Bonus — Big Brother (and His Worries) Are Over!

It was midday on a certain day in mid-January.

In the infirmary of a certain regional training center where I work…

"So, does that mean Ayumu is really okay now?"

While casually compiling a report to send back to my parents’ place, I tossed the question toward the other end of my phone call.

What came back was a voice I hadn’t heard in probably about a month—my little sister’s… Masa’s.

"Yeah. For your sake too, big brother, I can’t go into details, but anyway, everything’s fine now."

"I see… that’s good."

Murmuring that, I let out a small breath of relief.

My hometown, Horino, is home to a family of five.

Father, mother, eldest son, second son, and eldest daughter. Of those, I’m the eldest son, with one younger brother and one younger sister.

Horino Ayumu. A little brother who’s been overly hardworking since forever—and who’s also just a bit worrying.

Horino Masa. She went through a rough patch for various reasons, but still grew up straight and true—a precious little sister.

To me, they’re both incredibly important siblings… and at the same time, each of them carries their own set of problems.

Of the two, Masa—the younger sister—nearly became a little twisted back when she was in middle school, partly because of Ayumu and me.

Back then, thanks to Mom’s desperate efforts, we somehow managed to restore our family relationship, but…

"…Hey, bro."

"Hm? What is it?"

Since that incident, Masa started calling me "bro" and Ayumu "big brother," deliberately distinguishing between us.

As an older brother, that little bit of distance honestly makes me sad.

…Though, if anything, the one she’s actually keeping her distance from is Ayumu—the one she calls "big brother."

During that whole ordeal, the relationship between Masa and me was repaired relatively quickly.

If you exclude Mom—who never let things sour in the first place—you could say I was the one who rebuilt a relationship with her the fastest.

And at that time, when Masa finally spoke to me again after ignoring me for a while, she changed how she addressed me to "bro."

…To put it bluntly, I think she was embarrassed to talk to me the way she used to.

Back then, Masa was pretty harsh toward me—toward the whole family, really—and even when she wanted to reconcile, she couldn’t quite swallow her pride. So she consciously changed her way of speaking and her mannerisms, including what she called me.

Of course, how Masa talks or who she calls what is entirely her choice, so I never objected—but still, as her big brother, it was kind of lonely.

On the other hand, Masa and Ayumu’s relationship only continued to deteriorate.

Thanks to Mom’s careful attention, it never reached the point of total rupture, but the crack ran deep—so deep that even when I left home, things still hadn’t fully returned to normal.

…Well, relationships change over time, so they probably won’t ever go back to exactly how they were.

Anyway, Ayumu treated Masa the same as before, but Masa’s attitude toward Ayumu became much more distant… even tinged with resentment.

Put simply, Masa began deliberately acting cold toward Ayumu.

While maintaining a carefully rational attitude, she emotionally rejected his actions and way of thinking, trying to keep a distance that was less “family” and more “someone you just know well.” But she’s a soft-hearted kid at her core, so despite everything, she still worried about Ayumu as family—a deeply tangled, complicated relationship.

And because of that, she started calling him "big brother" in a slightly formal, distant way.

As I reminisced about all that, Masa continued speaking in a slightly hoarse voice.

"About big brother’s… that."

"That… I’m guessing you mean Ayumu’s mental condition?"

"Condition…"

"Sorry, that sounded a bit harsh. His mental issues, maybe?"

"…Yeah. That."

Both my younger brother and sister had serious problems—but in completely different forms.

Masa’s issues surfaced outwardly as family discord, and the impact was huge… but Ayumu’s problem was the opposite.

It rarely showed on the surface, and it barely affected anyone outside the family, which made it hard to notice.

Aside from Mom—whose perception was so sharp it was practically animal instinct…

Dad, who might look dependable but is actually a bit absentminded and oblivious outside of his field as a trainer, never noticed at all.

"…I’ve always wanted to ask. When did you realize it, bro? About big brother’s… thing?"

"When, huh… well."

I couldn’t help tilting my head at the difficult question.

I’d noticed something was off about Ayumu for a long time.

From the very beginning… to use Mom’s words, there’d been something different about him "since the day he was born."

But when that vague unease finally took a clear shape in my mind was… probably—

"…When he was in elementary school."

---

I recall a distant, sepia-toned memory.

It was a holiday back when both Ayumu and I were still in elementary school.

Once, he made a flower crown for me.

"Big brother, this is to thank you like always."

I knew he’d been doing something in the garden for a while, but I never imagined he was making something so cute just for me.

Naturally, I was happy about the earnest gift… but at the same time, I felt a faint sense of discomfort.

Generally speaking, children are self-centered.

Especially kids around Ayumu’s age—just starting elementary school—still lack empathy for others and often genuinely see themselves as the center of the world.

