Chapter 10: Apollo Rainbow’s Trainer
Momozawa Tomio, the trainer, had been searching for a purebred stayer. However, after Mejiro McQueen’s trainer told him, "You’ve got talent—why don’t you just go independent already?" he quit his role as an assistant trainer.
Yet, no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake off Mejiro McQueen’s shadow.
She had been too great. Winning the Kikuka-shō, securing back-to-back victories in the Tennō Shō (Spring), and dominating middle-to-long-distance G1 races like the Takarazuka Kinen—McQueen had left behind more than enough achievements to uphold the prestige of the illustrious Mejiro family. Of course, she would haunt Momozawa’s thoughts.
For a stayer fanatic like Momozawa, finding a horse girl with talent surpassing McQueen’s was anything but easy.
Though not to the same degree, he spent his days approaching other horse girls with hidden stayer potential, only to be rejected every time. He’d tried recruiting over fifty of them, but the responses were always lukewarm.
Former assistant trainer to Mejiro McQueen… Sure, the title sounded impressive, but in reality, he was still a rookie trainer, practically an amateur. Maybe the horse girls who turned him down just had sharp instincts.
Since scouting wasn’t working, Momozawa had no chance of catching the eye of a winning horse girl from selection races. Maybe I should just go back to being McQueen’s assistant… he found himself thinking.
That was when he met her—in a library.
He had stopped by to research training methods for stayers. While browsing through books, he encountered a horse girl reaching for the same book he was.
(This girl… isn’t she Apollo Rainbow? The one who pulled off that bold front-running strategy in the selection race the other day. And she’s got the makings of a stayer, too… Ugh. Perfect—a front-runner who’s practically the ideal stayer. Hits all my preferences, but she’s probably already scouted by someone else…)
Her bangs were neatly trimmed beneath her eyebrows, her straight bob-cut hair reaching her neck. A petite horse girl with a pinkish-gray coat, her eyes gleamed like amethysts, radiating fierce determination.
Though not particularly large in stature, a smaller body was more fuel-efficient for long-distance running. The way she carried herself, her muscle structure—every aspect of her physique screamed stayer. He gritted his teeth.
Of course, a horse girl who’d won a selection race and had this much talent would be in high demand.
(I wish I could’ve been her trainer…)
With mixed feelings, Momozawa struck up a casual conversation with Apollo Rainbow. But as they talked, he was stunned to learn that Apollo didn’t have a trainer yet. And then, to his shock, Apollo was the one who asked him to take the role.
Overjoyed but overwhelmed, the trainer couldn’t help but feel the pressure—he’d gotten his hands on a true rough diamond.
And that premonition proved correct. Weeks after their contract was signed, Momozawa could feel Apollo’s raw talent.
First, her running style. After testing various strategies—lap times, simulated races—it became clear Apollo’s only true compatibility was with extreme front-running (ōnige). "Pace-pressing" was out of the question, and even standard front-running was slightly off. "Between horses" and "closing from behind"? A complete disaster.
But that was exactly why Momozawa knew Apollo had something special. Realizing your extreme front-running potential before your debut? That’s not normal. Honestly, Momozawa had never seen a horse girl like her before. There were cases where a horse girl, failing to get results, gambled on extreme front-running and succeeded—like Twin Turbo or Mejiro Palmer.
But both Palmer and Turbo took time to realize their own front-running potential—their records made that clear. Recognizing that compatibility was that difficult.
Twin Turbo’s first true extreme front-running performance wasn’t until her senior-level G3, the Tanabata Shō. Before that, she’d just been an ordinary front-runner on a losing streak. Then, for whatever reason, she went all-in on a blistering pace—and ended up winning the Tanabata Shō and the All Comers. Racing (and life) was unpredictable like that.
Even Mejiro Palmer had struggled, even switching to at one point. But she was terrible at jumping hurdles—the core of steeplechasing—and came back battered every time. Her trainer gave up on it after just a few races.
