Chapter 5: Wait… When You Say My Distance Suitability Is Weird… You Mean It’s Too Long, Right?

After returning to the cramped trainer’s room, I glanced at Tomio’s desk, piled high with documents, before plopping down on the sofa.

...For some reason, Tomio had acted strangely after watching me run. He didn’t seem angry, exactly—more like… the vibe my boss gives off when I’ve made a huge mistake at work. His mannerisms were exactly like how people react when something’s seriously wrong.

...Could it be… that I’m gonna get my contract terminated?

Once that thought took hold, the negativity spiraled. Tomio was disappointed in my running. Tomio noticed something abnormal happening to my body. And so on… Even some wild, far-fetched worries started creeping in.

"Uu… Tomiooo…"

Before I knew it, I was crying alone in the dim trainer’s room.

Have I always been this much of a crybaby? I feel like I’m turning into more of a girl by the day. Wiping away the tears streaming down my wrists, I tried to observe myself objectively—only to feel even weirder.

"Sorry I’m late—Wait, what’s wrong!?"

"Hic… Snff…"

"Are you hurt!? Do we need to go to the infirmary!?"

Tomio fluttered around me in a panic before handing me a tissue. I wiped my tear-and-snot-covered face and finally calmed down.

"...Sorry. I’m fine now."

"O-Oh…"

"...Mhm. So, what did you wanna talk about?"

"Y-You bounce back fast. Well, it’s about that—"

He dragged a whiteboard from the corner of the room and grabbed a few books from the stack under his desk.

"There’s something about your running form that’s been bugging me."

"My… running form?"

I was relieved he wasn’t bringing up contract termination, but now I was a little worried. Do I have some weird habit? Like leaning too much on one leg?

"How do I put this… It’s not very horsegirl-like—or more like, it’s too masculine. Your form just doesn’t fit. If you keep this up, the strain’s gonna build, and you’ll end up seriously injured soon."

Male and female bodies have different skeletal structures—pelvis width, joint movement, all that. I guess my running style just wasn’t suited for a girl’s body. I’d never even thought about it.

Tomio pointed at the running form footage from UmaHo, pausing at key moments as he scribbled detailed notes and explanations on the whiteboard.

"—So yeah, I wanna work on correcting your form for a while. Sound good?"

"...Got it."

It’s not like I had a choice. Pelvis this, shoulder blades that… Honestly, I didn’t really get it. Still, Tomio’s eye for detail was insane—he could spot form issues after just one look.

"Oh, and about your optimal distance—"

"Is there a problem?"

"2000 meters is so short. You won’t see Apollo’s true potential unless it’s at least 2400 meters. That’s why your times in the selection race and the trial run were all over the place. Check this out."

He showed me a binder with scribbled split times for every 400 meters. Yeah, they’re a mess. The first 400 was fast, the next was slow, then normal, and the last stretch was way slower. This wasn’t about pacing or conserving stamina—it was a fundamental mismatch.

...In other words, my distance suitability was what Uma Musume players would call "Mid-Distance B"—no, more like "Mid-Distance C." It’s a common thing in the game—even Symboli Rudolf, an unstoppable force in mid-to-long distance, loses in the Saudi Arabia Royal Cup’s 1600-meter mile race… Now that he mentions it, it makes sense.

---There are all sorts of reasons why a horsegirl can’t perform outside their optimal distance. The differences between sprinters and stayers come down to build, running style, temperament, muscle composition, etc. Compared to Guri-chan, my muscles are way weaker—but she excels at shorter distances, while I’m better at longer ones. Our running styles are totally different. Basically, our bodies are built from the ground up for different things.

To put it another way—sprinters lose their finishing kick if they run too long, while stayers lose theirs if they run too fast… or at least, that’s what I remember from some book.

"If 2000 meters is too short… isn’t that kinda bad? There aren’t any junior-class races over 2001 meters…""...Yeah. The junior division’s gonna be rough for us. If we can put up decent results by the classic division, we’ll start getting longer races, so we can manage, but…"

The earliest race exceeding 2001 meters won’t be held until Classic-level, January Week 1—the Nakayama Racecourse’s 2200m Maiden Race. And races over 2400 meters only unlock in Classic-level February Week 1 (Plum Blossom Prize, 1-win class), followed by February Week 2 (Seagull Prize, also 2400m).

As for races beyond 2401 meters—where my true potential would finally shine—they don’t exist until July Week 2 of the Classic division. And even then, the only option is a 2600m maiden-limited race…

Even if I became an Open-class horsegirl, the first real test for stayers like me wouldn’t come until August Week 2—the Sapporo Nikkei Open (2600m, OP race).

