Chapter 13: Shaaa! Blazing Summer Training Camp!

On the evening of the first day of training camp, Happy Meek and I arrived at the shrine near our lodging. As instructed by our trainers, Meek-chan and I paired up for stretching exercises. Nearby, our two trainers were discussing something while looking toward the shrine.

"Momozawa-san, what are we doing at the shrine?"

"Ah, Kiryuuin-san... We’ll have these two run up and down those stone steps."

"……Th-Those steps?"

"Yes. There are roughly 400 of them."

Kiryuuin followed Tomio’s pointing finger—only to see a brutal staircase of 400 stone steps carved into the mountainside. The upper half disappeared into the trees, but the shrine must have been somewhere far beyond.

"It’ll get cold once night falls, so they’ll be sprinting these steps until then. We’ll forge their legs, hips, and mental endurance."

"Ehh…"

Though a bit far away, I could tell from Kiryuuin’s expression that she was horrified by Tomio’s words. And honestly? Fair. Sunset was still four hours away. Sure, we’d get breaks, but dedicating that much time to a hellish stair sprint was… borderline sadistic.

Not that I was fazed. But objectively? Tomio’s training bordered on abuse. That said—there was undeniable trust and care behind it. She never skimped on icing, hydration, or recovery. The problem was just… the sheer inhumanity of the workouts.

Let me give you an example.

Apollo Rainbow’s schedule for the past week looked like this:

Monday – Summer break meant an entire day dedicated to annihilating our lower bodies. Endless squats. Leg raises in between. Hip thrusts. Pistol squats. And then more squats. I thought I was used to Tomio’s training, but by the end, I genuinely couldn’t stand.

Tuesday – Cardio day. Pool training until delirium. Freestyle, backstroke, butterfly. Breaststroke as a cooldown. Finished with a casual 20K freestyle. When I crawled out, I was gasping like a drowned corpse.

Wednesday – Upper body. Abs first—crunches until my soul left my body. Tomio was obsessive about presentation-ready muscles. (Is he a navel fetishist or something?) Then arms, core, back—basically, every muscle was tortured until I died.

Thursday – "Rest day." AKA, intelligence training. Studying race strategies, analyzing rivals, processing data for future workouts. My brain melted instead of my body.

Friday – Grit training. Pure suffering. Hill sprints on a 2-meter elevation slope. Frog jumps. Cossack dance drills. Idol step practice. Tire dragging. Tomio’s motivational screaming. The most infuriating day.

Saturday – Power and explosiveness. Dirt track sprints. Then boxing—jabs, combos, full-force punches. By Day 6, the pent-up rage made it the best stress relief. Also, for some reason, tile-breaking. No clue why, but it worked.

Sunday – OFF. Slept like the dead. Barely had the willpower to finish homework.

That was my summer vacation.

And yet—even this wasn’t enough. That’s why we were at this camp. To push further. Because our rivals? They were monsters.

Special Week. Seiun Sky. El Condor Pasa. Grass Wonder. King Halo. The five prodigies of our generation.

Half-hearted training wouldn’t even scratch their brilliance. I’ve barely beaten Happy Meek in practice races as it is—how can I face the Kikuka Sho next year?

But.

I have no choice but to trust my trainer. Fanatical training is my only answer. That’s why I’m here, ready to throw myself into a 400-step hell.

And—I’ve already decided. I’ll sacrifice everything to win. I can’t afford to lose. Limits? I’ll crush them.

Warmed up, Meek and I approached the steps where our trainers waited. Tomio stood there, binder in hand, stopwatch around his neck, smiling like sunshine.

"Alright, you two! The mini-camp starts now. Fresh, exciting training awaits—so get pumped!"

Starting tomorrow, Kiryuuin would handle mornings and Tomio afternoons. But Day 1? All Tomio.

"Now that you’re stretched out, let’s tackle these steps. Imagine it’s the final uphill stretch—give it everything!"

Without being told, Meek and I stepped onto the first stair, testing its hardness, height, and spacing. Ah—so that’s the goal. To simulate "digging into the turf and kicking off." Meek must’ve realized too. We exchanged a nod.

"…I’ll go first."

"Go ahead. But, uh… maybe take it slow? Falling would be bad."

"Ahh... Yeah, good point. Let’s take the first round easy—use it to get a feel for the steps. Then we go all out."

"Go get ‘em~!"

Kiryuuin waved cheerfully as Meek-chan immediately bolted ahead. I followed, keeping just enough distance to avoid crowding her.

"Hey! Both of you—slow down on the descent! No rushing, got it?!"

Tomio’s voice chased us up the steps. I flicked an ear in acknowledgment without breaking stride.

At first, I took it painfully slow—one step at a time. But that was inefficient. This pace wouldn’t cut it for training. Gradually, I increased my stride: two steps, then three, four...

By the 200th step, I’d found my rhythm: eight steps per bound. Ahead of me, Meek-chan had already hit her groove, effortlessly clearing ten steps at a time.

"Hah... hah..."

We reached the 400th step in minutes—then immediately turned back. Descents required different muscles and techniques, just like in races. Too much speed downhill was dangerous, so we had to control it through sheer muscle tension.

Uphill wrecked our lungs. Downhill wrecked our legs. Doing this for hours would leave us unable to walk. Typical Tomio brilliance.

Back at the starting line, I rolled my ankles and took a deep breath. Meek-chan took the lead, while I settled into second position. Tomio cleared her throat—our signal to zone in.

"Ready? First sprint—GO!"

Meek-chan exploded forward, her feet cracking the stone. I followed a heartbeat later. Within three strides, we’d hit top speed.