Yet, Palmer’s steeplechase stint wasn’t in vain. Some theorized the training strengthened her lower body and stamina. When she returned to flat racing, she went all-out with extreme front-running—and ended up winning that year’s Niigata Daishōten and the Spring & Autumn Grand Prix.
At this point, the advantage of recognizing extreme front-running compatibility early was obvious. However, by nature, extreme front-running led to inconsistent results. When it worked, it was dominant—but a single mistake in a race could ruin everything. Momozawa would have to accept that volatility and nurture it carefully.
Next, stamina. Based on Apollo’s running and accumulated data, her endurance was already perfected. Her stamina reserves were junior-level—no, even senior-level. And the scary part? She still hadn’t hit her limit.
With her boundless stamina confirmed, her ideal distance range became clear. She could run , but… —that was where she truly excelled.
Momozawa had seen horse girls whose optimal distance range extended to the late 3000-meter mark before. But one who could handle 4000 meters? She’d never encountered that in Japan.
This girl isn’t meant to be confined to Japan. That was Momozawa’s honest impression.
(If I can’t nurture her properly, it’ll be a clear failure on my part…)
Apollo Rainbow excelled on soft ground (shiba). She even had a D-rank aptitude for dirt tracks. Though she wasn’t accustomed to running on either, her natural affinity for weight-bearing surfaces suggested she could handle Europe’s heavier turf with ease.
No—more than that.
Maybe Japan’s turf doesn’t suit her at all.
Was she brute-forcing her way through sheer stubbornness? The data piling up on Momozawa’s desk was starting to point in that direction.
Thanks to enduring Momozawa’s Spartan training, Apollo was improving at a frightening pace. If this kept up, she wouldn’t just reach next year’s major goal—the Kikuka-shō (Japanese St. Leger)—but also the Tennō Shō (Spring) and even prestigious long-distance G1s overseas.
"No doubt about it. She’s the stayer I’ve been searching for! If everything goes right, she could become the strongest stayer in the world !"
Alone in the dimly lit trainer’s office, Momozawa allowed himself a quiet smirk. Raising the ultimate stayer, seizing the highest honors—that dream was inching closer to reality.
If it weren’t the middle of the night in the trainer’s dorm, he might’ve laughed out loud. But there was one reason he couldn’t fully celebrate.
…Apollo Rainbow had zero sense of personal space.
During training, she constantly found excuses for physical contact—acting like they were just a pair of girl-friends hanging out. Worse, she seemed completely oblivious to it, leaving Momozawa at a total loss.
This was especially obvious when fixing flaws in Apollo’s form. Adjusting her posture meant Momozawa had to touch her limbs—but without fail, Apollo would press her chest against his in the process.
At one point, Momozawa nearly called her out on it… only to realize Apollo had no ulterior motives. No teasing, no misleading intentions—just pure, unfiltered clumsiness.
Losing her balance and leaning into Momozawa? Accidental chest contact? Apollo Rainbow seemed born under a star that destined her to fluster her trainer in every possible way.
I should correct this… but how?
It was equal parts frustrating and… something else. The kind of problem that felt too awkward to address outright. And so, Momozawa’s nights ticked by, tangled in conflicted thoughts.
Momozawa Tomio had a fellow trainer—Kiryuuin Aoi. Born into a prestigious family of trainers, Kiryuuin had her own contracted horse girl, Happy Meek.
To Momozawa, Kiryuuin existed on a completely different plane. Even as colleagues, speaking to her felt like a commoner hesitating to address nobility.
Yet for some reason, Kiryuuin kept trying to close the gap between them. Too soft-hearted to refuse, Momozawa eventually exchanged contact info—and before Apollo’s debut race, the two ended up at a drinking party, ostensibly to "relieve stress."
"Cheers!"
Kiryuuin’s horse girl, Happy Meek, had already won her debut race. Momozawa’s real goal was to extract training secrets—how Kiryuuin secured such a smooth debut victory. he’d learned all she could from McQueen’s trainer, but intel from a peer was invaluable. How much could he pry loose while keeping up appearances?
