Chapter Text
I should’ve worn something hooded.
Something more waterproof, at any rate. I suppose bringing a collapsible umbrella could’ve also worked, though it wouldn’t do me much good while running, which defeated the point of my excursion. Maybe even a poncho, since I could keep it folded in my pocket; though the bulkiness when worn could restrict my movement, potentially slowing me down enough to put me behind schedule on a day I can ill afford such tardiness.
It’s not as if there weren’t warnings. Damp concrete and petrichor greeted me when I checked outside, and the dark clouds occluding most of the dawn sky teased that there was yet more to come. The forecast predicted that showers wouldn’t resume until the late morning, so I had hoped that by leaving early enough, I could avoid the worst of it.
I could’ve skipped my morning run today and not had to worry about getting rained on altogether. It would’ve been sensible, yet I still decided against it. My concentration for the day is severely impacted whenever I don’t get my cardio in, no matter how much rest (or stimulants) I’ve otherwise had. Thus, the possibility of getting caught out by the weather is within acceptable risk tolerances. I’ll just need to be more mindful in the future.
Besides, my legs have a mind of their own while I’m running. My eyes are freed up to take in the passing scenery, the familiar grays and greens of the passing embankment a grounding constant. My mind is freed up to think through other thoughts, and Three Goddesses above, is there a lot on my mind right now.
I’m going to be fired today. I’m sure of it. After more than a decade as a trainer at Tracen Academy, my luck will finally have run out and I’ll be judged for what I truly am.
What else could this meeting with the director be about? Under my “leadership”, Team Mira ended last year with another two early contract terminations, citing missed career milestones. At least, that’s what Yui told me, I hadn’t even been there to accept the letters of withdrawal.
I can’t blame them, honestly. Seattle Leader and Ten’ei Wing were both bright, hardworking girls who truly appreciated the genius of the Winning Equation, and specifically sought out Team Mira for an opportunity to work with the trainer who helped develop it. They just wanted a chance to follow in the footsteps of their legendary senior who had inspired them to run in the first place.
What they were provided instead was an absentee lead “trainer” who they only heard from whenever he emailed them a revision to their itinerary or had some rambling analysis of one of their races that he couldn’t even bother showing up to. The deadbeat was otherwise off working on his own pet project, leaving all the actual work to his beleaguered assistant trainer.
Honestly, Yui is probably the reason they stuck with us as long as they did. I don’t know why she stuck by me as long as she has, but I definitely don’t deserve her. She kept the heart of Team Mira beating when I couldn’t even show my face to the girls who entrusted their careers to me. They all deserved so much better than what I gave them, but at least Yui was there to support them through every heartbreak I let happen.
I’ll have to make sure I send her all my materials before my server access is revoked. Maybe write her a letter of recommendation while it’s still worth anything, just in case she wants it. She’s plucky; even if she shouldn’t have to, she’ll bounce back from this and continue to be a beacon in the lives of many promising umamusume.
Speaking of last-minute hand-offs, I need to make sure I send Biwa Hayahide the revised datasets and reports for last year. They’re a bit late, but I’m sure she understands better than most how little time I’ve had lately. It’s the least I could do, given that I owe my entire career to her.
I had truly hoped that, before I retired, I could demonstrate the utility of the Winning Equation without her guiding hand. It meant the world to me that she entrusted her magnum opus with me, I knew how much of herself she put into it. What other intellect could take all the infinite spectacle and dazzling complexity of umamusume racing and render it down so elegantly into a handful of shockingly-predictive formulas?
It was her secret weapon during her distinguished Twinkle Series career, and it soon became Team Mira’s as well. It had certainly proven itself with results that put Team Mira on the map while she could spare the time to advise her juniors (and me) on its proper implementation.
But ever since she stepped away to focus on her studies, no matter what variable I adjusted, what other theory I integrated, how many sleepless nights I spent checking the math, I just… couldn’t get the figures to add up. Without its proper author, the Winning Equation was incomplete, and I simply didn’t have whatever it was missing. I wasn’t enough, and as a result, I let her and her juniors down.
Was that why she's been avoiding me lately?
…I check my watch. Heart rate around 140 beats per minute, firmly within zone 3.
