Side Story 2

Being a trainer is, in many ways, a grueling profession. The beautiful image of walking side by side with an Uma Musume tends to be highlighted, but most of a trainer’s work lies far away from that ideal.

Only a tiny fraction of Uma Musume ever grasp glory, and even fewer are able to seriously challenge for it when compared to the whole. They endure brutal training, maintain their condition through both physical and mental care, and even then, many spend their lives unable to reach even a fragment of that brilliance. And even if they do begin to climb upward, a single injury can erase everything in an instant. This is the trial placed upon most Uma Musume—and precisely because such trials exist, the glory they chase shines all the brighter.

I only truly understood that after becoming a trainer. No—if we’re talking about numbers alone, I suppose I’d known all along. Anyone taking the trainer exam memorizes those statistics by heart. But the weight of that truth didn’t settle into my reality until I stood face to face with an Uma Musume as her trainer.

I’d dreamed of becoming a trainer since childhood, survived the harsh competition of the exams, and finally secured the coveted position of a Central Trainer. Even before that, I’d seen it happen again and again—how the narrower the gate became, the more it demanded not only effort but innate talent. I watched people who worked as hard as or even harder than I did be forced to give up their path to becoming trainers.

During my first two years, I worked as a sub-trainer, learning the ins and outs of育成—training and development. Maybe it was because I was good at combining the race theory and sports science I’d learned in lectures with practical instruction, but after two years, I was trusted enough to go independent and take on my own charge as an exclusive trainer.

We never managed a single win together, but my time with her wasn’t nothing but pain. Every day, the two of us pooled our ideas and tested new methods. Sometimes they led to better runs; other times, there was no effect at all.

Form, muscle development, analysis of rivals, race-flow predictions. The small whiteboard in the trainer’s room—much smaller than the one I use now—was always filled with scribbles. Sometimes we’d go out for meals, sometimes we’d shop together.

She finished her debut race in fifth place and moved on to the maiden races. At first, we weren’t worried. She often placed second or third, so we believed that with just a little more strength, she could break through.

Then came the injury. Thankfully, it healed in about a month, but her condition plummeted.

By the time she finally returned to form, there were hardly any opportunities left. An Uma Musume who can’t win by the autumn of the year after her debut has no choice but to leave the racing world.

She didn’t want to give up. I couldn’t stop her from pushing herself, repeating reckless training.

No—the truth is, I was the one who let her do it. Maybe even encouraged it.

The result was a fracture during training. Her racing career ended right there.

What was missing between the two of us?

My leadership? It’s true, I lacked experience.

The training? Could I have created a better program for her?

No… it was talent. I’d been averting my eyes the entire time. In the end, she simply didn’t have the inherent ability. Everything I’d learned—how her muscles developed, her bone structure, what kinds of training and form suited her—those analyses had quietly been telling me that her strengths would never truly shine.

So I returned to being a sub-trainer for a while and began searching for an Uma Musume with the raw potential to grow.

And that was when I discovered Witolum Pedes.

It was during an elementary school race. I’d been spending my spare time watching races, hoping to spot talent.

To be honest, these weren’t high-level races—it was probably closer to escapism than any real scouting.

For the first 100 meters, it looked like any other elementary race. No major breakaways, no late surges—just one tight cluster. I expected it to end that way… until one girl suddenly burst out of the pack.

That was Witolum Pedes.

She rocketed forward with explosive acceleration, widening the gap with every stride. She shot to the front, and the moment she passed the finish marker, it was over. Her final burst of speed—sharp enough to make me question whether I was watching the Twinkle Series—left the others trailing by seven lengths in the final 100 meters.

Maybe that was the moment I finally understood what it meant to say, “She’s built with a different engine.”

I became completely captivated by her running and started attending every race Witolum Pedes entered. No matter the competition, her style was always the same—she left everything behind in the last 100 meters.

However, as I kept watching her, certain rumors began circulating. Things like “Witolum Pedes is sickly” or “her legs might be unreliable.”

That was when I began analyzing her using the latest Uma Musume athletic theory I had studied to support my previous charge. I reviewed her race footage, estimated her muscle strength from her physique, calculated the forces applied during acceleration.

The result was astonishing. Based on the estimated muscle output required for her acceleration and cornering, it wouldn’t be strange if she could achieve even higher speeds on the final stretch. Of course, these estimates were based on a typical Uma Musume’s muscle development, but if she received proper training, it was almost certain that her current top speed wasn’t truly her limit.

If every part of her body were trained and activated to its fullest, she might reach the theoretical maximum speed predicted by her physique. But I also discovered something far more terrifying at the same time—the speed she could theoretically reach hovered dangerously close to the biological limit of what a living body could endure.