(Kiryuuin must see through me… right? Ugh, she’s so genuinely nice it’s hard to tell…)
Kiryuuin sipped her beer delicately, both hands wrapped around the mug. For a rival trainer with a horse girl in the same generation, Momozawa wished she’d show some wariness.
But as the night wore on and alcohol took effect, Kiryuuin’s guard crumbled alarmingly fast. She undid the top button of her blouse, her expressions turning uncharacteristically bold—then suddenly slumped against Momozawa’s shoulder, fast asleep.
"…Huh?!"
Before they could even get to the main topic, Kiryuuin Aoi had already passed out drunk. The scraps of information Momozawa managed to extract beforehand were… something, but…
"…………"
She’s like a sheltered princess—raised way too carefully… Sighing, Momozawa paid the bill. If he’d just asked, Kiryuuin probably would’ve shared the intel willingly. No need to exploit her naivety. Maybe I should offer something in return next time.
The drinking session itself had been fun, but Momozawa’s own scheming left a bitter aftertaste. Hoisting Kiryuuin onto his back, he hauled her to a nearby hotel.
No amount of shaking or calling her name roused Kiryuuin. Resigned, Momozawa showered and crashed on the sofa.
—
"W-W-WHAAAAAAAAAT?!"
The next morning, Momozawa was jolted awake by Kiryuuin’s shriek. He tumbled off the sofa and rushed to the bed.
"What’s wrong, Kiryuuin-san?"
"Uh, um, Momozawa… trainer…?"
"Yeah? Everything okay?"
"N-no, I just—last night—what—"
Flustered, Kiryuuin frantically checked herself over. Her second button had come undone—whether from sleep or earlier, Momozawa couldn’t tell—and he averted her eyes.
Ah. So that’s it. Kiryuuin was clearly jumping to conclusions. To clear the air, Momozawa spoke up.
"You were something else last night."
"——!?!?"
Kiryuuin’s face erupted into steam. She hugged herself, ears burning crimson. Shit. Momozawa clamped her mouth shut.
(There I go again. I meant how you drank, not—ugh. Gotta fix this.)
Momozawa had always been bad with words. Jokes came out as insults, and harmless comments spawned wild misunderstandings. He grabbed Kiryuuin’s shoulders, forcing eye contact.
"You don’t remember? You collapsed, so I brought you here. I just stayed the night—nothing happened"
Oddly, emphasizing nothing felt like pouring oil on the fire. Momozawa wanted to scream, but Kiryuuin surprisingly took him at his word, slumping in relief.
"...Should we head back, Kiryuuin-san?"
"...My apologies for the trouble."
"Nah, don’t worry. I had no idea you were such a lightweight. My bad. Let’s do this again sometime."
"...! Y-yes!"
With their "information exchange" concluded, Momozawa returned to the trainer’s office.
In the taxi ride back, Momozawa used Kiryuuin’s tips to draft Apollo Rainbow’s final training plan.
(My methods are brutal—hell, only brutal. Glad I got to compare notes with Kiryuuin.)
When Momozawa revealed his Spartan regimen, Kiryuuin eagerly shared her own conditioning secrets. Of course, the real techniques were "family secrets," so the details were vague—but Momozawa could connect the dots himself.
Grateful, he finalized the plan. To Apollo, hardened by relentless training, it’d probably seem laughably light.
"Huh? This is it?"
"Heh…"
A smile tugged at Momozawa’s lips.
Apollo’s debut was finally here. All his effort was about to pay off. Lately, Momozawa couldn’t stop picturing her charging past the finish line, victorious.
(So this is how it feels to send your pupil into their first race… Even as McQueen’s assistant, I never felt nerves like this.)
A whirlwind of emotions—anticipation, dread, pride—churned inside him.
Yet amidst the chaos, one certainty anchored Momozawa:
Apollo Rainbow would win.
(At last… my ideal stayer steps onto the track. Can’t wait.)
Why? Because Apollo had endured everything Momozawa threw at her. Early on, she’d collapse daily from exhaustion. Now? Her stamina was unmatched. In raw training volume alone, no one in her generation could compete.