The split time is 7:48 and counting as I pass the post office, marking about 750 meters remaining for the section. If I maintain my current pace of… about 11.5 kilometers per hour, I’d be looking at… 11 minutes and 42 seconds for the split. About 8 seconds shy of my personal best, but acceptable given the path’s poor condition, and fast enough that I’m not worried about running late. There’s no need to rush.
Right. This self-pity is unproductive. Inefficient. What’s done is done, and perseverating like this will only foul my mood and cloud my judgment.
Besides, today’s not all doom and gloom. If I can get through this meeting with Akikawa, I have what’s likely to be a far more jovial one with the rest of Project Sati right after.
I crack a smile. It was nice working so closely with Hayahide again. Nice working with everyone on the team, really.
I really was the luckiest guy in the world to work at Tracen. I got to spend every day doing what I love most: being around umamusume.
I’d never say it like that aloud, obviously. I know how uncharitably people would interpret a statement like that from someone like me. I can’t blame them, I’m sure to most, I come off as some creepy, invasive ‘fan’ who sees them as nothing more than cute girls or beautiful women with hippomorphic traits and superhuman strength. While it’s hard to claim I deserve to be around them, for me, it really isn’t so superficial or libidinous.
I’m just more comfortable around them. That’s all.
I’m not sure why; I have nothing against my fellow humans, no trauma to point to. My dad’s a wonderful man, Yui is a ball of sunshine, and talking to fellow human trainers is… easy enough, I guess. Yet, for some confounding reason, I’m always on edge around humans in a way I never am with umamusume. Around umas, I never need to mask, I can just… be.
Maybe it’s because of how amazing my big sisters were, and that’s why I hit it off so quickly with Hayahide. Maybe it’s because the best friends I ever made were runners from the umamusume track team I managed in high school, and that’s why training was such a natural career choice. Maybe they’re simply that extraordinary, and the proximity is enough for me.
Whatever the case, I’m lucky that I get to be a part of the lives of so many umamusume and that they’re a part of mine. I thank my lucky stars that they trust me enough to help them chase their dreams, because by the Goddesses, do they all deserve it all thriceover.
Which is why I still can’t believe that I was the trainer Sugar Lights trusted with her dream: to run again despite the world telling her she never could. That somehow my name was attached to the development of the world’s first full-dive mecha umamusume! That, bafflingly, I was the one she said she could never repay, as if she wasn’t the visionary, she wasn’t the miracleworker, she wasn’t the one who sparked a fire in my heart and made me dream again!
…About the technological applications, naturally, even if it is considerably bespoke in its current iteration. I have to imagine a lot of umamusume watching ST-2’s public demonstration last week, ones the world also told would never run like that, were picturing themselves sprinting along the rails at Tokyo Racecourse.
Surely, Akikawa would understand an invention of that magnitude would be worth my temporary lapse in professional diligence, right?
Ugh, I hope she doesn't, honestly. What a disgusting, self-serving thought.
Still, I’m so thrilled we made it work. I’m so grateful that I got to witness her self-made miracle in person, because seeing that mechanical umamusume cross that finish line? The crowd, not just accepting, but adoring her as they would any other runner…
It made me believe, if only for a moment, perhaps even I cou—
“ON YOUR RIGHT!”
A young woman’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I dodge left, stumbling over my words and feet to bleat out an apology, as she swiftly passes me by. She acknowledges me with a quick wave back before continuing her run, her tail swishing behind her.
I was back in the streets again. Seems like I drifted into the uma lane; that could have been dangerous. I step back onto the sidewalk and catch my breath, my stride broken anyway.
Lots of uma lanes out here. Makes sense, especially here in Fuchu; Tracen is right there, and it tracks for a metropolitan area to have that consideration. Just like you don’t want bikers getting hit by motorists, it makes sense to keep full-speed umamusume away from slower, rounder-eared pedestrians. Keep everyone where they’re safest.
The lanes were always handy when my sisters would give me a ride back home in Fukushima, too. You never had to worry about fuel or parking, no train schedules to memorize, the passing view was so much better when it wasn't separated by glass and steel, the list goes on. They’re a great idea, really, it’s just…
For some reason, whenever I’m alone, I can’t stand the sight of them.
