"These two kids look really promising. Is that your training method's effect?"
Chihaya Representative waved a staff member over to help Tamamo Cross and Oguri Cap pick running shoes. Contrary to what Tamamo had said earlier, Chihaya wasn't just the face of the brand—she was also a shareholder.
Right now, she and Takayama Gamu were seated off to the side. She watched the two girls with open admiration as she spoke.
"It's mostly because they're talented to begin with," Gamu replied, "and they train hard."
"Coach Takayama Gamu is very humble." Chihaya smiled warmly, then straightened and stretched. "I thought you'd be the arrogant type."
"I don't think I've done anything that would give that impression," Gamu said, genuinely confused.
"Don't pretend those elite trainers you argued with were just background props," Chihaya teased, sticking her tongue out. "Even though, yeah—they couldn't really win an argument with you."
"Oh. That time…" Gamu remembered, and his face twisted in pain.
"They didn't understand anything, and explaining it properly was a nightmare."
"Elite trainers who don't understand anything…" Chihaya echoed.
"Elite trainers who don't understand physics," Gamu corrected. "In traditional training, I'm definitely not better than them."
"No, what you're doing isn't something physics alone can cleanly explain." Chihaya shook her head—science wasn't her field. "Those trainers—coming from the major horse-girl families—are the sharpest trainers Japan has. The textbooks most trainers study are written by them. Most people would have to call them 'sensei' to their faces."
"You know you'll get iced out by your peers if you talk like that, right?" she added.
"I fought with them for a week back then. Saying this now doesn't matter anymore." Gamu sighed. "In the end, I won."
"You just do what you believe is right," Chihaya said, giving him a thumbs-up.
"That's so free!" she laughed.
"That has nothing to do with freedom," Gamu said flatly. "I just trust the results I calculated."
"Then tell me, Coach Takayama Gamu…" Chihaya leaned in, eyes bright with interest. "Do you think you can be wrong?"
"That's impossible," Gamu said, suddenly dead serious.
So he looks like a clear-eyed college student… but he's actually absurdly stubborn?
And that, Chihaya thought, was exactly why he was interesting.
She watched him with a fascinated smile. She could feel it—the same kind of scent, the presence of someone like her.
She didn't know what the argument with those elite trainers looked like, but she could imagine the intensity. Even when no one convinced anyone else, Gamu hadn't stopped.
With no backing from the big families—only a little investment from Director Akikawa Yayoi—he still kept pushing forward in his own way.
Once he decided something was correct, he'd do it no matter how hard it was.
Selfish and free.
For a moment, she even got the silly thought that he resembled those "dangerous scientists" from TV—the ones who trust computer predictions and decide to destroy humanity.
…Okay, that was exaggerated.
"Great. Keep that confidence," Chihaya said, smiling even brighter.
"Coach Gamu, we finished buying the shoes," Tamamo said.
With the staff's help, Tamamo and Oguri each chose their running shoes. They walked over in their new pairs, both somehow looking shy.
"They suit you," Chihaya said, stroking her chin and examining them. "Nice."
"If they feel wrong, though, you can return them. Go try them on a track later."
"Thank you—seriously," Gamu said. The price wasn't actually a problem for him, but he appreciated the kindness. He pulled out his phone. "Can we add each other on LINE?"
According to Tamamo, close friends always added each other on LINE.
Chihaya blinked.
"You're bold, Coach Gamu," she said with a grin.
...
"Go straight ahead two hundred meters."
On Gamu's phone, PAL was navigating their route. The destination: a buffet restaurant.
After they finished shopping, Chihaya said the staff would deliver the shoes to the dorms. It was close to noon, and when Oguri's stomach growled audibly, Gamu decided to take his two girls to eat.
"If it's a buffet, you two should eat a lot," Gamu joked lightly. "Otherwise we'll lose money."
At buffet places, the cost for a normal horse girl was often three to five times an adult's fee. Even with their famously big appetites, most horse girls still struggled to "eat back" the price.
And Tamamo's appetite wasn't even that large. She'd gotten used to eating a bit more under Gamu's guidance, but she was still only around the average for horse girls.
As for Gamu, he was just a normal human—no way he was eating back the ticket price.
And Oguri…
Because her weight and body fat percentage stayed stable in a very healthy range, Gamu hadn't given her a dietary plan. Tracen cafeteria meals were nutritionally balanced, so as long as she ate normally, she wouldn't be deficient in anything.
Still…
Her waist looked too slim. She didn't look like someone who could eat a lot.
After paying, Gamu suddenly felt a terrifying aura behind him—like a starving predator had appeared at his back.
He reflexively turned.
"Coach Gamu…"
Oguri lowered her head slightly. Shadows swallowed most of her face—except her eyes, which were frighteningly bright. The usual blank, sleepy Oguri was gone.
In her place was pure fighting spirit—a will to win.
"I won't let you lose money," she said.
Why does that sound weirdly reassuring…?
No—this is actually kind of scary…
Gamu and Tamamo exchanged a look. He remembered: this buffet place had been Tamamo's recommendation.
"This might be my last time coming to this buffet," Tamamo said with tragic solemnity.
What are you even talking about…?
It's just a buffet—why are you acting like we're going to war?!
"Given the circumstances," Gamu muttered, "let's just eat first."
Oguri dragged Tamamo away at absurd speed to go collect food. Gamu stayed at their table to watch their belongings and wait for them to return.
Then he saw something approaching their table.
A hill.
At the base—what could only be called the foot of the mountain—were neatly arranged glossy slices of meat.
The middle was a sauce-coated carbon stack: stir-fried noodles and sushi.
And at the top—so high it nearly blocked Oguri's face—stringy melted cheese and bite-sized desserts glittered under the restaurant lights.
"Gamu. That plate of food weighs over three kilograms," PAL said, astonished—despite theoretically not having emotions.
Under the horrified stares of customers and staff alike, Oguri sat down in front of Gamu and spoke with absolute reverence:
"I'm going to dig in."
.....
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