In other words, races over 2401 meters are freakishly rare. If we fixate too hard on my long-distance aptitude and limit my entries, we risk piling up losses or getting excluded by lottery draws—and before we know it, both Tomio’s and my necks might be on the chopping block.

I’ve heard Mihono Bourbon brute-forced her distance aptitude through sheer Spartan training, but what about the opposite—how the hell do you shrink your optimal distance?

I’ve never heard of such a method. The path we’re taking is paved with thorns.

"T-Tomio… I’m getting scared here."

"Relax. If you lose, it’s all the trainer’s fault—so just pretend you’re riding on a luxury liner."

Despite his own worries, he forced a confident smile.

Trainers work on a pure commission-based system. Those with winning horsegirls swim in cash, while incompetent ones scrape by on sparrow’s-tear salaries. That said, central trainers are all elites, so their base pay is decent… but push "incompetence" too far, and you’re fired.

If I don’t deliver results, Tomio—my exclusive trainer—will be branded incompetent. As a rookie, he might get some leeway… but I refuse to let that happen. He’s my trainer.

"Enough gloom! Starting tomorrow, we’re focusing on form correction!"

"Y-Yes, sir! I’m in your care!!"

What followed was hell.

Endless drills of lower-body strength training and form correction, all to prep for my debut. Days of tormenting my body.

Once my form stabilized, Tomio made me sprint endlessly on turf and dirt—grinding speed and power to survive shorter distances. I trained until I nearly vomited, until dinner and baths became afterthoughts, until I collapsed mid-step.

On those nights, Guri-chan saved me—dragging me to the bath, shoving food into my mouth. I marveled at Tomio’s skill (once McQueen’s sub-trainer!) and repaid Guri-chanby tutoring her on off-days.

I slept like the dead, woke to screaming muscles… yet my speed and power grew. Enough to compete, even at "wrong" distances.

But the real shock?

I was less exhausted after a full-throttle 3000m than after 2000m.

I’d misunderstood. It wasn’t that I lacked stamina for 2000m—my body simply rejected it.

I wanted to run long distances. To bolt ahead in a blazing fugo.

Time slipped by. June arrived—debut loomed.

One day, we rehearsed ‘Make debut!!’—the mandatory debut song every horsegirl dances to.

We’d practiced the basics in dance class, but now we’d simulate the real stage. Tomio insisted we "feel the live atmosphere."

The problem? He hadn’t specified how "real" this rehearsal would be.

Outdoor stage? Indoor? His damn trainer’s office?

Gym clothes? Or… that belly-baring generic costume?

Ah yes. The belly-baring costume.

That was the thought gnawing at me.

"…I really don’t wanna bare my stomach."

Honestly, I really don’t want to wear that damn belly-baring uniform. No—scratch that, I absolutely refuse. I mean, come on, flashing a schoolgirl’s bare midriff under broad daylight? That’s way too lewd, right? Right?! A girl’s skin isn’t something you just casually show off!

Now that I’m on the exposing side of things, I get it—this is mortifying. The academy (or rather, the game devs) definitely has a fetishist for navels. I mean, have you seen how weirdly detailed the belly button modeling is?

Either way, I needed to ask Tomio. I’d spent the entire class obsessing over this navel crisis, learning nothing.

At lunch, I opened my messaging app.

…Now that I thought about it, I’d only ever received messages from Tomio this past month—never sent one myself. How the hell do I even do this?

"…Hmm, maybe like this?"

The final draft looked something like this:

To: Momozawa Tomio (Trainer)Thank you for your continued support.Sincerely,Apollo Rainbow.

…And so on.

Yikes. My corporate drone past was way too visible here. Still, better too formal than rude, right? Even if it looked ridiculous on a LINE-style app… Eh, good enough.

Maybe I should act more childish? Guri-chan sometimes points out I’m "too adult-like." Not in a "mature like Mayano Top Gun" way, though.

"Ugh…"

Overthinking won’t help. Send!

Click.

……

I swear I heard Tomio’s laughter echo from across the campus.

His reply came instantly:

"Wear the generic costume. We’re rehearsing on the indoor stage—no audience, but pretend I’m one and go all out."

—Welp. Belly’s out, folks. Goddammit. Apollo-chan’s navel is pristine, and I didn’t wanna show it to anyone. Ugh, this is so embarrassing. If I were still a guy, this’d be like going commando in sweatpants.

"…It’s fine, right?"

I lifted my uniform to inspect my stomach. A classmate gave me a weird look, but since Special Week often flashes her post-meal belly during lectures, everyone quickly pretended not to notice.

