In short… Kaito had crossed over.
He'd gone out to buy groceries, blinked, and suddenly found himself in an unfamiliar office.
Before him was a brand-new wooden desk, still protected by its plastic covering, and on top rested a neatly placed copy of the Uma Musume Training Manual.
It was clear: he had somehow entered the world of Uma Musume. A world without chakra, without the threat of mineral diseases—just a group of adorable girls clamoring for races every single day.
By the standards of crossovers, this was probably one of the "safest" ones.
…Except Kaito's situation wasn't like anyone else's. Others might cross over into a world that mirrored reality. He had crossed into a game world.
To be precise, a half-real, half-game world.
Every person had a status bar hovering above them, displaying their [Mood], [Attributes], [Affection], and [Skills].
At first, it seemed simple enough. But when Kaito greeted the girls—girls with ears and tails—they responded only in one way:
"Good morning, Trainer."
Any other attempt at conversation fell flat. The moment he asked something beyond that, they ignored him entirely and returned to their classrooms. Everyone. Without exception.
This was why he called it a half-real, half-game world.
He was the only player here. He could interact in simple ways: saying "Good morning" elicited a response, but telling them "You dropped something" produced nothing. They couldn't comprehend anything outside the system's rules.
Kaito considered leaving the academy to test the boundaries—but the world itself was sealed. A transparent wall of air stopped him in his tracks.
A literal air wall.
He was trapped. Forced to play the role of a "Trainer."
"Yes… here I am… a Trainer."
"Trainer! What's today's training?"
A pony-tailed Uma Musume entered the room. Her skin was impossibly fair, almost delicate enough to squeeze water from it. Her vivid sky-blue eyes sparkled, and her energetic brown ponytail carried a crescent-shaped white streak at the top. Above her head floated a status display: Tokai Teio.
Seeing her in person, Kaito was speechless. She was far cuter than any 3D model.
Unlike the others, Tokai Teio would obey his commands—but only if preceded by the right phrasing:
"Today's training is—"
Just like typing a command into a game console, add that line, and she would do it.
There were limits, of course. Kaito could order her to do push-ups, but not to solve Fermat's Last Theorem. He could order her to move her tongue, but not to say what she wanted to say. Any request involving thought or speech caused her to freeze immediately, like a semi-intelligent robot programmed only to obey direct instructions.
After sending Tokai Teio to run ten laps on the training field, Kaito pushed her onto the sofa and removed her shoes. She remained perfectly still, like a doll.
Her green stamina bar dipped slightly, her speed rose from [90] to [91]. But those numbers barely mattered.
What caught Kaito's attention was the sensation: the steam rising from her sweat-soaked shoes, curling around his fingers as he pulled them off. Her pure white socks were damp, faint yellow stains marking the fabric. The faintly sweet-and-sour scent of her sweat filled the air.
It all proved one thing: these girls weren't mere models. They had bodies. Real, living, reacting bodies. They just happened to live according to game logic.
As he removed Tokai Teio's socks, her toes glistened slightly pink and curled instinctively under his touch. He left them there for a moment before she rose, barefoot, and left the room. Her status bar now showed [Hunger].
At mealtime, the girls would gather in the cafeteria. They chatted, laughed, and acted just like normal people—but Kaito couldn't join. They simply didn't respond to him, not even the cafeteria staff.
In that moment, Kaito understood his place in this world: he was outside of it. The player.
Clutching his head in disbelief, he tried to accept it. He had confirmed it countless times—this was reality.
Why was his crossover so different from everyone else's?
He had no answers. All he could do was start his life at Tracen Academy, heart pounding with equal parts excitement and unease.
Three months passed in a blur. Kaito found himself lying on the office sofa, head resting on Tokai Teio's thigh.
She wasn't very old, but her thighs were firm and supple, every curve perfect. Lying there felt like sinking into a soft cloud, her scent sweet and tangy, unmistakably her own—not detergent, not fabric, but her. Even stripped bare, she would smell like that.
Every beautiful girl had a scent; every Uma Musume's was sweet. Kaito had confirmed this himself.
After training, though, they carried a faintly salty tang of sweat.
And speaking of training… Kaito had long since noticed the quirks of this world's system. Dirtying their clothes would trigger automatic washing, but hang something on them—or remove clothing entirely—they remained indifferent. Clearly, this exceeded the system's parameters.
The logic of these Uma Musume was… inscrutable.
But at least they could wash themselves, which was convenient. Otherwise, even the prettiest girl would smell unbearably rank after a workout. Their natural scent combined with sweat to form an oddly heady, strangely addictive aroma.
Kaito had tested this phenomenon many times. It was… somewhat terrifying.
"Teio… talk to me…" he muttered, tracing her thigh.
After weeks of experimentation, Kaito discovered that Tokai Teio was the only one he could command. With everyone else, attempts triggered a semi-transparent dialog box reading: [Not currently assigned]. Even forcing a "contract" didn't work.
Why was he here? Was this just a real-world dating simulator with beautiful girls? He had no goal, no plan—just training them, like in the game.
Over time, Tokai Teio's stats improved dramatically. Speed, endurance, strength, guts, and intelligence all reached over 120.
Even if he tried romance, he couldn't indulge fully every day—bodies could only take so much. In free time, he read the trainer's manual. According to it, the main storyline was racing—but Kaito wondered what would happen if he failed. Disappear? Retry? Always assuming the worst, he prepared himself.
Race time approached, according to the Uma Musume Training Manual. If he failed… perhaps he would vanish entirely.
Would it matter? This world seemed lively, but it was hollow. He couldn't feel life in the girls, couldn't converse, couldn't connect.
Nothing.
Watching the darkening sky outside, Kaito closed his eyes. He fantasized about waking up in his own world, tired of life in this cage. He was on the verge of collapse.
Tonight, he planned to sleep with his head on Teio's thighs. He had tried others, but they were all like lifeless dolls. At least with Teio, he could issue commands—make her do squats on his body.
Trapped at Tracen, the academy's two thousand students had become tools for Kaito to pass the time. Without them, he would surely have gone mad.
No internet, no devices, all screens blank white—like unfinished textures. Kaito felt himself being assimilated by this world, turning into an empty puppet.
Time ticked past midnight. In the dim office, a chime rang, and a dialog box appeared in Kaito's mind:
[Trigger Event: Debut Race]
…
"Trainer… Trainer! Wake up, you lazy bum!"
Groggily opening his eyes, he saw the colors of the world rearranging themselves, then Tokai Teio, pouting and nudging his shoulder, standing before him.