Chapter 7

The floor was covered in blackened dust, and cobwebs hung from the corners. A bonsai tree, withered from too much cigarette smoke, rested on a wooden desk, cracked and worn. The interior of the office was old and shabby, as if it hadn’t been cleaned in years.

Tamamo looked at Takahashi, who had slumped onto the worn sofa, and asked, "Uh, is there no one else?"

"Yeah. Just you and me, Team Speed Star."

"Just the two of us?"

"I told you. I just got my trainer’s license. Besides, I’m not interested in anyone else besides you."

"So he’s the only racer?" Tamamo glanced around the empty office, her face falling slightly. "This isn’t even a team, right?"

A suspicion crept into her mind. The man had promised to make her a Gl champion with a calm expression, but Gl isn’t a title you hand out like a pet name. Could such a shabby place really produce a champion? Was this some strange adult entertainment establishment? Should she break the contract and leave immediately?

Tamamo thought for a moment, then shook her head. After all, she had nowhere else to go and couldn’t accomplish anything alone.

"Why are you speaking in dialect again?" she asked.

"It’s more comfortable," he replied.

Tamamo accepted the thin wad of paper he offered and read it slowly.

"A 500 million yen fine for disobeying the coach’s instructions? What kind of contract is this—something even an elementary school student wouldn’t sign."

"Well, these are the only restrictions I need to work with. Hurry up and sign it."

"I’m not going to."

Takahashi’s indifferent but desperate gaze fixed on her.

"Even if you look at me like that..."

"Ahem. Well, let’s postpone drafting the contract. Near the central business district, Nakayama Children’s Park, you know?"

"Isn’t that the public children’s park?"

"Come over tomorrow."

"Eh?" Tamamo tilted her head.

Takahashi took a deep drag on his cigarette and spoke slowly. "Training."

The next morning, Tamamo was dragged to the training ground Takahashi had mentioned. Before her stood two giant tires.

"What are they for?" she asked.

"To pull them."

"Eh?"

"To pull them. It’s your first training session."

"Are you kidding? Are you lying?" Tamamo’s voice was sharp, but her eyes remained calm.

The tires towered over her, impossibly thick. Bridgestone 59/80R63 V-STEEL E-LUGS. Extra-large, weighing approximately 5.1 tons each. Uma Musume legs were strong, but on TV she had only seen them struggle to pull one tire—two at once? Ridiculous. How was it even possible?

Thirty minutes later, Tamamo stared at her body dragging the two tires. Could this really be done?

"Damn old man! Are you really a trainer? Training like this is insane! What kind of training is this?"

"So, then, you’re a real trainer. Want to see my certificate?"

"Trust..."

"Don’t joke around. You said you wanted to get rich? You think being self-taught is easy?"

Two five-ton tires, weighing nearly ten tons together, were a brutal challenge even for an Uma Musume. Every step made her muscles scream. Sweat poured down, soaking the sandy field. Tamamo gritted her teeth as if every vein in her body were being cut.

"Do you hate me!? You’re forcing me to do this just to torture me!" she shouted.

"Eh?... Well, if I hated you, then yes. But I don’t hate you specifically."

"Murako?" she gasped, nearly sobbing.

"Actually, I... I really hate them," he admitted calmly.

"…Huh?"

"That’s right. I really hate Uma Musume. So much that just looking at them makes me want to throw up."

Tamamo’s heart sank. I-I'm going to be left behind…

Time passed. Around noon, Tamamo had barely recovered, stretching her muscles while Takahashi, holding a can of beer, started another monologue.

"Well, now for some endurance training."

"Stop it… I’m such a loser…" she muttered.

Tamamo glanced at him, seeing a face worn by time. Though mostly hidden by sunglasses, wrinkles around his eyes and a peeling forehead were visible. Could this man really be in his twenties?

"What’s with the insolent expression?" he asked.

"Mom… stop it."

“…Hey… well, whatever, get up already.” Takahashi pointed to the vast field.

"Thirty laps, and today’s training is done," he said.

"Thirty laps?" Tamamo’s eyes widened.

"Just run two laps at full speed, like sprinting," he added casually.

Tamamo’s mind raced. The total distance looks like about 1,000 meters… thirty laps? Isn’t that basically a marathon?

Even for an Uma Musume, this was overwork. Overtraining doesn’t guarantee results, and a certified trainer should know that. Still, if this relentless training wasn’t just about physical ability… Tamamo’s suspicion grew.

Seriously… I hate him so much it makes me sick just watching him! she thought, recalling the earlier tire dragging.

But she knew there was no turning back. Tamamo stood at the starting line, clearing her head. There was a reason she had to win, even if it meant pushing herself to the limit.

She ran. One lap, two laps, her calves tingling as if electrified. Her lungs expanded painfully, pressing against her diaphragm. She cursed under her breath, exhausted but determined.

"Twenty-eight laps… twenty-eight laps… this damn coach…"

The sun slowly set as Tamamo completed her thirtieth lap, collapsing at the starting line, panting, red-faced, and trembling. Even so, a glimmer of serenity lingered in her expression. Takahashi watched, astonished. He hadn’t expected her to endure all thirty laps.

Are the Uma Musume always this monstrous, or is she special?

Originally, the plan was absurd training to establish discipline, then adjust intensity. Yet even Takahashi secretly felt glad—it seemed she didn’t need adjustments at all.