Chapter 41: Overworked, huh? Hello there.

Late August had arrived, and the season was beginning to shift toward the end of summer.
The oppressive heat had finally started to ease, and signs of autumn were creeping closer by the day.

For horse girls, this was a time meant for honing their skills—and also the season when physical condition and weight management became most delicate. The dreaded summer, notorious for breaking bodies, was finally passing. And with that came growing talk of the G1 races beginning in October.

Even when limited to turf middle- and long-distance events, the lineup was formidable: the Shuka Sho, Tenno Sho (Autumn), Kikuka Sho, Queen Elizabeth Cup, Japan Cup, and Arima Kinen. A veritable parade of prestigious G1s.

To prepare for that stretch, horse girls from across the country gathered for a massive training camp that lasted two full months—from early July through the end of August—training, competing, and sharpening one another through rivalry.

…Or at least, that was how it usually went.

But for Hoshino Wilm and Mihono Bourbon, this year was different.

Neither of them participated.

Hoshino Wilm was still recovering from a fracture and wasn’t yet in a condition to handle the intensity of a full training camp. For now, steadily rebuilding her strength took priority.

As for Bourbon, junior-class horse girls weren’t allowed to participate in camps in the first place. Their bodies were still developing, and what they needed wasn’t harsh stimulation, but gradual, carefully managed growth.

And so, while most of the classic-class horse girls were away, the two of them—and I—remained at Tracen Academy, each focused on what we needed to do.

First, Hoshino Wilm.

Naturally, her focus was rehabilitation.

It had been just under a month since she’d fully healed, and her strength was slowly returning. Compared to her former peak… she was probably operating at around forty percent.

Horse girls recover faster and build muscle more efficiently than humans—but their upper limits are also far higher. In the end, that meant rehabilitation still took just as long.

…Still, at the pace she was pushing herself, enduring the discomfort day after day, she would likely be close to her former condition by early October.

My role was simple: manage her condition carefully and make sure she didn’t injure herself again through impatience.

Rehabilitation—especially when your legs don’t move the way you want them to—is said to take a heavy toll both mentally and physically.

Yet she endured it with a will of steel—or rather, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

The fact that she could feel positive emotions toward running again was a good sign. Everything she had learned and grasped through training and racing would surely become a source of happiness in her life.

…That said, the way she had recently started rubbing her head against me while asking to be petted made me wonder whether she was growing weaker—or simply letting her clingy side show.

Either way, her recovery was going better than expected. No, better than “well”—it was going smoothly.

If things continued without incident, her wish to run in the Kikuka Sho would almost certainly come true.

As for Mihono Bourbon—

She, too, was progressing smoothly.

The slight instability and awkwardness in her running form were carefully recorded, reviewed, and corrected. While she didn’t absorb feedback quite like a sponge, she adjusted with impressive efficiency.

…She really did have talent.

A kind of talent similar to Hoshino Wilm’s, yet fundamentally different in nature.

Hoshino Wilm’s talent lay in her mind—an exceptional efficiency of thought. She was the textbook definition of a “genius.” Sharp, perceptive, and capable of turning instruction into results in an instant, she improved at an astonishing pace.

And on top of that, her physical abilities were outstanding. A truly unfair combination.

Mihono Bourbon, on the other hand, possessed a body that responded honestly to training—a kind of physical giftedness defined by how smoothly she could grow.

For most horse girls, growth was like climbing stairs. Sometimes you ascended smoothly; sometimes your legs refused to lift, and you stagnated.

For Bourbon, growth was a slope. Her body adapted seamlessly to the load placed upon it.

Put simply: the more you trained her, the stronger she became. Naturally, she was powerful.

That was why correcting her bad habits hadn’t been difficult either. What would normally require long-term conscious correction and repetition, she fixed cleanly in about a week.

If Hoshino Wilm was a genius of the mind, then Bourbon was a genius of the body.

And both were rare talents capable of tearing through the Classic races.

Honestly… I seemed to be surrounded by nothing but prodigies.

It almost made me jealous.

As for me—

The past three weeks had been brutal.

Building trust with Bourbon, managing both her and Hoshino Wilm’s schedules, handling Bourbon’s contract procedures, researching the Kikuka Sho and her debut race—it all piled up at once.

Needless to say, I was overwhelmed. During the first week, I probably slept a total of six hours.

Eventually, my body hit its limit. I had no choice but to handle paperwork during their training sessions just to squeeze out about two hours of sleep per day.

Still, this was just the chaos of the early contract phase.

There were moments I seriously thought it might be too much, but there was still room to streamline things. Once I got used to it, it should become manageable.