That’s not about being mean; it’s largely because their brains simply haven’t fully developed yet.

In fact, part of the reason schools exist—where kids live and learn together with peers their own age—is precisely to help foster empathy and cooperation.

Personally, I think kids that age are better off playing freely, without worrying about others or holding themselves back.

Recognizing others and feeling grateful for the benefits of their actions usually comes later…

…Though, of course, I wasn’t thinking about it that theoretically back then.

Even so, compared to me and my classmates, Ayumu felt… how should I put it—almost detached, like he saw things from above.

It makes sense to feel happy when you make someone else happy.

I get that. I feel it too. Just seeing classmates or family smile or thank me is enough to lift my spirits.

But back then… I don’t think I had the idea of repaying everyday kindness.

I’d lived in that environment my whole life, constantly receiving those things, and somewhere along the way I’d forgotten how precious they were.

…Come to think of it, Ayumu had always been an unusual kid.

According to our parents, even as a baby he acted as if he had a clear will of his own, and he started walking and talking much earlier than normal.

I’d thought he was just precocious—but the moment I began to suspect it was something else was probably then.

Even while harboring those doubts, I accepted his gift with joy.

Honestly, looking back now, I think I reacted almost embarrassingly enthusiastically.

As I said earlier, you don’t often get “repayment” for everyday things.

You can do things for friends, but they rarely come back to you.

You might make people laugh often, but they don’t often make you laugh.

You might help others, but you’re rarely the one being helped.

I wasn’t acting in expectation of anything in return, so that itself was fine.

Besides, it’s not like I was properly repaying others either. That was fine too, but…

That’s exactly why—

Because it was something rare, something I couldn’t even do myself…

That pure, unfiltered feeling he gave me made me truly happy.

That was when Ayumu changed, in my mind, from just "my brother" to "my precious brother."

Thanks to Dad’s strict upbringing, I tried not to treat people differently… but Ayumu was special.

He sometimes did or said strange things, and he devoted himself to lessons and self-improvement to the point of neglecting everyday life—just as eccentric as Mom in that regard…

But still, to me, Ayumu was an incredibly important little brother.

That’s why I kept a close eye on him…

…and because of that, I was certain.

Ayumu really was strange.

One day, around the time I had finally advanced to middle school.

At my father’s request, I went to fetch Ayumu—and found a lone figure buried under stacks of paper in the archive room of the Horino main residence.

"Ayumu, Dad’s calling for you."

"…Big brother."

When he raised his face, the area beneath Ayumu’s eyes was marked by dark, heavy circles.

His complexion was poor, his eyes barely open and blinking incessantly—and looking closer, they weren’t even properly focused.

Even to an amateur like me, it was obvious his condition was bad.

"…When was the last time you slept?"

"Hm… uh, before going to school twice ago… two days?"

"What about eating? The food by the entrance had gone cold."

"I think I ate yesterday evening… probably."

"You’re pushing yourself again… Mom’s going to be mad."

"…She won’t be. Mom would understand."

That day, maybe because of exhaustion, his energy was lower than usual—but…

This was how he always was.

Ever since declaring in front of Dad that he’d become a trainer, he’d been working nonstop. Too nonstop.

Honestly, even looking at my classmates, it’s rare for a kid to have that kind of future-oriented initiative in the first place.

And when you add cutting entertainment down to zero, not making friends or playing with them, and even sacrificing sleep and meals…

…it borders on madness.

As family, I felt we had to stop that recklessness—and at the same time…

I couldn’t help wondering why he felt the need to go that far.

"…Hey. Why are you pushing yourself so hard? You’ve got to be hungry, and you feel sick, right?

Wouldn’t it be okay to rest a little more?"

I asked casually—and Ayumu, who seemed barely conscious, answered vaguely.

"…………Because I have to try."

"Have to try?"

"If I don’t try, I can’t… otherwise, I’ll… again…"

"Again?"

"…? Ah—sorry, it’s nothing. Dad was calling, right? I’ll go now."

Ayumu closed the old, dictionary-thick scrapbook he’d been reading, slid it into a cabinet, and began walking—unsteadily.

Then he tripped over a book lying at his feet and nearly fell—

"Hey!"

"Ah… sorry. Thanks, big brother."

I hurriedly reached out and grabbed his hand—

It was painfully cold.

---

"…So yeah. Stuff like that happened. I knew Ayumu wasn’t right."

"Elementary school… that far back…?"

"Yeah."

I almost added, because we’re family—but stopped when I heard the tone in Masa’s voice.

From how stunned she sounded, she probably hadn’t realized it back then… at least not when she was my age.

Talking about it as if it were obvious would, in a way, amount to blaming her for not noticing.

So I gently steered the conversation elsewhere, without making it too obvious.

