Chapter 25: First Shrine Visit of the Year

Stepping outside to see the first sunrise of the year sounded like a good idea—until the night wind hit us, chilling us to the bone and making us instantly regret it.

"F-f-f-freezing…!""T-too c-c-cold! T-Tomio, start the engine, quick!"

Our teeth chattered uncontrollably as we shrieked against the icy air seeping into our collars. We scrambled into the car, but the interior was just as frigid. White puffs of breath escaped our lips, and the frozen seats welcomed us with an unwelcoming chill. The hellish cold would linger until the heater kicked in.

Dawn was always the coldest time of day. And with the sky so clear, radiative cooling had plunged the temperature even lower, making it unbearably harsh.

Tomio jammed the key into the ignition, as if trying to distract himself from the cold, and started the engine. In no time, the car lurched forward, slicing through the night air as we headed toward Tracen Academy’s back gate.

"G-god, it’s cold… Hey, Apollo, when we pass the back gate, can you hide so the guard doesn’t see you?"

"Huh? Why?"

"Well… even though it’s New Year’s, a trainer and a horse girl sneaking around at night might raise some eyebrows, y’know?"

"Oh… yeah, good point."

Now that he mentioned it, he was right. A trainer and his student driving around late at night wasn’t exactly educationally sound. It wasn’t about forbidden relationships—just the fact that a minor being out this late wasn’t exactly wholesome. But if the trainer was also her guardian, shouldn’t it be fine? Eh, Tomio was probably overthinking it.

"Back gate’s coming up. Hide."

"Okay, okay~"

I slid down into the footwell of the passenger seat. The car slowed to a stop, and Tomio rolled down the window to exchange a few words with the guard. After a brief chat, we were waved through without issue.

The awkward position was getting uncomfortable, so I quickly climbed back into my seat and buckled up. The heater had finally warmed the car to a cozy temperature, letting me unbutton my coat a little. Rubbing my fluffy sleeves together, I turned to Tomio as he gripped the wheel.

"What’d you tell him?"

"Oh, he asked where we were going this late. Said we were hitting up a convenience store for food, and he let us through."

"Hmm… Convenience store food, huh?"

"W-what’s with that tone?"

"Nothing, really."

I hadn’t caught the whole conversation, but Tomio and the guard seemed familiar with each other. The guard’s tone sounded like he was used to Tomio’s late-night outings… Wait, did that mean the trainer made regular midnight convenience store runs? Maybe that’s why the guard just shrugged it off like, "Ah, the usual."

…Tomio always nitpicks my lifestyle, but he doesn’t take care of himself at all. Isn’t that unfair? I didn’t voice my complaints, but I pouted hard. The car was dark, only occasionally lit by passing streetlights, so Tomio didn’t notice my displeasure.

Right now, he was young—he could handle it. But if he kept burning the midnight oil, relying on convenience store bentos and cup noodles, he’d hit his limit sooner or later. It was just like how racing nonstop shortens a horse girl’s career. Harsh conditions can make you feel invincible, masking the toll they take. Whether it’s your career or your health, you don’t realize how much you’re sacrificing until it’s too late.

"Sigh…"

Maybe Tomio’s neglect of his health was worse than I thought. If that’s the case, then at the very least, I should try to improve his eating habits. As his assigned horse girl—and as someone who cares about him.

"Don’t push yourself too hard, seriously."

"Hm? Did you say something?"

"…Never mind."

I gave his shoulder a light poke. But enough of the gloomy talk. It was New Year’s, a time to enjoy with someone special. I wasn’t about to waste it.

"Hey, where exactly are we headed?"

"An underrated hilltop spot. Well… ‘underrated’ is a stretch since Tracen’s in the city, but still."

"Ahaha. So, a not-so-secret secret spot?"

"Nah. A real hidden gem—one only I know."

My heart skipped a beat. A place only he knew. And he was taking me there. The simple act of sharing a secret made me irrationally happy.

The late-night roads were practically empty, with most traffic lights blinking yellow. Even though it was the end of the year, we were the only ones out. Tomio kept the speed just under the limit as we drove, the surroundings growing quieter with each passing mile.

The car was silent except for the hum of the engine. I picked up an old CD case from the dashboard and randomly slid one into the built-in player.

After the mechanical whirr-chunk of the CD loading, music began to play. If it had been a song from a popular horse girl band, I’d have recognized it—but this was unfamiliar.

"…What’s this song called?"

"It's called 'Summit.' My parents used to play it in the car when I was a kid."

"Ahh, I get that. Honestly, most of the songs I like now are ones my parents listened to first."

"Hah, yeah. The music they played driving me to after-school lessons sticks in my head for some reason. I don’t remember the titles, just the melodies."

The brisk tempo of the song shifted, growing more intense. Yet the lyrics, woven with a voice both gentle and piercing, carried a quiet power.

"...It’s a good song."

"The year this came out, the Twinkle Series was huge. Supposedly, the writer got inspired by rivalries between racers."

True to his words, the lyrics were painfully earnest—"Don’t give up on your dreams," "Chase your aspirations," the kind of youthful anthem that stung to hear. Back when Tomio was a kid—before I was even born—people were already watching horse girl races. An obvious fact, but it still made me oddly sentimental.

...Oh, right. Did Tomio have plans to go home for the holidays? I’d apparently declared "I won’t return home until at least my senior debut," so my contact with Mom and Dad was limited to messages. But... well, maybe someday I’d drag him along to visit my family. Not that I’d say that out loud.

"Hey, Tomio, aren’t you going back home for New Year’s?"

"Huh? Ah... not for a while. I can’t really leave until my term as your trainer’s over."

