Chapter 1:

The last thing Ren remembered was the cool expanse of his bedsheets and the frustrating glow of his phone screen. He had been staring at Umamusume: Pretty Derby, completely baffled by Hayakawa Tazuna's post-race evaluation.

Lack of guts?

He had ground out the stats. His trainee's numbers were leagues ahead of the generic NPC horse girls, a statistical powerhouse on paper. Yet, she had just crossed the finish line in a dismal fifth place for the third consecutive time. It made absolutely no sense.

The sheer absurdity of the game's logic had been stressing him out to the point of a headache. But right now, looking at his surroundings, his mobile gaming frustrations vanished, replaced by a cold, creeping sense of bewilderment.

Ren was standing perfectly still, feeling incredibly foolish, in front of a massive, ornate gate.

There was no mistaking those wrought-iron arches or the grand, sweeping architecture that loomed just beyond them. It was a landmark he had seen across countless hours of anime episodes and digital loading screens.

He was standing at the entrance of Tracen Academy.

"May I have your attention, please?"

The voice was crisp, cheerful, and entirely too familiar. Ren's head snapped toward the sound. Standing just beside the gate, clad in her signature deep green uniform and matching cap, was Hayakawa Tazuna herself. The academy's premier secretary offered a flawless, welcoming smile to the assembled crowd.

"On behalf of the Director, I would like to welcome you all to Tracen Academy, our newest generation of trainers," Tazuna announced, clapping her hands together to punctuate her greeting.

An eager murmur rippled through the group gathered around Ren. Several individuals immediately stepped forward, their faces alight with ambition, peppering Tazuna with questions about housing, training schedules, and team assignments.

Ren, however, remained rooted to the spot, his mind fracturing under a wave of cognitive dissonance. Trainers? Since when did I apply for a job here? Better yet, how am I even here?

He glanced at the people next to him. They dressed like professionals, carrying themselves with the easy confidence of residents who belonged in this world. None of them looked like they had just been ripped from a modern apartment while wearing sweatpants and lamenting RNG. If he spoke up now and confessed he had no idea what a "debut race" even entailed in reality, he would look like a lunatic. Or worse, a trespasser.

"If you will all follow me, we will begin our orientation tour of the main campus," Tazuna said, her voice easily cutting through the chatter as she turned on her heel and led the group through the gates.

Lost in a spiral of existential dread, Ren didn't move until the tail end of the group was already ten paces ahead. Blinking himself out of his stupor, he hurriedly jogged forward to catch up, trying his best to blend into the crowd.

As they crossed the threshold into the academy grounds, Ren's anxiety battled fiercely with his inner fanboy. The campus was stunning—sprawling green fields, pristine running tracks, and classic architecture that felt both historic and high-tech. He wanted to look around, to absorb every detail, but a sudden thought paralyzed his neck.

Hold on. I'm an adult man walking into a prestigious, all-girls boarding school.

Even if the "students" here could technically outrun a sports car and kick through a brick wall, the optics were terrible. He kept his eyes glued strictly ahead, attempting to project the aura of a serious, deeply focused professional.

I suppose I can just use the 'I'm a certified trainer' excuse if anyone questions me, he reasoned, trying to calm his racing heart. It worked for Team Spica's Trainer in the anime.

Then, a vivid mental image of Trainer Okino being launched into the stratosphere by a well-placed kick from Special Week flashed through his mind.

Never mind. That man is built different. His pain tolerance is a statistical anomaly. If a horse girl kicks me, I am genuinely going to die.

"And over to our left, you'll see the primary training tracks, configured with both turf and dirt surfaces to accommodate varying running styles..." Tazuna's voice drifted from the front of the pack.

Ren had drifted off again.

He blinked, snapping his attention back to the present, only to realize the courtyard around him was entirely empty. The gentle rustle of cherry blossom leaves was the only sound accompanying his sudden, horrifying isolation. The group was gone. They must have turned into one of the main buildings while he was busy calculating his own mortality via blunt-force trauma.

Ren stood in the center of the courtyard, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. He had two choices, and neither felt particularly brilliant.