…Though, admittedly, things were about to get busy again.

And then—while we were all pushing forward in our own ways—the moment finally arrived.

Late August.

As the classic-class horse girls gradually returned from their camps and life returned to Tracen Academy…

Mihono Bourbon’s debut race was about to begin.

---

Nakayama Racecourse, competitors’ waiting room.

I stood facing Mihono Bourbon alongside Hoshino Wilm.

"How are you feeling, Mihono Bourbon?"

"Condition is excellent. I can guarantee performance exceeding standard parameters."

Bourbon placed a hand over her chest as she answered.

She was right—she was in good shape. Not quite at her peak, but given the limited time, that was unavoidable.

Today was her make debut.

The very first hurdle every racehorse must overcome.

Once a horse girl reaches sufficient development—usually after June of her junior year—this is the race she must run.

To participate in the Twinkle Series, she must either win this debut or win her next race afterward.

This is a world of competition—a cruel one.

There are many horse girls who fail to win even once and never make it into the Twinkle Series. Those girls are forced to retire or transfer to regional tracks, never to return to the central circuit.

And if that first win comes too late, participation in early major races like the Hopeful Stakes or the Satsuki Sho becomes nearly impossible.

G1 races are prestigious. Only those with both strength and popularity can enter. To earn a slot, a horse must prove herself early and build recognition.

The earlier the debut, the more chances one has to build that reputation.

That was why a make debut held such immense meaning for a racing horse girl.

It was one of the defining crossroads of her life.

…And yet, I wasn’t nervous.

Because the possibility of Mihono Bourbon losing today was vanishingly small.

"Bourbon-chan, don’t forget the trainer’s strategy. Just run the way you always do, and you’ll be fine."

"Thank you, Hoshino Wilm-senpai. I will secure victory."

Hoshino Wilm spoke calmly, but if one looked closely, her brows were faintly furrowed.

She was worried.

Compared to her usual self, she was more talkative, glancing around restlessly, checking on Bourbon again and again.

Given the circumstances, it was understandable.

Still, the sight was oddly amusing.

The girl who never got nervous before a race was now flustered over her junior’s debut. It was… kind of endearing.

Honestly, I’d been a little worried—but seeing this, I realized she was being a good senior.

She often taught Bourbon about running form and cornering, and now she was doing her best to reassure her, repeating “It’s okay” over and over.

…Though, considering how instinctive her own running style was, I wasn’t sure how much of her advice actually stuck. And frankly, she might have been the one who needed calming down.

As for me, I’d already said everything that needed to be said to Bourbon.

So now, what mattered wasn’t winning or losing—

"Come back safe, Mihono Bourbon."

"Mission acknowledged. Prioritizing personal safety and completing the race."

With that exchange, a URA staff member came to call Bourbon over.

…Alright. Looks like Hoshino Wilm and I would be watching from the stands.

---

"At Nakayama Racecourse, a new generation of rising horse girls gathers for their Make Debut! Under clear skies, who will step onto the shining stage today?"

"All eyes are on Mihono Bourbon, currently the most favored contender due to her rigorous training. Having signed with trainer Ayumu Horino—the man who produced the undefeated two-crown champion since Symboli Rudolf—can she take her first step toward breaking the impossible?"

Hearing the announcer’s voice echo from afar, Hoshino Wilm let a faint smile tug at her lips.

"They’re talking about you, Trainer."

"Please don’t. My face is burning."

I knew better than anyone how undeserved that praise was.

Yes, Hoshino Wilm had gone undefeated for two crowns and won the Takarazuka Kinen.

And yes, I couldn’t deny that my guidance had played some part in that.

But the majority of that achievement belonged to her—her talent, her ability.

The Twinkle Series, especially the Classic races, are a battlefield where geniuses collide. A trainer’s job is to support them flawlessly, but in the end, victory depends on how far their talent and effort can carry them.

…In other words, doing your job properly is the bare minimum. Being praised for it is like being congratulated for breathing.

What matters is what you can achieve beyond that.

That’s why I don’t think my support of Hoshino Wilm should be counted as some grand personal accomplishment.

A trainer’s true evaluation comes only after everything is over—when their horse can look back and say, “I had a good racing life.”

That’s the real honor.

…Though, admittedly, that way of thinking might just be the Horino family philosophy.

I don’t think it’s wrong—but it might be a little warped.

Still, that’s a question for another day.

What I know for certain is that I’m not yet able to take pride in having supported her.

Of course, I understand why society prefers clear, simple metrics.

So being praised like this, or having your work judged based on visible results, is inevitable.

…Still.

