Chapter 12: A High Autumn Sky.

Lately, what’s increased the most are interview requests and endless media inquiries.

At first, I refused everything simply because it was too much of a bother. But Trainer insisted, so I eventually agreed to a few. Apparently, Tracen Academy itself sent down an order telling us to accept some of them.

Still, since I have Trainer answer most of the questions for me, it’s honestly not as annoying as I’d expected. Even so, these people really have too much time on their hands—digging into everything from my motivation for racing, to what kind of training I like, to details about my daily life.

Besides, the very idea that I’d have a “favorite training” is ridiculous. And asking why I run races? Do they really think every action of an Uma Musume—or a human—can be neatly explained with some convenient, heartwarming reason?

To think they’d cut into my precious gaming time with Trainer over something this stupid… infuriating.

Trouble tends to come in waves, and next up was deciding on the design of my so-called racing outfit.

Even if they say that, how am I supposed to know anything about clothing design? So I dumped the entire task on Trainer.

When I told him to make it cute, he suddenly got fired up, so things will probably turn out fine.

Really, Trainers are incredibly convenient creatures. If only he didn’t try to make me train all the time, he’d be perfect—well, close enough.

My racing career went smoothly as usual. Two weeks after the Ivy Stakes, I entered the Icho Stakes, which conveniently let me escape the clutches of Training Hell.

There were only seven runners this time, so there were no front-runners. That meant I ended up running solo straight from the opening stretch, making it hard to get a proper sense of pace. Well, I still won, so whatever.

Normally, after a race, I laze around in the prep room, but today I couldn’t do that.

A few races after mine was the huge autumn event—the Tenno Sho (Autumn).

So I headed back to the stands and watched until it was time for the Winning Live.

The biggest highlight would definitely be Suzuka-san’s all-out escape strategy versus Air Groove-senpai’s pursuit. Those two are usually busy chasing each other around Tracen Academy for fun, but today, with an actual race on the line, both looked unusually serious.

According to Spe-chan, “Suzuka-san was spinning around in her room yesterday, so she’ll be fine!” Whatever that means—some unique training, or maybe just a personal good-luck ritual?

As expected, the race unfolded with Suzuka-san pulling off a massive early lead while everyone else desperately chased her.

Air Groove-san came charging from behind and closed the gap to a single length, but the finish line came first. Suzuka-san secured a brilliant victory.

After about two months of racing, Trainer seems to have developed some mischievous habits. He keeps trying to sneak in training sessions that don’t involve running.

The other day, he suddenly dragged me into some room where, for some reason, a sandbag and a stack of tiles were waiting. I vaguely remember him explaining something, but honestly, if he talks to me while I’m reading manga, that’s on him.

It was my first time punching a sandbag, but I decided to imitate what I’d seen and unleashed a flurry of blows.

Unfortunately, after about five hits, the chain holding it up snapped, and the sandbag launched itself into the wall with a loud thud.

As for the tiles, he said it was supposed to be tile-breaking practice. Mine didn’t split cleanly like a master’s strike—they just exploded into dust, with fragments flying everywhere.

According to Trainer, this was “power training.” He even insisted it was standard practice. I’m certain he pulled this stuff from some old-school, guts-based training manual from decades ago.

One thing that was unexpectedly fun was the target-throwing game—Strikeout.

After I destroyed the frame and panels within the first few attempts, we switched to long-distance throws. Thanks to this cheat-tier body of mine, the ball flew much farther than I expected. More importantly, watching Trainer run around gasping for air as he scrambled to pick everything up… that was priceless.

Also, at one point, he suddenly challenged me to shogi in the Trainer’s Room. He completely crushed me. When I asked why, he said it was “intelligence training.” He told me this with a perfectly serious expression—what reaction was I supposed to have?

While fending off Trainer’s constant assaults, the next race—the Tokyo Sports Hai Junior Stakes—finally drew near. Unlike the previous ones, this one is a graded race, meaning an important one.

I really hope they let me take a proper break afterward.

Mother’s POV

So this is what it comes to.

The impression I walked away with, after watching what should have been my daughter’s proud debut race, wasn’t joy or surprise—it all condensed into that single thought.

Calling it a “competition” felt inappropriate. “A solitary stroll” was the only phrase that truly fit what I had just seen.

Before her debut, I didn’t tell her I would be coming to watch. I didn’t want to give her anything unnecessary to think about. In hindsight, that was probably needless worry on my part.

Judging by how she ran, she wasn’t earnestly engaged in the race at all.

Since she was little, she’s always wagged her tail from side to side when she was focused or having fun. But now? Her tail hung straight down, and her ears angled sideways—the posture she takes when she’s thinking about something else while doing a task.

Yes, exactly like when she sweeps fallen leaves off the backyard path.

In other words, she wasn’t viewing her debut as a race at all. She saw it as… “some chore she had to get through,” most likely.

I had suspected as much, but seeing it laid bare in front of me was still quite a sight.

When she decided to attend Tracen Academy, she seemed motivated. And when I heard she’d chosen a Trainer right after the entrance ceremony and started training immediately, I was honestly shocked.

But apparently that resolve shattered quickly. Within a month, she was already coming home from time to time just to swap out weekly magazines or game software.

By the next month, for whatever reason, her Trainer had started doing the swapping for her. I was too afraid to ask why—but am I the only one who feels my daughter may be treating her Trainer the same way she treats convenient furniture?

The Trainer sends me photos of her now and then, but I’ve hardly ever seen one taken during training. And from the relaxed, natural smile she has in them, I can only assume she isn’t doing anything strenuous.

Just the other day, when her father asked her about her training, she dodged every question…

As she keeps racing, a growing worry has begun taking root in me.

Even as the level of her competition rises, my daughter continues to win without issue.

At this rate, she’ll probably dominate next year’s Classic season.

Naturally, she’ll gain more fans—and more critics. The media will want more of her. And when that happens, her true nature could be exposed. If it does, it will almost certainly happen in some catastrophic way.

I can imagine it far too easily: her staring into a TV camera and asking, “Who was that girl I ran with?” Or deciding, on the morning of a G1 race, that it’s too much of a bother and skipping it entirely.

For now, I take comfort in knowing her Trainer is probably handling all media interactions.

But when she comes home next time, I really must drill into her—again—the importance and weight of these races.