…I should be able to catch the next train at Nakagawara if I hurry. If it starts raining while I’m commuting, I can get something at the station. I can be satisfied with getting this much running in, and the time saved by taking transit will give me a buffer for any weather-related delays between my place and Tracen.
My legs start moving, and the air feels cold.
Cheer up, Kazuma; you had a good run.
– – – = = = ≡ ≡ ≡ = = = – – –
Before I know it, I’m standing before the large oaken doors of the director’s office. Mornings tend to be a bit of a blur after my runs, and despite the circumstances, today proved no different. My ablutions took no time at all, so I was out the door with plenty of time to spare.
I’ll make a trip for all the toiletries I was out of after all of this is done. Probably hunker down and clean the apartment while I’m at it; I hadn’t realized how bad I’d let it get. Depending on how this meeting goes, I’ll definitely have the time for it.
I wish I could say I had prepared a better defense on the way here, but I just couldn’t focus enough. Too many memories walking through these halls. Too much anxiety over being kicked out of the place that's felt the most like home. Too many recollections of individual failures that added up to what I’m about to answer for.
Better to quell such thoughts than to plan under such emotional duress, but a numbed mind makes for poor excogitation. I’ll simply have to own up to my shortcomings and see if I can talk her down from the maximal punishment. The director is reasonable, I shouldn’t go in there thinking I’m already doomed.
…I need to get better shave cream, though. My skin’s still irritated. New suit, too, this one is all wrinkled and fits all wrong. Hopefully, she won’t mind that much, but it’s driving me nuts. Also, schedule a haircut, it’s getting shaggy. Did I comb it wrong? Probably, you look terrible, as usual, idiot, and also, stop scratching all over! Ugh, why am I so itchy? Should I try a new lotion, maybe? Bodywash? I should write all of this—
Deep breaths, Kazuma. Focus on the task immediately before you. Face this head-on like a ma…
Face this with dignity. Team Mira deserves that much from you.
I push up my glasses and give the door three sharp knocks. “Hello, Director? It’s Itoh Kazuma. I apologize, I’m a bit early.”
“Acknowledged! Please, Trainer Itoh, come in!” The youthful, determined voice of the director immediately shouts back.
I take a deep breath before pushing open the stubborn door. I step into her office, perhaps for the last time, and carefully click the door shut behind me. Before I let go of the handle, I take in my surroundings.
The director sits behind her large mahogany desk, her intense expression as unreadable as ever. Secretary Hayakawa flanks her, her simper also offering no clues for what to expect. Gray skies and raindrops are all I can see through the window behind them. I hope it lets up soon. I can’t believe that after everything this morning, I forgot to bring an umbrella…
“Trainer Itoh, are you alright? You seem distracted.” Hayakawa asks, sounding concerned.
Ack, bad start. Okay, relax, Kazuma; play it off as being tired. Wait, that might reflect poorly on my time management…
“My apologies, I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,” I respond as I take my place before Akikawa’s desk. Focus, don’t hunch, maintain eye contact. “I assure you, it won't happen again."
The two exchange a look, but the director presses on regardless. “I see! Well, thank you for coming in this early! This should be quick, so you’ll be able to take care of whatever is on your mind without much delay!”
“To the point!” The director whips open her fan, the word ‘intervention’ written across it, “Trainer Itoh, we must discuss your job performance! The decline in your trainees’ outcomes have been concerning! It is to the point where, unfortunately, I must step in!”
She stares at me intently. The itchiness returns, but a small part of me is glad to rip the bandage off.
“...I understand, Director. There’s no denying we’ve had a fall from grace over the past few years. As lead trainer, I take full responsibility for our charges falling short of their goals.”
I feel the director’s gaze as she sizes me up, and I get the impression she wasn’t satisfied by my answer.
“In that case, I want your explanation!” the director pointed her fan at me, “What do you think caused this decline?”
My professional life hinged on my answer here, so I had to think about it carefully. Was my scouting ability the problem? Had I overestimated our team's recruitment? No, Yui and I had been confident, we ran the numbers extensively. Couldn’t be Yui herself; even looking at it clinically, Taiki Shuttle was more her trainee than mine, and her career spoke for itself. So was it the Winning Equation that I was so focused on? Of course not, what an absurd notion. I had seen its results for myself and the math was airtight. So then, what?
What was I missing?