Having that kind of praise shouted so publicly does make one want to wince.

"I wish they’d said something like, ‘Can she carry on the escape-running style of last year’s undefeated two-crown champion?’ instead."

"That wouldn’t make sense. Bourbon’s running style is completely different from mine—almost the opposite, really. You know that better than anyone, Trainer."

"…You’re too reasonable. I can’t even argue."

Hoshino Wilm chuckled softly.

We’d really grown close, I realized.

At first, there had been a careful distance between us—both of us wary of overstepping. Now we joked like this without hesitation.

Her attitude toward me had changed after I was scolded for proposing that delegation plan. Since then, she’d stopped holding back, stopped worrying whether her words might hurt me.

For someone like me—bad at reading emotions—that honesty was both comforting and deeply appreciated.

Of course, she wasn’t telling me everything. And neither was I.

There are things you keep to yourself when you care about someone.

Still… one thing was certain.

She smiled more easily now.

And that made me happy. Being trusted, respected, and cared for—it meant something to me.

Whether that was appropriate for a trainer… I still didn’t know.

I turned my gaze back toward the track.

Bourbon was stepping onto the turf.

Hoshino Wilm’s smile faded as she focused on her junior.

"Trainer… how do you think this race will go?"

"Mihono Bourbon will win."

"...You say that without hesitation."

"Yeah. She’s going to win. No need to force myself to believe it."

Come to think of it, I might not have properly explained today’s race to Hoshino Wilm.

Or maybe I had? My memory from the last week or two was fuzzy—sleep deprivation does that to you.

I reached for my notebook, thinking I must have written it down somewhere…

…and found nothing but illegible scribbles.

Right. Of course. I’ll decode it later. Another task added to the list.

Giving up on past me, I put the notebook away and continued.

"In this race, no matter how it unfolds, Mihono Bourbon wins. It’s simple—she’s overwhelmingly stronger than everyone else."

"…Even more than I was?"

"That’s a bad comparison. There’s no one who could beat you."

"Hehe."

Hoshino Wilm smiled—an expression she probably shouldn’t show in public.

And it was true.

In terms of stats and aptitude, no horse girl had ever surpassed her. At the moment of her debut, she was likely the strongest in history.

Even legends like Silence Suzuka or Special Week—even Symboli Rudolf with his undefeated Triple Crown—would have struggled against her at that stage.

She was simply that far beyond the norm.

Mihono Bourbon, now, was also extraordinary—though still within the bounds of reason.

Or rather, in this race, the others simply lacked the necessary talent.

Their aptitudes were mismatched—Turf D, Mile C, incompatible running styles.

Bourbon, on the other hand, had Turf A, Mile B, Front-runner A.

That alone was a massive advantage.

And then there were the stats.

While the others hovered in the 60–90 range, Bourbon exceeded 200 in Speed, Power, and Guts. Her Stamina and Wisdom were lower by comparison—but still over 100.

There was a clear gap in both aptitude and raw ability.

Under these conditions, the only way she could lose would be through an accident… or a disqualification due to interference.

Of course, numbers alone never guarantee anything. In horse racing, you never know what might happen.

…That said, it’s the trainer’s job to make the odds as close to certainty as possible.

To that end, I’d given Mihono Bourbon more than ten different contingency plans.

Unless something with less than a five-percent probability occurred—and she somehow forgot every countermeasure I’d taught her, and failed to run seriously—there was no scenario in which she lost.

I summarized all of that for Hoshino Wilm.

"I see. So Bourbon-chan really is strong, then. That’s a relief."

"Strong… what exactly do you think of her?"

"Well… weaker than me, I suppose?"

Well, if you use yourself as the baseline, I guess that’s the conclusion you’d reach.

"She’s a genius. The kind that only shows up once every few decades.
People say ‘aptitude can be overcome with effort’—and that’s not wrong. But that assumes exceptional talent, relentless effort, and proper guidance as prerequisites.
Mihono Bourbon possesses two of those in perfect form."

"She has the physical durability to endure intense training, the aptitude to absorb it, and the mentality to keep pushing herself. A horse girl with all of that—and the environment to use it—is extraordinarily rare."

"Huh… I see.
So then, what kind of genius am I?"

"You’re… a one-of-a-kind genius."

"One of a kind… hehehe."

Lately, Hoshino Wilm seemed to be quietly competing with Mihono Bourbon.

Probably because, for the first time, she had someone close enough to truly compare herself to. Her competitive instincts were surfacing.

But that wasn’t a bad thing.

Wanting to surpass others—measuring yourself against them—is a fundamental part of a horse girl’s nature. And through that process, they sharpen each other.