Option 1: Wait here and hope someone notices. Pros: Minimal effort; avoids wandering into restricted areas. Cons: Tazuna was efficient, but she wasn't a psychic. Ren hadn't even introduced himself. With his thoroughly average appearance and lack of a towering, anime-protagonist presence, he was practically a background NPC. There was a very high chance he would be entirely forgotten until the evening security sweep.

Option 2: Hunt for the group by himself. Pros: Proactive; might actually catch up before anyone realizes he blundered. Cons: The academy grounds were massive. One wrong turn could land him in the middle of a live track, the cafeteria, or worse, the student dormitories—which would immediately guarantee a one-way ticket to a holding cell.

Ren looked back at the grand gate, then toward the towering main building. The environment was intimately familiar from hours of navigating 2D menus, yet terrifyingly vast and unpredictable in three dimensions.

Taking a deep breath to steady his shaking hands, he adjusted his collar. Waiting around to be picked up like a lost child wasn't going to cut it if he was supposed to be a professional. He had to move. He just had to pray that his memory of the campus layout from the game was accurate enough to keep him from getting tackled by a disgruntled student.

Glancing down, Ren realized for the first time that he wasn't actually in his faded sweatpants and oversized t-shirt. Instead, he was sporting a crisp, well-fitted trainer's suit—complete with a sleek dark vest, a tailored jacket, and a stopwatch clipped neatly to his belt. It was the quintessential look of a professional. He couldn't complain; wandering an elite academy in sleepwear would have fast-tracked him to a restraining order.

If I'm wearing this, it means I'm officially a trainer here, he thought, a sudden spark of excitement cutting through his panic. I'm actually going to train an Umamusume.

It felt like a dream come true, but the fantasy had to wait. He still needed to find his orientation group before he was written off as a no-show on his very first day.

Ren began navigating the sprawling campus, trying to look like a man with a purpose. He politely asked a few passing students for directions to the main auditorium tour, but the sheer scale of Tracen Academy was overwhelming. The 2D map from his phone screen did nothing to help him calculate the dizzying labyrinth of real-world corridors and courtyards.

Eventually, the chatter of the main campus faded, replaced by the rhythmic, heavy thud of running shoes striking dirt. He had inadvertently wandered toward a secluded, secondary training track.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Ren peered around the edge of a brick equipment shed.

Standing on the track, drenched in sweat and gasping heavily for air, was a horse girl with elegant, shoulder-length wavy brown hair. Even in a standard Tracen training jersey, her posture screamed pride.

It was King Halo.

Ren's breath hitched. In the anime and his game files, King Halo was defined by her fierce, unyielding determination to prove herself. Born to a world-class mother, the immense pressure to be "first-rate" rested squarely on her young shoulders.

Right now, she was pushing herself to a dangerous extreme. Her shoulders heaved violently as she bent over, hands on her knees, her breath coming in ragged, desperate wheezes. She was clearly far past her limit, yet she was already bracing her foot against the track to start another sprint.

If she keeps this up, she's going to tear a muscle or fracture a foot before she even gets a chance to debut or her future races, Ren thought, his brow furrowing with genuine worry.

He wanted to step out and tell her to stop, but he paused. He was a complete stranger. If an unknown man in a trainer's suit walked up and told a proud girl like King Halo that she lacked efficiency or needed to rest, she wouldn't take it as sound advice. She would take it as a direct insult to her work ethic—a dismissal of the grueling effort she was pouring into her dream.

He needed a distraction. Something to force her to break her rhythm without initiating a direct, awkward confrontation.

Ren took a deep breath, cupped his hands around his mouth, and faced away from the track toward the main courtyard.

"HEY! IS SOMEONE LOGGING EXTRA LAPS ON TRACK FOUR?! THE INSTRUCTOR IS LOOKING FOR YOU!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, pitching his voice to sound like an authoritative staff member.

The moment the echo left his throat, Ren turned on his heel and sprinted in the opposite direction as fast as his human legs could carry him. His heart hammered against his ribs—not from the physical exertion, but from the sheer terror of being caught.

He didn't look back, but the sharp, sudden silence from the track suggested his chaotic plan had worked. King Halo would have to pause, if only to ensure she wasn't about to get caught violating training hours or over-exerting herself by an official instructor. It gave her a mandatory cooldown window, even if it was born out of brief confusion.