“Trainer Itoh?” The director interjects, awaiting my answer.
“I’m not sure, Director.” I guess I’ll come up with it on the fly, “Rather, I’m not sure what the root issue is. I know things started declining when a collaborator’s departure rendered my methods far less effective. I know that I spread my attention too thin between trying to fill the gaps left behind and giving my trainees the attention they needed, which only made things worse. Our charges deserve the best we can offer them, and my hand to Byerley Turk, that’s what I’ve strove to offer. What I don’t know is why whatever I’ve tried hasn’t felt like enough. I don't know why the Winning Equation stopped working.”
The rain continues to pour, the wind moaning just outside the window. The director and her secretary silently wait for me to continue, so I do.
“At first I thought it was a knowledge gap; if I kept studying, kept up with publications, and consulted with my more experienced colleagues, I could put a name to the absence. When that wasn’t enough, I tried connecting with my trainees better, that maybe I wasn’t meeting them where they were at and it was a communication issue. Even then, my methods still felt incomplete, so I tried simulating their races and testing their training exercises in the umalator, hoping that if I could see things from their perspective, things would finally fall into place. No matter what I tried, I just couldn’t find my answer. I didn’t know what was wrong.”
The worst part is I knew I was screwing up as I did it. Conventional training methods were conventional for a reason. I could have fallen back on them, and that would have likely resulted in better outcomes for our girls. Yet, they didn’t come to Team Mira for that, they came for the Winning Equation. Something that, by all accounts, I should have been able to utilize on their behalf by now. Our girls deserved better.
I want to make it right, to fix my mistakes, even if I’m not even sure how I’d do it. One thing's for sure, though: I can’t clean up my mess if I’m gone. So I need to try. I can’t lose Tracen.
“Regardless, I let my preoccupations get in the way of their training, and I deeply, genuinely regret it. Yet, all I’ve ever wanted was to help umamusume reach their dreams. That hasn’t changed, even if an action plan is clearly in order. I made my mistakes, and I will answer for them, but please…”
I pinch the bridge of my glasses up, holding it there to put some pressure on my tear ducts. Keep it together, Kazuma.
“Whatever it would take, please let me remain at Tracen. That's all I ask.” It’s all I have.
A moment passes before the director breaks the silence once more.
“Very well! I've heard everything I needed to hear!”
I compose myself as I await Akikawa's judgment. I really should have prepared a better defense.
“Itoh Kazuma! You are hereby placed on a sabbatical for a minimum of one year, effective immediately!”
So that's it, then. Farewell Tracen, it's been—
Wait, what?
“Waaa ha haaa! Don’t look so surprised, Trainer Itoh! What kind of institution would we be if we cast aside our own at the first spot of trouble?”
“Clarification!” she shouts at me, her fan reading the same, “Trainer Itoh, we're not meeting just because your trainees have not all become G1 champions! The Twinkle Series is fiercely competitive, and the ugly side of that is that many umamusume—indeed, most!—will not fulfill their dreams. What matters is that we support them the best we can as they reach for them anyway!”
“Reassurance! You’re a good trainer, Mr. Itoh! Your knowledge of and dedication to training umamusume are not the problem; of that, I am convinced. But you’re burned out, Trainer Itoh, and we need you to have a clear mind and a full tank before we can effectively deal with anything else. Don’t you agree?”
I manage a small nod, her assessment both cogent and unexpectedly charitable. I wasn’t fired. Thank the Goddesses.
“Absolutely, Director. What about Team Mira, though? We’ve already scouted a new trainee for this year, and I’d hate for Yui—”
“You needn’t worry about that,” Tazuna interjects, “Trainer Iwasa has already agreed to temporarily manage all aspects of Team Mira during your leave, so it will remain a fully-functional team in your absence. Team Mira will retain its access to its clubhouse and Tracen’s facilities, and your members still can register for any Twinkle Series or Dream Trophy League races they’re eligible for.”
“I see. Thank you for arranging that.” Admittedly, it stings a bit to be usurped like this without even being consulted, but this was probably the best way it could be handled. Team Mira was in good hands, and I knew Tracen would support Yui if she needed it.
So… where does this leave me? I suppose I could do some travelling, train for the Tokyo Marathon, or maybe earn that second Master’s. None felt all that compelling, though. While they were all enriching, they were also isolating, and spending that much time alone would be… counterproductive towards the sabbatical’s purpose.
