be of no use."

"I don't think it's a bad offer, but are you going to refuse it?"

"Yeah, even if I stayed, I'd just be a bother. Sorry to waste your time."

The cheerfulness that once lit up his young face vanished instantly. Tamamo stood up from her seat, her face cold. He appreciated the man's words, praising himself, but he knew his limitations better than anyone.

He went on and on about becoming a G1 winner, but even if he competed in the lowest G3 class, let alone a G1, he'd feel crushed. That was his true level, struggling even in conditional races, stripped of his subjectivity. A level that would never shine like his mother's.

"Phew!"

With that, Tamamo left, and Takahashi was left alone, stirring the remaining liquid in his glass with a teaspoon. His eyes were drawn to the swirling light brown liquid.

He hadn't expected things to be so quick and easy, but the atmosphere was quite pleasant. Perhaps being young has its own hang-ups.

"Well, I guess I still lack seriousness."

Anyway, young people these days are incredibly weak. Takahashi grumbled as he drank the rest of his milky coffee.