Fingers drummed the desk without rhythm; Takeda Makoto's head throbbed. Envelopes lay strewn across the surface, and among them—bad news—a bank's demand for repayment.
He counted; it had been a little over a month.
A month ago, penniless Takeda Makoto had put up Takeda Horse Farm as collateral, borrowing ten million yen to get started.
Anyone who's dealt with big loans knows a lump-sum repayment plan is almost impossible to secure and the scrutiny is brutal. Makoto couldn't wait, and Takeda Horse Farm—already fifteen million in debt to another bank—wouldn't survive another audit.
He had chosen equal principal-and-interest installments: total debt divided by twelve, same payment every month. The fifteen million owed by Takeda Club worked the same way—due monthly, a three-month grace period at most. Miss it, and Takeda Horse Farm would no longer belong to the Takeda family. That was why Makoto refused to renovate the track or the dorms.
First, every yen was critical; reckless spending courted disaster. Second, fixing the place up only to default would hand the improvements to the bank—sheer stupidity.
He was holding two notices: 850,000 and 1,280,000 yen. Pay both and the month's total hit 2.13 million.
Makoto pulled out his phone; his finger trembled as he tapped the balance.
Loan in: 10 million.
Sign Tamamo Cross: –5 million.
Beds, screens, etc.: 200,000.
Electric scooter: 120,000.
15-inch LCD TV: 30,000. (In the Uma Musume world consumer tech is advanced; you might as well buy a good one you can carry.)
Monthly living costs—two humans, one Horse Girl, no rent—still 500,000.
Race winnings: +250,000.
Balance: a hair over 4 million… bankruptcy again in under two months.
Brows knitted, Makoto began to understand his father: this industry chews up anyone without the skill.
He had two choices. One: borrow from yet another bank, rob Peter to pay Paul, buy time. If the girl delivered and snared a major stakes, celebration; if not… silver bracelets and his father's fate.
Two: win the Debut Race, then keep winning for two months. That could service the debt—because his Horse Girl was Tamamo Cross. Anyone else would already have given up hope.
With the Debut Race looming, Tamamo Cross's diet became urgent.
The door clicked; Takeda Kanae walked into the lounge as if she owned it and sat opposite Makoto.
"This had better be important—you called me during office hours."
Looking at his mother's face, Makoto tasted every bitter feeling, but he was out of options.
"Mom, I need your help."
Kanae nodded for him to continue. He explained Tamamo Cross's sudden weight loss over the month and asked for her aid.
"Sorry, I don't have time for that child. You know my clients are all Central Horse Girls…"
She shook her head.
"Tama is different. She's every bit as good as your clients—she just needs time to prove it."
Makoto said it with iron certainty.
"Your bastard father said the same thing—every single time!" Kanae's voice cracked; she leaned forward, palms braced on the table, eyes locked on his.
But the professional in her cooled instantly; she spoke without emotion.
"Different how? My clients pay premium fees—that's the difference."
Makoto sighed; he'd known it wouldn't be easy. Time for the last card.
"It's the only way to clear Dad's debt fast and cut his sentence."
Kanae's carefully maintained cheek twitched; she frowned, leaned back, fingers pressed to her brow, as though she couldn't fathom her son.
"What are you talking about? I'm so busy I can't even see my own child—why do you think I do it?"
Once Takeda Club's head nutritionist and now the nation's top consultant, Kanae slept in her office to pay her husband's debts, leaving her grade-school daughter in the care of her freshly graduated son.
If he could, Makoto would have spared her more hurt, but he had no choice.
"Mom, it's one hundred forty-nine million. Without a stakes-level Horse Girl, we'll never touch it."
The club debt was fifteen million, but her husband had personally borrowed over a hundred, and with penalties, even after selling everything, the family still owed 149 million. Clear it and his prison term would shrink dramatically.
Thud, thud, thud.
Kanae slammed both fists on the table and erupted.
"Stakes! Stakes! Stakes! Why do both of you cling to impossible dreams?"
Makoto lowered his head, defeated.
The hardest thing in the world is asking someone betrayed by promises to believe again; he couldn't push further. Maybe another path existed.
While he searched for answers, a bright, childish voice drifted through the doorway.
"Mom?"