Besides, despite my recent troubles, I’ve never felt more comfortable than here at Tracen. Here, surrounded by umamusume and those who understood how remarkable they are. Getting roped into the absurd hijinks of the student body has become as much a part of my daily life as my morning constitutional. The thought of being away from it all, even for a few months, fills me with a dread I can’t quite justify.
“If I may, Trainer Itoh,” Tazuna cautiously offers, sensing my consternation, “If you would rather not take a traditional sabbatical, why not help out with some other work around the academy? Your credentials aren’t being revoked, so you could still serve as a faculty advisor for a student club or assist with any campus events. Honestly, with your qualifications, I’m sure our Sports Science program would welcome you with open arms, should you be interested. As long as you aren’t acting as a trainer, you’re free to spend your time as you wish.”
I considered her proposal for a moment. I wasn’t being pushed out. I could still have a place at Tracen. Thank the Goddesses, I could still fix this! “Thank you, Secretary Hayakawa. I think I will look into something along those lines.”
“Encouragement!” The director flicks open her fan one more time, her cat’s meow punctuating her motion. “No one wants to see your passion for your work snuffed out, Trainer Itoh! I know you will take this opportunity seriously, but please keep the goal of this leave in mind! If there’s any support you need from us during this time, please ask!”
“Yes, director, absolutely. Thank you so, so much.”
“With that, you are dismissed! Tazuna, how long do we have before our meeting with the contractors?”
Their attention already shifting, I bow and take my leave. Once outside the office, I collect my thoughts.
That went well. Better than I ever could have expected.
It went too well, frankly. I may have catastrophized a teeny bit going into this, but every single concern of mine was meticulously and preemptively resolved in a way that maximally benefitted me, all without me needing to raise a finger. Something was up.
Yes, the director is known for her magnanimity, but even in the best scenario, I would have anticipated a pay cut, or at least a verbal admonishment. This wasn't even a slap on the wrist; it felt more like a paid vacation. I know I shouldn’t look a gift donkey in the mouth, but this was so generous that it strained credulity. It’s almost as if someone had already—
No, there’s no need to be so conspiratorial. The important thing is that I still have a job. I still have Tracen. Team Mira will be waiting for me, and I will come back to them a calmer, more capable leader. The other important thing is that there was still a problem, and demonstrably, my current methodology would not yield any new insights on resolving it.
No, if I wanted fresh insights, I needed a fresh perspective. If something was missing, I wouldn’t find it looking in the same places, trying the same things. I needed to clear my mind, disrupt my routine, and try something new. Get a fresh start. Work through this burnout.
Right.
I check my phone. True to her word, that meeting was fairly quick. I had a little more than a half hour to make my way to the on-campus robotics lab for the last meeting of Project Sati. It’s probably going to be more of a wrap party than an actual work meeting, but I still don’t want to keep the rest of them waiting.
Hm. The halls are empty right now because of winter break, and the rain seems to be letting up.
Maybe I could run there?
– – – = = = ≡ ≡ ≡ = = = – – –
“Blind Tiresias, our paths cross once more! Yet, you linger before the steel threshold. Are you girding your loins before our final judgment from the God from the Machine?”
“Oh, hey, Gimlet,” I reply as I delete my fifth draft of a text asking Hayahide to let me in. “No, I just forgot my keycard in my office and I don’t have enough time to grab it before the meeting.”
“Very well! Fret not, for I shall deliver us both unto our ultimate destiny. Behold!”
I stand aside so Gimlet can unlock the door. I’m usually not this forgetful, maybe I should have finished my run—
KER-THHUNNNGK!
I nearly jump a meter in the air as the steel door crumples to the ground from Gimlet’s kick. Judging by the defensive posture and wide eyes of everyone inside, they were caught just as off guard as me.
“What the FUCK, Gimlet, AGAIN?” Air Shakur spits out, “What the hell did you do that for, you fucking lunatic?!”
Gimlet merely clutches her eyepatch with a sneer, “Heh heh hehhh… What is a gimlet but a spirit who kicks down all that stands in her way? The ironclad monolith was all that stood betwixt us and our fateful reunion, and alas, Blind Tiresias was deprived of his sacred weapon in the eleventh hour. I did what I must, for we cannot delay the triumph of our Princess of the Wheel’s apotheosis a moment longer!”
