"I'm home…"
Wu You pushed the door open and stuffed the groceries into the fridge in one sweep.
The apartment wasn't big—your standard 2LDK. Two bedrooms, plus a combined living–dining–kitchen area.
Come to think of it, aside from his unit, the entire floor only had one other resident: the neighbor next door.
He'd only moved in a few days ago and hadn't had a chance to introduce himself.
"I'll check in tonight," he muttered.
Wu You returned to his bedroom and sat down at his computer.
To be honest, meeting two genuinely promising candidates today had his trainer instincts itching.
But he also knew that an Uma Musume like Mr. C.B. wasn't the kind of talent you could just scoop up on a whim—if it were that easy, she'd already have an exclusive trainer.
Things like that couldn't be rushed.
A certain famous "backdoor tower-stealing" champion once said: Don't chase dreams you can't realize.
So Wu You decided to focus on what he could do right now.
He powered on the PC, put on his headphones, and—after setting up his equipment with practiced ease—started a livestream.
That's right: streaming.
If you don't grind while you're young, you end up going VTB when you're old.
Naturally, the avatar on screen wasn't an anime boy or girl.
It was a cartoon carrot.
Painfully on-brand, really.
The moment the stream went live, viewers poured in.
"Good evening, Carrot Sensei~"
"Waaah, you finally went live!"
"First time here, dedicated fan, marriage, kids!"
Because Wu You couldn't see, an AI voice in his headset read the chat in real time.
After responding to a few of the crowd's playful lines, Wu You cleared his throat.
"Alright. Less small talk—let's begin today's proper session. Anyone who needs training guidance can apply to join voice chat."
Yes: Wu You might have been a VTB, but he wasn't a typical entertainer.
As he'd noted before, the trainer ecosystem had become distorted. Fewer and fewer Uma Musume actually had trainers, and those who trained alone often drifted into bad habits—wasting the best years of their youth.
During the two years he'd been away from the industry, Wu You hadn't been idle.
Between traveling, he'd started streaming online, offering free training guidance to any Uma Musume who needed help.
At first, nobody cared.
Now, he had over a million followers on Umastagram.
Known for being highly professional and uncannily aligned with what Uma Musume actually needed, his channel had become a "cloud training ground" for countless girls.
The moment he finished speaking, the voice-chat request chime started ringing—fast as always.
"Good evening, Carrot Sensei!"
The first caller connected, a bright and energetic female voice—slightly breathless.
"About the hill-work rhythm you helped me adjust last week—I think I found the feel! But lately the muscles along the front of my lower leg feel tight. Is that normal?"
"Don't rush. Tell me slowly."
Wu You's voice—run through a voice changer—carried a gentle, electronic warmth.
He pulled up a familiar reference chart of common muscle responses and displayed it on stream.
"Based on what you described, this looks like the tibialis anterior is overcompensating. Next session, add five minutes of ankle activation and foam-roller release before training—specifically here…"
His explanation was detailed and clear, tying theory and data to simple, practical steps.
He might not have been able to see, but he'd used this chart so many times he knew it better than his own face.
The chat filled with variations of "taking notes" and "that makes sense."
Scenes like this played out almost every night. Wu You handled them with ease now.
Even through a screen, being able to help Uma Musume who had dreams but lacked guidance gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.
Yeah.
Being a trainer really was the best.
…
After finishing the third call and preparing for a short break, a new voice-chat request slipped in—quietly, almost too smoothly.
The ID was a string of random letters and numbers. No fan badge level. Clearly a brand-new account.
Then came a voice with an obvious pitch-shift filter and a deliberately provocative tone.
"Oh? So you're the so-called 'Carrot Sensei'?"
"Free guidance, my ass. Looks more like you're faking expertise online and scamming inexperienced Uma Musume."
"And those 'theories' of yours? Probably so outdated you couldn't even pass a trainer certification exam!"
The livestream went dead quiet for a beat—then the chat detonated.
"??? Where did this troll come from?"
"Just showing up to spray insults?"
"Mods? Kick this obvious troublemaker!"
Wu You's regulars fired back instantly, the comment stream moving so fast it blurred.
Before Wu You even responded, a miniature public brawl had erupted.
And then something happened that nobody expected.
In the middle of the chaos, one account posted:
"Baseless accusations don't negate real results. After I adjusted my breathing rhythm using Carrot Bro's method, I did break through my stamina plateau."
The message itself was calm and reasonable.
But the moment it appeared, the entire stream froze.
"Uh… was that… Karen-chan?"
"It looks like… it is…"
"That fan badge—doesn't she only give that to high-tier supporters…?"
More and more people clicked the profile.
And then the realization hit like a hammer:
It was her.
The embodiment of cute. The selfie angel with three million followers on Umastagram.
The famous Uma Musume—Curren Chan—known to fans as "Karen-chan."
Why was she here?
And how was she also a fan of Carrot Sensei?
Wait—my favorite is a fan of my other favorite? Is there anything in life more blissful than this?
The troll account clearly hadn't expected the situation to pivot this way.
They'd been paid to smear someone, not commit social suicide in front of Karen-chan's fanbase.
And anyone who was even remotely online knew how terrifying Karen-chan's fans could be.
If this kept going… getting doxxed wasn't off the table.
So, while everyone's attention was locked on Karen-chan's appearance, the troll quietly bailed—slipping off the voice chat and vanishing.
The audience was still buzzing with curiosity, but Karen-chan didn't post another word.
With the unexpected disruption hanging in the air, Wu You answered a few more questions and ended the stream early.
He leaned back in his chair and wiped sweat off his forehead with a resigned sigh.
This feels like someone forgot to switch off their alt…
Even he hadn't expected Curren Chan to be one of his viewers.
And, come to think of it, she really was a good prospect—an exceptional talent for sprint distances.
"Hm… maybe I should try contacting her?"
Bang!
A massive crash erupted outside the door, making Wu You jolt.
What the hell? Who threw a sack at my front door?
He grabbed his mobility cane, walked to the entryway, and opened the door carefully.
And within seconds, he realized three things:
First: the neighbor next door was home.
Second: the neighbor had collapsed right outside her own door.
Third: the neighbor wasn't anyone else—
It was Mr. C.B..
-------
My : pat*eon*com/RuneA
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