Just how much effort had she already poured in to build such a body, blessed with such talent? And with victories like hers, her body would inevitably be pushed to demand even greater performance. It can’t be helped—Uma Musume are built to chase that brilliance.

If that happened, her body wouldn’t survive it. Something would break eventually. Whether it came from racing or training, I didn’t know… but the result would surely be disastrous.

Ah… what a cruel fate.

But that is exactly why she has the right to reach for glory. And I want to achieve it together with her.

Run while holding back her power—would such a thing even be possible? And would those around us ever allow it?

There likely isn’t a single fool among Central trainers who would overlook talent like hers. Even before any selection or mock-race results, it’s all but guaranteed they’ll swarm her with offers.

That’s why the target is the first week. In most cases, no one tries to recruit immediately after enrollment. It’s partly an unspoken gentleman’s agreement, and partly because Uma Musume themselves usually don’t feel ready to choose a trainer before settling into their new environment.

So what should I do? I don’t have the luxury of choosing my methods.

I lied to her, telling her I was a trainer candidate assigned to recommended students. That system doesn’t actually exist, but because the number of recommended students is small, the lie sounded plausible enough.

I approached her carefully, doing my best to appear trustworthy. But to my surprise, she accepted the contract far more easily than I expected—so easily that I ended up being the one left bewildered. Honestly, I used a lot of technical sports-science jargon midway through, but she watched the footage with such intensity that maybe that helped convince her.

Everything went smoothly after that. As I suspected, she herself felt the strain in her legs and wanted to avoid long-distance travel that would increase the load. I was taken aback for a moment, but if I couldn’t accept that right away, I had no business being a trainer. A trainer’s job is to support an Uma Musume’s wishes, and if I hesitated here, she would think I’d force her into unreasonable races—and I would lose her trust.

When the time finally came to begin training, something unexpected happened: Witolum Pedes pinned her ears back. Judging by her posture, she seemed displeased or uncomfortable. When I considered the reason—

Ah. Of course.

"Alright, today’s training will be… no, before that, there’s one thing I need you to promise me. If you feel any fatigue or pain, I want you to tell me immediately. No matter the situation, if you feel either of those things, we’ll stop the training."

The moment I said that, her usual languid expression brightened, and her ears perked forward.

It felt like she was showing the greatest joy I’d seen from her since the day we met. More than anything, I was relieved that we’d given her the answer she needed. I have to take things step by step, deepening our interactions carefully, connecting with her heart, and earning her trust. Forcing her was never the goal in the first place.

Once we stepped onto the training ground, we began with stretching. Her movements were a bit awkward, but the soft muscles of Witolum Pedes displayed astonishing flexibility. Come to think of it, that great Emperor also had a body this supple...

After finishing the stretches from upper body to waist to lower body, I told her to do one lap around the course as a warm-up.

At the signal to start, Witolum Pedes burst forward.

It should have been just enough to warm her up and check her condition for the day, but with that smooth acceleration, she sped up to a pace that made it look like she was already in the middle of a race. Her small body generated tremendous propulsion as her long strides kicked off the grass in a steady rhythm, making her look almost airborne. Yet despite her speed, her upper body remained beautifully stable.

I completely forgot to call out and stop her—I just kept watching her run, unable to look away.

…At some point, I began to feel that something—somewhere—was wrong. The sense of unease must have already begun during those few excited days after contracting with Witolum Pedes. And it must have started from the simple premise that Uma Musume are hungry for strength and love to run.

Within this past month, Witolum Pedes has fully settled into the trainer’s room.

At this point, it wouldn’t be strange if someone told me she already considers this place her home. She even trades casual jokes with me, so it’s safe to say we’ve succeeded in building a solid relationship of trust.

But when I look around the trainer’s room—

The shelves that once held indoor training equipment have, before I knew it, become packed with various game consoles. Books on exercise theory and race analysis peek out from between weekly magazines and manga volumes, looking painfully cramped. The PC meant for analyzing and storing race footage now has unfamiliar game icons scattered across its desktop. The refrigerator is stocked with soda, and snack bags overflow on top of it. Lastly, the HDMI cable once plugged into the DVD player is now connected to a game console.

Our training routine hasn’t changed since the first day, but the time spent gaming after her massages has gradually increased. These days, conversations about races and training have dwindled, while matchmaking in competitive games has grown in near-perfect inverse proportion.

This is wrong. Something is off. But who could I even talk to about this? I can’t let her go, nor can I afford to lose her trust.

Her personality must be some kind of unconscious defense instinct… something pushing her to avoid exhausting her legs as much as possible…

Probably…

Surely…