While Gimlet and Shakur continue butting heads, I sneak by and join everyone else. Hayahide offers me a welcoming smile, which I try to return. Good, at least she’s not mad at me. My gaze crosses Lights’, still composing herself. Is she wearing eye shadow? It looks good on her— wait, no, those are just dark circles. Has she been overworking herself again? Hayahide’s probably scolded her enough already if so, so maybe I could offer to— oh, she’s blushing now. Crap, was I staring?
I try to look away, feeling my own cheeks flush. Real smooth, Kazuma. I try to ignore Taishin’s knowing smirk. My eyes settle on a cloth covering… something behind Lights’ wheelchair. I wonder what it could be; it’s about the size of ST-2, but I can see ST-2 over in its charging station. A new model, perhaps?
“—Though a gimlet welcomes a challenge, this was not why the Fates assembled us on this auspicious day. Let us rise above petty, mortal concerns like ‘property damage’ and fulfill the true purpose of our summons! For indeed, we have raised a tin can into a machine demi-god! Our Hephaestian task accomplished, we must now seal this forbidden power ere the full moon’s rise—be that what Princess of the Wheel wills?”
“I’d also like to begin the post-mortem, Professor. Since we are all present.” Hayahide calmly adds, as if Gimlet said something coherent.
Dr. Lights nods and clears her throat. “Right, thank you all for coming, especially during your winter break. To begin, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so very much for your contributions towards Project Sati. The development and deployment of ST-2 has been an unequivocal success, and I couldn’t have done it without you all. I am eternally in your debt.”
Lights pulls up a few holographic projections, reviewing all the developmental milestones from the past three years and analyzing how the public run at Tokyo Racecourse went. One of us would occasionally interject to ask a question or offer some insight, and we'd converse just as we always had during any of our prior meetings.
I let myself get lost in the vibes of this all one last time. I’m glad we were able to accomplish what we did, but I admit it feels a bit bittersweet. I’m going to miss doing this, being part of this team, working with—
“⟪Racing⟫? You’re continuing the project?”
Kris S's simple question knocks me out of my daydream. What was that just now?!
“Huuuuuuh? Are you saying we didn't do a good enough job? I'm pretty sure you told the big brain over there you had no intention of racing when she suggested it. Was that a lie?”
Before Hayahide can object to Shakur’s appellation, Dr. Lights shakes her head. “No, not at all; I’m personally thrilled with how ST-2’s development concluded. Running again and enjoying a better view was all I wanted, racing was never my ambition. Now that my own dreams have been fulfilled, however, they aren’t the only ones that need to be considered.”
“I’ll get to the point: I’ve been contracted by the URA to develop a new line of mecha umamusume for use in a pilot program. A program in which umamusume who, for one reason or another and for however long, have lost their ability to run will be given a chance to chase their dreams once more. And to that end…”
The professor taps something on her tablet, and something whirs to life beneath the cloth behind her. After a moment, the figure beneath throws off its shroud and we all get a better look.
Immediately, it reminds me of the earliest model of ST-2, though without the resemblance to Dr. Lights. Its proportions were remarkably average, as if you took the median height, build, shoe size, and other measurements of the Tracen student body and made a robot out of them. The ‘hairstyle’ even resembled the ponytail of the umamusume in the URA logo.
In short, it was cute, but fairly generic. Were it the first mecha umamusume I’d seen, I’d still have been impressed. But, after seeing the completed ST-2, I hate to say that I was a bit… underwhelmed?
“I present: the Race Type mk I, or RT-1 for short! Based on the many breakthroughs we made while developing ST-2, it’s designed with URA-sanctioned umamusume flat racing in mind. Thanks to its modular design and rapid tuning capabilities, it’s configurable to any race style or track type, making it accessible to just about any kind of racer. And speaking of, unlike the ST-2, the brain-computer interface used to full-dive into a Race Type unit is not bespoke, meaning anyone can pilot one!”
I…
If she said anything else after that, I didn’t hear it. Anyone. She said ‘anyone’ just now, right?