—
But then—
Disaster struck.
Apollo Rainbow’s debut race went horribly wrong.
"—!!"
Near the end of the fourth turn, a reckless overtake attempt from the inside rail sent Jarajara’s arm slamming into Apollo Rainbow. Apollo staggered back toward the outer rail, clutching her face. Dark blood stained her number tag and uniform.
The spectators rose to their feet, screaming. For a brief moment, Apollo’s hand flew to her throat—then, swaying unsteadily, she forced herself to keep running.
“S-stop—stop running already—”
Apollo’s nose bled heavily, her eyes unfocused. A concussion, maybe? Her face was deathly pale. Foam trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Yet she kept running. Whether it was sheer stubbornness or pure instinct, no one could tell—but she refused to quit. She finished the 2000-meter race.
The moment she crossed the finish line, Apollo collapsed face-first. Her trainer vaulted over the fence to reach her. Momozawa yanked gauze from the first-aid kit in his bag, shouting:
“Apollo! Hey, Apollo! Can you hear me?!”
No response. She was unconscious—maybe even seizing slightly.
(She clutched her throat back then. Blood must’ve clogged her airway!)
The trainer hauled her up, forcing her mouth open. “Sorry,” he muttered before shoving gauze-wrapped fingers down her throat. Apollo’s body jerked. Grimacing as if swallowing his own pain, he probed deeper—then, careful not to tear flesh, scraped out the thick, lukewarm mass lodged inside.
When he pulled back, his fingers held a clot too large for her slender throat. Apollo gasped, coughing violently. Clicking his tongue, he wrapped the clot in gauze and tossed it into a plastic bag.
“Damn it—”
His eyes burned. She didn’t deserve this. Not after fighting so hard. Wordlessly, he crushed her against his chest.
Sirens wailed as the ambulance arrived. The crowd watched, murmuring, as trainer and horsegirl were loaded inside.
But the words Apollo whispered en route to the hospital would haunt him forever.
“...Sorry… Trainer…”
A transparent tear streaked her cheek. Hearing that, the trainer could no longer suppress the regret clawing through his chest.
After her debut loss, the trainer resolved to forge absolute speed through even harsher drills—so she’d never again be caught by some damn come-from-behind horse.
Yet in his obsession, he overlooked something crucial.
He realized it only after her next defeat.
Yes, Apollo Rainbow was faster now. But he hadn’t seen her. He’d been too fixated on sculpting his ideal stayer.
By racing her without regard for her mental state, he’d doomed her to falter at the fourth turn—a clear aftereffect of her debut disaster. His fault. A pointless loss. A stain on her record.
Under overcast skies, he glared upward. Even calling this “regret” felt arrogant. Self-loathing churned in his gut.
He gave the dazed Apollo only clipped instructions before sending her off to her first live performance.
The show began. Apollo danced desperately, scattering forced smiles.
But she wasn’t the star. The center position belonged to another. That truth choked him, warping his vision.
“—Gh… Goddammit…!”
Tears spilled. A grown man, weeping openly, uncaring of stares. The more he fought it, the harder the sobs wracked him. With the music blaring, no one could hear—so he screamed. Wailed. Raged at his own incompetence. Not that it absolved him. Kneeling, he crushed his tie in a fist.
(—I wasn’t seeing her.)
As the concert peaked, ice crystallized in his heart.
(What was I seeing? She’s not some invincible stayer from my fantasies. Not a doll that obeys. Not some “ultimate horsegirl” who’d auto-improve with training. She’s Apollo Rainbow—flawed, human, alive. And I… I chased a mirage instead.)
Through tears, he watched her dance.
(Forgive me, Apollo… Is it too late to become your trainer in truth?)
But when his tears dried, fire remained.
Regret. Guilt. Anguish.
He’d carry it all—and forge it into resolve.
Here, in this moment, Apollo Rainbow’s true trainer was born.
As for their first victory?
That’s a story for another day.
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