"To be honest, the reason I started studying psychiatry alongside surgery was because I wanted to understand Ayumu.

Back then, I really didn’t understand him at all, so I thought I should study psychology and try to understand him better."

"I see… so did you figure anything out?"

"Yeah, well… I think I did.

I believe Ayumu was being driven by some kind of compulsion.

That he had to try, that he wasn’t allowed to stop acting—and taken further… that without that effort, he had no value."

"…Yeah."

"But in the end, I never figured out the cause.

I’ve known Ayumu since he was born—or maybe that’s not quite right, but at least since he started talking.

And yet, I don’t think there was anything in his life that should’ve pushed him that far."

That—that was the biggest mystery.

I understood Ayumu’s condition.

…but no matter how hard I tried to remember, no matter how much I asked our parents, no matter how much I talked to him—ultimately, I could never identify the source of that distortion.

"Counseling aims to help a person develop mental self-control.

But to do that, you first need to know why they feel that way, why they think that way—the root of it, their life experiences.

And no matter what I did, I couldn’t get that information."

"…Is that why you—"

"Saying it like that kind of sounds like an excuse."

I think it should’ve been me who saved Ayumu.

That beautiful flower crown he gave me back then—

I still haven’t properly repaid it. I still haven’t shown any kind of answer to that pure-hearted gift.

So at the very least, I tried to help him—to correct that abnormality into something healthier, somehow.

…but it seems I just wasn’t enough.

According to Masa, Ayumu was saved by his assigned Uma Musume—Hoshino Wilm.

The Horino family is a line of trainers, and I was raised in it. Naturally, I have knowledge about Uma Musume.

So I believe I understand the unique nature of the bond that forms between a trainer and an Uma Musume.

Most likely, Ayumu was truly saved—deep down—by that strange, special relationship.

And that leaves me feeling… a little regretful. Or maybe apologetic.

In the end, my hands never reached him.

Without understanding anything about him, the problems surrounding Ayumu were resolved—somewhere outside my field of vision.

The most I could do was warn him—knowing it was probably meaningless—to take care of his body, and answer a few consultations he brought to me back when he was a rookie trainer.

…Man. What a failure of a big brother I am.

Even as I felt a little dejected inside, I made sure not to let it show in my voice as I continued talking with Masa.

"And one more thing. Mom also told me not to interfere too much with Ayumu."

"Mom did? …Wait, does that mean Mom knew about big brother’s problem too?"

"Of course she did. I mean, it’s Mom, right? She must’ve noticed something was off with Ayumu long before I did."

"…There’s zero logic there, but somehow it’s completely convincing."

Not long after I first realized something was wrong with Ayumu, I talked to Mom about it.

She touched her cheek and replied, "So you noticed too," as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"…She told me that interfering would be pointless. That no matter what, neither Mom nor I could solve the problem Ayumu was carrying. She even forbade me from doing things like making him aware of it."

"She’s as abrupt as ever… or however you’d put it."

"Yeah. I couldn’t accept it at first, so even if I wasn’t being aggressive about it, I did everything I could… but it looks like this time too, Mom was right."

It’s always been like that.

Mom’s words are hard to understand, and she never explains her reasoning.

And yet, somehow, they always end up being right in the end.

Reality itself seems to bend to fit her words, settling neatly into the correct shape.

It’s not like I resent that, but…

Sometimes I think that if I had that kind of ability too, maybe I could’ve helped Ayumu more.

"…I think it couldn’t be helped."

Masa, who had been quietly listening, spoke up in a low voice.

…Ah, that was a mistake. I thought I’d made her worry—but apparently, that wasn’t it.

In a calm voice, tinged with something like quiet pain, she continued.

"Judging by the cause of what happened to big brother, I don’t think Mom or you could’ve solved it.

No matter what you said, he probably would’ve just rejected it."

"That’s—"

I was about to ask if that meant she knew the cause of what happened to Ayumu, but—

Masa’s voice cut me off.

"Sorry, but I can’t talk about that.

It doesn’t exist in this world anymore—and it shouldn’t."

…Doesn’t exist? And shouldn’t?

Taking her words at face value, “that” must refer to whatever changed Ayumu—and something that no longer exists now.

What changes people are experiences and memories. If those don’t exist anymore, then that would mean—

"Don’t tell me Ayumu lost his memories in that accident—"

"He remembers. Everything since being born into this world—he remembers it all."

"…I see. That’s good."

For a moment, I’d feared he’d forgotten me, or our parents—but at least that wasn’t the case.

Still, that only made Masa’s words even harder to understand.

"…You’re not going to tell me, are you?"

"No. I can’t. This is something I’m taking to the grave."

"I see. Then I won’t force you."

I’m curious. He’s my precious little brother—of course I am.