Tokyo Racecourse’s final stretch was a 500-meter climb with a 2.7-meter rise. But this? A brutal Several dozen meters ascent in under 100 meters. Full sprint here? Torture. The uneven steps forced us to lift our knees obscenely high, draining stamina at a ridiculous rate.

Yet Meek-chan looked completely at ease.

"...♪"

Is she... humming!?

Her technique was mesmerizing—light, skipping steps, as if bouncing up the stairs. Tap, tap, a rhythmic dance.

Meanwhile, I clunked along like a broken gear. My power simply couldn’t match hers. When Meek-chan pushed off, her muscles briefly rippled—not a girl’s, but a beast’s. Defined, explosive short-distance power. A realm my stamina-focused, stayer’s body couldn’t touch.

"Kh...!"

I’d learned how to climb better. But the gap between us was crushing. Even with superior endurance and grit, she kept widening the lead.

By the 400th step, our initial seconds-long gap had stretched to over ten. I was drenched in sweat; Meek-chan hadn’t even flushed.

"...Let’s head down."

"Y-Yeah..."

Her downhill technique was just as refined—controlled yet blisteringly fast.

Of course. Happy Meek was a champion. Sure, she got memed in mobile games, but making the URA Finals’ championship round was no fluke.

As I stumbled to the bottom, Tomio handed me a sports drink.

"Well, Apollo? Learn anything?"

"...! Y-Yeah. But... I’m the only one gaining anything here. Isn’t this unfair to Meek-chan?"

"...Nah. She’s learning too."

"...?"

"Five-minute break. Then we go again. Rest up."

Without fully grasping Tomio’s true intentions, we completed an intense four-hour stair-training session. By the last hour, even Happy Meek’s stamina gave out, leaving me as the only one still running up and down the steps.

And so, the first day of training came to an end. Back at the lodge, I devoured a massive meal and took a bath. As I stepped out and headed toward my room, I overheard voices from the trainers’ shared quarters. Almost instinctively, I pressed my horse ears against the door.

"...Apollo and Meek seem to genuinely recognize each other as worthy rivals."

"Yes... Apollo strongly admires Meek’s speed and power—qualities she lacks—while Meek is acutely aware of her own lingering stamina issues and competitive drive. If they keep training like this, they’ll reach even greater heights—"

"Then perhaps we should adjust this part—"

"Ah, I see—"

Their passionate discussion about training methods and us showed no sign of stopping. So this was why Kiryuin had chosen to room with Tomio—to strategize late into the night. Though something about it nagged at me, the sheer sincerity in their voices left no room for doubt.

"...Guess I shouldn’t eavesdrop any longer."

I pulled away and retreated to my room, burying myself under the futon before flipping onto my stomach to skim through books on exercise theory and stayer training borrowed from the library. My summer homework was already done, so filling these gaps with knowledge was just another form of training.

About thirty minutes later, Meek returned from her long bath.

"Welcome baaack~"

"...Apollo. Help me stretch?"

"Sure thing~"

I bookmarked my page and motioned for her to join me on the futon.

"I’ll even give you a massage!"

"You know how?"

"Yep! Tomio does it for me every day, so I’ve got the gist!"

"…………"

Meek shot me a look somewhere between surprise and alarm, but I ignored it, draping myself over her back as she attempted a forward bend.

"...!"

Her body melted under my weight. I’d suspected from her versatility, but Meek’s flexibility was unreal. The harder I pressed, the further she folded, like liquid—no, like a boneless cat. For a second, I wondered if she might actually dissolve.

"Nn... you’re heavy, Apollo."

"Ah, sorry, sorry!"

Whoops, got carried away. But still—I’d never seen someone touch their stomach to the floor in a straddle stretch before.

Once Meek’s stretching was done, I pushed her onto the futon and climbed atop her, starting the massage from her toes.

"Oof, you’re tense, Meek-chan."

"Mmph... today’s training... was brutal... ah—"

Mimicking my trainer’s techniques, I worked her soles, targeting pressure points (or what I assumed were pressure points). Even if my technique was off, just kneading her feet probably felt good.

I moved to her calves, hamstrings, lower back—all the areas we’d punished today—gently loosening each knot. Under the guise of help, I took the chance to study her muscles up close, exploring every inch with my palms and fingertips. Shoulders, back, sides, stomach, thighs. Maybe I was getting too bold, but she was already dozing off, so I pushed my luck.

"...!"

My verdict after examining her body? "Flawless." No other word sufficed.

First, her symmetry was staggering. Most people have slight imbalances between their left and right sides, but Meek’s form was perfect—no irregularities whatsoever.

And her muscle development? A masterpiece. Every fiber was sculpted with precision, as if her body were a work of art. This was what it meant to be built for turf and dirt, sprints and marathons.

Frustrating... but it proved how far I still had to go. Only after honing both body and mind—then layering talent and relentless effort—could you compete at the highest level.

...This was a graded-race Umamusume. The wall I had to overcome.

"...All done, Meek-chan. Oh—out cold, huh?"

My massage had lulled Happy Meek into sleep. Watching her peaceful face, I smiled.

"Rest well. Tomorrow, we’ll push even harder... Meek-chan."

I draped a blanket over her and slipped into the neighboring futon.

Having rivals to train with kept me striving higher. Guriko, Meek-chan, and the rest of the "Elite Five," Spe-chan included...

(...Really, I’m so grateful—for everyone around me, for this environment.)

Exhausted, I decided to turn in too. Flipping off the lights, I closed my eyes. The fatigue swallowed me whole, and in moments, my consciousness faded into the dark.