My navel peeked beneath the slight curve of my chest. No lint—I meticulously clean it daily. Ever since becoming a girl, I’ve never slacked on skincare. I even begged Gold Ship for her routine after bumping into her on campus. Nightly stretches? Non-negotiable.

I’m devoted to keeping Apollo Rainbow-chan flawless. If I let my hair frizz or my skin dry out, the original Apollo-chan would haunt me. Plus, I’m the one who gets to admire this cuteness daily—unlimited motivation!

And now this sacred, youthful skin—my navel—has to be exposed?! Hell no!! I’ll sing and dance with one hand permanently glued to my stomach!!

Thus, I trudged through the rest of the day, my soul already halfway to the afterlife.

After class, I dragged myself to the trainer’s room at the edge of campus. The door’s frosted glass glowed faintly from within.

…What kinda face is Tomio gonna make staring at my navel, huh? You perv.*

I knocked—hard—then barged in without waiting.

"O-Oh, Apollo. Perfect timing—"

"Hello, Apollo Rainbow-san."

The cramped trainer’s room held an unexpected guest.

Tomio wasn’t alone. Standing beside him was—Ms. Hayakawa Tazuna, the woman in the bright green suit whose cheerfulness always carried an unnerving undercurrent.

At their feet sat a cardboard box, its contents peeking out: a familiar color scheme. …So this is the infamous "generic costume."

"This will be your live performance outfit. Do treat it with care, won’t you?"

Tazuna’s smile never wavered as Tomio—grinning like an idiot—handed me the outfit. Guess this is what 2-star horsegirls used to race in. The fabric was clearly high-grade, treated with water-repellent and stain-resistant coatings.

…Whoa, it’s light. Definitely premium. And definitely expensive. No wonder Tazuna emphasized "handling it with care."

"Well then, I’ll take my leave.""Thank you, Ms. Hayakawa."

As I stared at the outfit, Tomio—misreading the situation entirely—chimed in: "What’s wrong, Apollo? Can’t wait to try it on?"

I swear to god, I’m gonna punch him.

I shot him a glare, but he remained oblivious. Probably mistook my horrified gaze for excitement, the dense bastard.

"Alright, Apollo—grab that and let’s head to the indoor stage."

"…Yeah."

With a reluctant nod, I tucked the outfit under my arm and trudged off. Upon reaching Trestar Academy’s indoor stage, I immediately ducked into the dressing room.

"…………"

I held up the costume by its shoulders. …If only the midriff part were longer. Sighing, I steeled myself and stripped off my uniform. No point delaying—better get this over with.

"How the hell does this garter belt even—? Wait, huh? I don’t—"

Since when was this part of the curriculum?! No choice—I’ll have to ask Tomio. I cracked the door open just enough to poke my head out.

"Hey, Tomio!"]

"What’s up?"

"Can you help me with the garter belt?"

"PFFT— ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

"Oh. Right. Sorry, Tomio!"

"You idiot…"*

Shit. I’m in my underwear. Wild style: bra and panties. Forget the navel—this is a full-blown exposure crisis! I slammed the door shut and wrestled the garter belt into place. Not that I’m a fetishist or anything, but seriously—what’s even the appeal here? Does it enhance a girl’s charm or something?

Finally dressed, I spun in front of the mirror. Good enough? Zippers all closed? Navel? Already disowned.

"…Alright. Let’s do this."

Changing took 10 minutes. Being a girl is hard.

I hurried back to where Tomio was waiting.

"Sorry, Tomio! Took me a while!"

"Nah, it’s fine. Alright, let’s get started—ready?"

Following his instructions, I stepped onto the stage and took my position. The lights snapped off, plunging me into darkness as Tomio’s voice echoed through the room.

"Gonna start the music now. Give it your all—smile, be cute, and make me fall for you with that energy! Got it?!"

Click.

Something in me switched on. Make him fall for me? Oh, you’re on, Tomio. You’re damn right I’ll do it! Don’t come crying to me when you’re head over heels for Apollo Rainbow-chan!

In the silent solitude of the stage, I shifted my mindset. What did my favorite horsegirls do in the game? What do they do in real life? They flood the audience with charm—even the stone-faced Narita Brian, the aloof Air Groove, even the regal Symboli Rudolf. If I can’t do the same, I’ll never be first-rate.

I adjusted my headset mic, sharpened my gaze.

—It’s fine. I’m gorgeous. Every morning, the mirror reminds me: I’m a stunning horsegirl. Own it. Flaunt this masterpiece of a body. Let the world—no, let Tomio—see Apollo Rainbow at her absolute best.

The stage lights flared.

I hit him with the brightest smile I could muster.

Then, I began to sing.

—Tomio.Thank you for finding me.I will win my debut—So watch me.

I’m your horsegirl now.