But that’s not something I should dig into at the cost of my sister’s wishes—or, likely, Ayumu’s dignity.

The problem has been resolved. As long as Ayumu can live a normal life now, there’s no need to reopen old wounds.

I closed my eyes, took a breath, and buried my curiosity.

Then I opened them again and continued.

"…So, knowing all that, you’re saying Ayumu really is okay now?"

"I guarantee it. Big brother is fine now. You’ve talked to him on the phone a few times too, right?"

"Yeah. He’d changed—clearly and surprisingly so. That psychological tunnel vision he used to have was gone, and his thinking felt normal again."

"Mm. So you can relax about that. I’ve already informed Mom too."

"I see."

I felt a strange mix of relief and anticlimax—

And then a question suddenly occurred to me.

"…What about Dad?"

"Why bother? He’s an idiot who didn’t even notice big brother’s issue in the first place."

"That’s pretty harsh."

Her usual sharp tongue made me let out a wry laugh.

When Masa entered middle school and started acting out, Mom listened to her closely, and I worked to repair my relationship with her—but Dad just panicked and didn’t really do anything.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to say he avoided doing anything unnecessary because he didn’t know how to deal with a daughter’s feelings.

Either way, that impression from back then is probably why Masa’s image of Dad is so poor.

Well, Dad really is bad at reading the room, and when it came to Ayumu’s problem, he probably just thought Ayumu was absurdly stoic and never noticed anything wrong.

From a woman’s perspective, that kind of obliviousness might inspire mild disgust.

Still, I should say something—if only for her sake.

"You shouldn’t be so hard on our parents."

"I hate that goody-two-shoes side of you, bro."

"Ahaha, sorry, sorry."

It’s not that I’m a model student or anything—I just meant it with Masa’s long-term mental well-being in mind.

…Someday, both Dad and Mom will be gone.

And when that happens, even if you think I should’ve been a better child, it’ll be too late.

Ideally, I think it’s better to get along now, so you don’t have regrets later on… but yeah, that’s not something you can force on someone.

"…Anyway, thanks again for reaching out, Masa. I’m relieved now that I understand what’s going on."

"Mm. …You too, bro. Good work."

Good work, huh. I didn’t really do anything, though.

Still—if Ayumu was saved…

Then maybe that’s enough.

---

…And then.

I heard a knock on the infirmary door and lowered my voice as I spoke to Masa.

"Sorry, Masa. Something just came up."

"Mm. Sorry for calling you while you were working. Talk to you later."

The call ended with a soft click.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and called out toward the door.

"Come in."

Almost immediately, the door slid open with a clatter, and the girl on the other side rushed in.

"Teacheeer! I’m tired, I’m exhausted—let me rest!"

Her pudding-like hair swayed as she moved, and with the nimbleness of a cat—no, not a cat, an Uma Musume—she tried to latch onto me as I sat in my chair.

I’m happy she’s fond of me, but having a school nurse and a student this close isn’t exactly ideal.

I smoothly stood up to avoid her charge and leaned against the desk.

"It’s only been since yesterday. Resting is fine, but did you get permission from your trainer?"

"Ughhh, you’re so cold, teacherrr… Of course I didn’t get permission! Please hide me!"

Carrying that momentum, she flopped dramatically into the chair I’d been sitting in, puffing out her lips in exaggerated dissatisfaction.

…Honestly, her habit of slacking off is a real problem.

Well, not just her—several of the Uma Musume at this regional training center are like that.

Maybe because this place isn’t the kind of fierce battleground the central division is, but some of the Uma Musume here don’t have particularly strong motivation toward racing.

Not that they’re on the level of ordinary high school girls, of course—but it’s not uncommon for them to skip training and come loaf around in the infirmary like this.

They’re probably after the beds… though some don’t even bother with those, just killing time on the sofa chatting with me instead.

Honestly, as a school nurse, I’d like them to at least keep up the pretense of being unwell. There’s a limit to how much I can look the other way.

To make matters worse, when they linger here, their trainers complain to me.

It’s not like I’m encouraging them to skip training—but when there’s an escape route, people tend to take it. I’ve even been told, “Please be stricter with them.”

That’s the tricky part.

I was raised in the Horino household, after all—I can’t just coldly dismiss their wishes or pleas.

There’ve been plenty of times when a girl came in looking genuinely exhausted, begging, "Sorry, can I rest a bit…?" and the moment I gave permission, she’d beam and say, "Thank you!" with a huge smile.

Being a school nurse comes with more emotional strain than I ever expected—just in a different way.

Still, even with all that pressure from both sides, if I can help them in some way, it makes the job feel worthwhile.

…That day, Ayumu had been rifling through documents with dead eyes.

I wonder if he’s enjoying his work as a trainer now.

If he is…

That would make me happy.