—His term. The initial three-year contract. By my second senior year, the agreement would lapse, and we’d have to choose whether to renew or part ways. I had zero intention of letting him go, but some girls apparently cut ties without hesitation.

"I kinda wanna visit your hometown."

"Why?"

"Why? ‘Cause you’re always taking care of me."

"...I’m just doing my job as a trainer."

Tomio killed the headlights and turned off the engine. We’d arrived. Stepping out, I scanned the deserted parking lot. The beam of my flashlight revealed cracked concrete, weeds and moss forcing their way through the gaps.

"...Not a soul around."

"That’s the point."

This forgotten hilltop held only a crumbling parking lot and a single, lonely bench—a place built for reasons no one remembered. Maybe the narrow, hard-to-find access road kept people away. Whatever the reason, the only light came from our flashlights. The city’s glow was distant, and above us, the stars sprawled endlessly.

"Wow—"

"I used to come here when things got tough. Just lie around, staring at the sky. ...Haven’t been here in over two years, though."

Tomio walked toward the bench with practiced ease, even though the footing was rough. I followed carefully, eyes on his back. Dawn was close—the far edge of the sky had begun to pale, pushing back the stars. Once the sun started rising, it moved fast, swallowing the horizon.

Just as the first sliver of sunlight appeared, I sat beside him. We watched the first sunrise in silence.

The sun rises 365 times a year. So why does the first one feel so special? Because it’s the year’s beginning? Some innate human sentiment? Or... because I’m seeing it with him? I couldn’t tell.

I squinted as the sun grew brighter. When I glanced at him, something cold nudged my cheek. A coffee can—Tomio had quietly brought one along.

"Sorry, forgot about it. Probably lukewarm by now."

"No, thanks."

It was my favorite lightly sweetened coffee (with milk). I took a sip, the bitter warmth spreading over my tongue. That lingering aftertaste... some things don’t change, even in a new year.

"Beautiful."

"Yeah."

Tomio and I sipped our coffee in comfortable silence, watching the sun climb higher. By the time it could hardly be called a "sunrise" anymore, I suddenly remembered my UmaPhone and snapped a few photos—one of the sunrise over the landscape, and another with my cheek pressed against Tomio’s shoulder (using the front camera, of course).

The second photo was for personal enjoyment later. The first? I decided to upload it to UmaStagram. My account had been dormant for a month.

Well, "dormant" is generous—I’d always been more of a lurker. Up until a month ago, I’d just spam-liked Palmer-chan, Helios-chan, and Twin Turbo-chan’s posts with generic "Uma-i ne!" comments. A total nobody account.

But something about the new year made me want to post. Reason one: that whole "fresh start" energy. Reason two: I needed to publicly declare a new goal—to force myself into a corner.

The Classics are a once-in-a-lifetime stage. To stand on that grueling, hallowed ground, I’d need to push myself physically and mentally. And if I had any fans (big if), I’d use them as leverage. The more people who saw my declaration, the heavier the pressure—and the harder it’d be to back down.

"Tomio, can I post this sunrise pic online?"

"...Sure. You know how to handle yourself out there, right?"

"Obviously!"

"Good."

After letting him review the photo, I uploaded it with a caption: "This year, I’m giving it everything!" Within seconds, the notifications exploded. 100 Uma-likes! A flood of comments cascaded into my inbox.

What the—hacked? Glitched? Stunned, I tapped back to my profile—and nearly dropped my phone. "120 Following / 147,511 Followers."

"Wha—?!"

"Wh-What’s wrong? Hate comments? Did someone send you a nasty DM—?"

"N-No, it’s just… my UmaSta followers. They’re at 140k, and I didn’t even do anything…"

"…………??"

"D-Did I… mess up somehow…?"

The slow creep had started after that group photo with Palmer-chan and Helios-chan got posted. But I’d turned off notifications when they got annoying, so I never checked the count. Since when did 140k people care about some random mob horse girl’s lurking account?!

Last I checked, I had around 1,000 followers. How did that balloon 140-fold in under half a year?

Tomio grabbed my phone, tapping through it with a furrowed brow—then exhaled a white puff of air and stuffed it back into my pocket. His expression softened, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite the bitter coffee he gulped down to hide it.

"Seems a lot of people were moved by your efforts. Those followers are here to cheer you on—so treasure them."

"…?"

"Let’s head back. We can stop by the shrine on the way."

"O-Oh. Okay."

We rose from the weathered bench and returned to the car. Would we ever come back here? As the engine hummed to life and Tomio’s secret spot faded behind us, I tightened my seatbelt—and wondered.

By the time we reached the nearest shrine, the morning sun was high, and the grounds buzzed with visitors. A winding line stretched toward the offering box, the occasional clang of coins echoing through the air.

"What’ll you wish for, Apollo?"

"Isn’t it bad luck to say it out loud?"

"Fair point."

"Well, my public goal is ‘Become a Kikuka Sho-winning horse girl!’"

"Hah. Mine’s ‘Make Apollo a Kikuka Sho winner.’"

We chatted, weaving through the crowd. Girls in vibrant kimonos glittered around us—maybe I’d try one next time.

When our turn came, we tossed in five-yen coins, clapped our hands twice, and gave the offering box a shake for good measure. Only afterward did it hit me: Wait, is this the right ritual? Eh, Japan’s gods probably cut slack for clueless foreigners.

I wished to win the Kikuka Sho—and for the bonds I treasured to endure. What did Tomio pray for?

"...Let’s head back."

"Yeah."

With no other shrine traditions to follow, we returned to the trainer’s office. The next three days passed quietly, spent sharing osechi boxes and lazy conversations.

But peaceful days always end. Soon, the grind of training would reclaim us—until breaking news erupted mid-routine: Seiun Sky and El Condor Pasa had won a graded stakes race.