The only real risk would be their relationship souring.

But both Hoshino Wilm and Mihono Bourbon were far more rational than most girls their age.

Hoshino Wilm clearly doted on Bourbon as a junior, and Bourbon, in turn, held genuine admiration and trust toward her.

So for now, the three of us remained on surprisingly good terms—remarkably peaceful, considering how recently I’d taken on a second trainee.

Honestly, that was a relief.

They could train together, be left alone together, and I didn’t have to spend extra energy mediating between them. If things had gone poorly, I’d probably have needed Tazuna’s help just to keep things functional. I was already close to collapsing as it was.

"I hope Bourbon wins."

"Yeah. She shouldn’t stop here."

"And I don’t want her ruining your undefeated record, either."

"That part I really don’t care about."

"A trainer under Horino Ayumu shouldn’t stumble at a mere debut."

"I really don’t mind, though."

"Still. You deserve more recognition. It wouldn’t do for your reputation to suffer here."

Hoshino Wilm huffed lightly, puffing out her cheeks.

…She is being affectionate, right? This is her version of encouragement, right?

Honestly, I was starting to worry again.

From Hoshino Wilm’s perspective, this was probably very friendly behavior—but still.

While I scratched my cheek, unsure how to respond—

"…And, Trainer."

"Hm?"

"After this race is over, you should rest properly."

…She saw right through me.

I couldn’t help but smile awkwardly.

She really was perceptive—and kind.

She knew how exhausted I was, yet she’d let me push myself this far. And now, at a moment when I couldn’t dodge the topic, she said it plainly—without honorifics, without distance.

Everything about it showed her consideration.

"Thanks. Once today’s done, I’ll get some proper sleep."

"Mhm."

She muttered softly.

I wish you’d rely on me more, she probably meant.

But she didn’t say it out loud.

Because she knew I wouldn’t want to burden her unnecessarily.

And because she knew I’d ask for help when I truly needed it.

Being understood like that is terrifying… and somehow comforting, too.

"Thanks for worrying about me, Hoshino Wilm."

"Of course. I’m your horse girl, after all.
…Now then, let’s watch Bourbon’s victory."

As we spoke, the time for the race drew near.

The announcer’s voice echoed across Nakayama Racecourse.

“Now, let us introduce the top favorite—Gate 3, Mihono Bourbon!
Can effort surpass bloodline? Her challenge begins now!”

---

And just like that, the Uma Musume began filing into their gates, and Mihono Bourbon’s debut race was about to begin.

…Or so one would think.

Apparently, today wasn’t going to be that simple.

"They’re taking a while to load into the gates."

"Yeah. Can’t be helped—this part comes down to temperament."

Several of the Uma Musume were refusing to enter their gates.

Or rather… it wasn’t that they were refusing. Their legs simply wouldn’t move.

Compared to humans, Uma Musume have a much larger sense of personal space. Simply put, they tend to dislike confined areas.

Because of that, when forced into narrow spaces, the more hot-blooded ones grow irritated, while the more timid ones become frightened.

Of course, the degree varies from person to person. Some barely feel anything at all…

But for particularly sensitive girls, even attempting to enter the gate triggers a strong rejection response, and the loading process stalls. Seiun Sky was that type too, if I remember correctly.

There are other factors as well—nerves before the race, pressure from surrounding competitors—but setting that aside.

Especially in debut races, where none of the runners have real racing experience yet, delays during gate loading are common.

This time was a textbook example. A few of the girls, tense from their very first race, simply couldn’t bring themselves to step inside.

Meanwhile, Bourbon remained as she always was—expressionless, mechanical in her movements—already finished entering her gate without issue.

…And now, she stood there, waiting for the start signal.

"Do you think she’ll be okay, Bourbon-chan?"

"Hard to say. …By the way, how are you with the gate?"

"Well… I think I’m relatively fine compared to most Uma Musume.
But even so, being kept waiting this long… it might chip away at my focus."

Exactly. That’s the problem.

Waiting inside the gate makes Uma Musume restless or anxious. And once their concentration wavers, the likelihood of a poor start increases.

That’s why there’s a skill called Focus.

And that’s why, last year, the very first thing I taught Hoshino Wilm was that skill.

Unfortunately, there hadn’t been time to teach it to Mihono Bourbon.

Still, if she were calm by nature like Hoshino Wilm, it might not have been a major issue…

But in the end—

"Now, the final Uma Musume has entered the gate.
Thank you for your patience—this is Race 6, the Debut Race.
…And they’re off!"

"—!"

"…………"

Mihono Bourbon was late off the mark.