Playing outside, Takeda Kaya heard the off-road vehicle and hurried back from the small park behind the estate.
Taking three steps in two, little Kaya ran into her mother's arms.
Takeda Kanae stroked her youngest daughter's head, composed herself, and said.
"Kaya, have there been any happy things to tell Mommy lately?"
"Um… Kaya's been watching Little Uma Musume Princess, and Tama-nee watches with me…"
Amid Kaya's innocent childish words, Takeda Makoto slowly rose, gathered the letters from the table, and prepared to leave the drawing room to look up the Hanshin nutritionist's details.
With little money, he could only pick a newly graduated junior nutritionist and hope to land a hidden gem; as for Hanshin's 1985 nutritionist, he honestly had no clue.
Tamamo Cross's condition might be beyond what a rookie nutritionist could fix… At the thought, Makoto clenched the letter in his hand, sighed helplessly, walked to the door, and grasped the handle.
Behind him came his little sister's voice.
"But… Tama-nee hasn't been very happy lately. Kaya doesn't really understand, but big brother says if she can't eat she can't run, so Tama-nee's sad. Kaya asked: if she runs without eating she'll get hurt. Kaya doesn't want Tama-nee hurt, but wants to see her run—she's super fast; when we play, she goes 'whoosh' and catches Kaya. But she can't play with Kaya lately, so Kaya just runs alone in the back park…"
A three-year-old speaks whatever comes to mind.
Makoto opened the door but did not step out.
"When I grow up I'll be a cool Uma Musume just like Tama-nee!"
A white figure appeared before Makoto; Tamamo Cross, hair loose, walked to the door and asked in puzzlement.
"Torare-na-san, what are you doing standing there?"
Makoto forced a smile, stepped aside, and Tamamo Cross advanced two paces into the room and handed him a white envelope.
"Torare-na-san, this is my reply to my family—could you post it for me?"
Taking the envelope from the girl, Makoto nodded, and Tamamo Cross continued.
"Also… please transfer last race's prize money to this account."
She handed over a slip of paper. "It's my dad's account; I hope the money can buy the little ones some toys and food."
Under their contract, prize money was split fifty-fifty; from the last race's ¥500,000, each received ¥250,000.
Makoto nodded. "All right, I'll transfer it later."
"Thanks, then I won't disturb you." Tamamo Cross waved to Kaya and left the drawing room.
Takeda Kanae watched Tamamo Cross leave, lost in thought.
"Kaya, go play with Tama-nee for now; Mommy has something to discuss with your brother."
Kanae herself didn't know what she was thinking—perhaps Kaya's words, perhaps Tamamo Cross's letter home. Her heart fluttered; maybe she should give Makoto a chance, just as she had given her husband countless chances… Makoto sat down again; though events had exceeded his expectations, an unexpected turn had emerged from the coincidences.
"Tamamo Cross's condition is serious. As you said, it's not psychological anorexia but physiological loss of appetite after training and racing. You can't force her to eat any more than you can force a paralysed face to smile; if you try, it backfires and worsens the situation." When discussing her profession, Kanae became as serious as if on the job.
"This can't be cured quickly; to restore her weight, even I need a month. During that month she can only do light training."
"A whole month?" Makoto murmured. A full month without training—if she was to prepare for her Debut Race, she would need at least a month of work; the Local Debut track is dirt, not Hanshin, and Tamamo Cross has never trained on it, so her adaptation is unknown—time is too tight.
"Yes, one month. It's the only way. Racing at her current weight would have serious consequences; after a month of care her condition should improve markedly, and with good dietary habits her future career will benefit greatly."
Makoto buried his face in his hands, thought for a long while, then rubbed his hair and looked at Tamamo Cross's letter to her family lying on the table.
"An Uma Musume isn't my money-making tool; her health comes first. I'll leave her in your care."
Kanae stood up and put on her sunglasses.
"Makoto, I want to support you too. I've turned down other jobs to take your commission, but this pro-bono arrangement ends at her Debut Race. If she can't make her debut, I'll have to give up on her."
With a brisk stride Kanae left, carrying the bag her father had given her five years earlier.
Makoto gently ran a finger over the letter paper.
Debut Race, huh? Looks like I'd better get ready.