Ren rounded a massive hedge, thoroughly out of breath, and nearly stumbled right into the back of a familiar crowd.

"...and this brings us to the central library, which holds records of every major G1 race in history," Tazuna was saying, gesturing toward a set of grand double doors.

Ren smoothly transitioned his frantic sprint into a casual jog, slipping into the back row of the trainer group just as they began to move forward. He smoothed down his vest and exhaled a long, quiet sigh of relief. He was back where he belonged, undetected, and his heart was finally slowing down.

He looked back toward the path he had just fled. It was a chaotic, unorthodox start to his career, but as he adjusted his stopwatch, a small, determined smile tugged at his lips. He was in their world now, and he was going to make sure they all made it to the finish line safely.

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Back on the secluded track, the echoing shout had cut through the heavy silence like a starter pistol.

King Halo froze instantly, her ears twitching as they pinned back against her head. For a fleeting second, a rare flash of panic crossed her face—the universal instinct of a student who knew they had just been caught red-handed doing something they shouldn't.

She snapped her head around, searching the perimeter of the track, only to catch a glimpse of a figure rounding the far corner of the equipment shed. The stranger was wearing a crisp trainer's suit, and he was sprinting away with an urgency that suggested his life depended on it.

???

King Halo blinked, her brow furrowing in sheer disbelief as she watched the retreating back disappear behind a massive hedge. It took her exactly three seconds to piece the logic together. If that man had just been a random staff member giving a routine warning, he wouldn't be running like a thief in the night. He had deliberately bellowed at the top of his lungs just to disrupt her, and then fled the scene of the crime.

Her eyes narrowed into a fierce, indignant glare.

"How dare they?" she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms as her tail swished aggressively from side to side. "To deliberately disturb this first-rate Umamusume's training... and then coward away like a common prankster?! Hmph!"

Before she could even begin to process the sheer audacity of the mysterious trainer, heavy, authoritative footsteps echoed from the opposite path. A senior academy instructor—clipboard in hand and a stern expression fixed on their face—marched directly toward her location.

At Tracen Academy, the safety regulations were ironclad. For Umamusume who had not yet contracted with a personal trainer, the general staff and instructors held absolute authority. Their primary duty wasn't just managing schedules; it was to act as a safety net, ensuring ambitious young runners didn't permanently derail their careers through reckless, unmonitored over-exertion.

The instructor took one look at King Halo's drenched jersey, her trembling knees, and the dangerously high rise and fall of her chest, and their expression hardened.

"King Halo!" the instructor's voice barked, cutting through the crisp air. "What do you think you are doing? The regulations explicitly state that high-intensity tracking outside of scheduled hours without an overseeing professional is strictly prohibited!"

King Halo flinched slightly, the proud tilt of her chin dropping as the reprimand washed over her.

"I was merely... perfecting my stride," she attempted to defend herself, her voice tight, though she kept her eyes fixed on the dirt track beneath her boots.

"You were pushing yourself to the point of a muscle tear," the instructor countered sharply, tapping the clipboard. "Hard work is commendable, but recklessness is a second-rate habit. Pack up your gear and return to the dorms immediately. If I catch you bypassing cooldown protocols again, I will personally report this to the administration."

"Yes... understood," King Halo murmured quietly.

She lowered her head, accepting the lecture with a stiff, formal nod. But beneath her submissive posture, a completely different emotion was boiling to the surface. Her chest burned—not from the exhaustion of her sprints, but from a mounting, fiery indignation directed entirely at the cowardly instigator who had caused this.

If that man hadn't screamed like a maniac, she would have finished her laps, cooled down on her own terms, and walked away completely unnoticed. Instead, she was left standing here, being scolded like an amateur.

As she turned to pick up her sports towel, her eyes locked onto the corner where the mysterious trainer had vanished. A sharp, dangerous smile tugged at the corner of her lips, her eyes flashing with renewed determination.

Just you wait, King Halo vowed fiercely in her heart, her grip tightening around the fabric of her towel. No one makes a fool of her and gets away with it. When I find out who you are, you will receive a first-rate punishment!

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(A/n: first rate uma)