“...ly ones I can trust with this, so please, I need your help for just a litt…”
As in, anyone could run like an umamusume in the RT-1? Anyone anyone?
“...mber what it was like after my injury. The fear that I’d never run again. If we can sp…”
Did she just mean any umamusume? She had to, right?
“...er might be interested, if this takes off. She still follows me ar…”
Or, did she mean… anyone?
“...ng to update Parcae with new datasets, anyw…”
Anyone like… a human?
“...ther revolution. ⟪Mission accepted⟫.”
Maybe even… someone like me?
“...t us once more fire up the kiln, for our hellish army will eclipse even that of Qin S…”
Ah, but… I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. Even if that was the case, this is clearly meant for those who have a legitimate need for technological accommodation. It would be selfish and appropriative to make use of what is likely a very scarce, exclusive opportunity just to satisfy my weird fixation, especially since there are so many out there that are more deserving and in greater need.
“...iner? Hello, Mr. Itoh? Um… K-Kazuma? Ar…”
No it’s… it’s not for me. But, that’s okay, this is still great news! This is gonna help so many people, revive so many dreams; that alone is worth helping see this through. Besides, it means I still get to work with Hayahide, Lights, and everyone else. Really, if I could choose any way to spend my sabbatical, it would be—
A sharp pain in my forehead brings me back to earth as I feel everyone’s eyes on me. Shakur retracts her hand while giving me an annoyed look.
“Hey, stupid. You’re spacing out pretty hard. It’s pissing me off. The professor asked you, like, three times if you’re in. Well?”
“Sorry. Yes. Absolutely. Whatever I can do to make this happen, it’s done. Oh, but…” Damn, that’s right, I was only able to help out the first time because I was a trainer, wasn’t I? “...I’ve been placed on sabbatical by the director for the foreseeable future. I’m not allowed to serve as a trainer during that time…”
“Oh.” Dr. Lights replies, a bit deflated. I hate to disappoint her, I guess it would be a lot of work onboarding another trainer she could trust for this. “That’s… too bad, but I understand. Are… you sure there’s nothing we can do about that?”
“Actually, if that’s the case, I have a suggestion.” Hayahide interjects, pushing up her glasses, “I’d like to nominate Trainer Itoh as our inaugural pilot.”
Everyone stares at her incredulously, but her composure does not slip. “Come now, Hayahide. Don't tease me like that.”
“No, I’m quite serious. You’re a capable distance runner in your own right. You were closely involved with the development of its parent project, so you’re already aware of the systems involved and their intricacies. You’ve logged more hours in the Umalator than anyone else at Tracen, even including the student body. You’re already familiar with controlling an umamusume body that is unlike your own.”
She continues, despite my embarrassment (had I really spent that much time in VR?), "Furthermore, at this point of the program, we’re aiming to attract new applicants by showcasing the potential and universality of the RT line, right? What better demonstration of that compatibility than to have a human run as an umamusume?”
Dr. Lights strokes her chin, seemingly not opposed. “Hmmm… it’s a bit unusual, but I think it could work. I have no objections. But would you be okay with it, Trainer Itoh?”
I go to raise an objection, but one never forms. Hayahide’s reasoning is as cogent as ever, and part of me wonders why I’m even trying to fight her on this. It would both let me stay on the project and grant me a chance to pilot a mecha umamusume, both prospects of which I’m heavily in favor.
I want to do it. But I shouldn’t. I can’t risk ruining this like I ruined the Winning Equation.
“I’m flattered, but… wouldn’t one of you be a better fit? VR is one thing, but…”
Taishin looks between Hayahide, the RT-1, and me for a moment, and mutters something to herself. She then leans towards me, arms akimbo, and looks me in the eyes. “Oi, didn’t you just say you’d do anything to see this through? Do you not trust Hayahide's assessment? Or are you giving up on this before even trying? Either way, you’re being stupid. Stop wasting our time before I kick you.”
“Blind Tiresias, your destiny beckons, but will you answer the call? You have the blessing of our covenant and Daedalus offers you your wings! Indeed, the heavens are yours to claim, so soar like Icarus and herald the dawn of a brilliant new age!”
It seems I’m outvoted on this. Maybe they see something I don’t. Either way, I don’t think I can run away from this.
I sigh, suppressing a grin as best I can. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”