In short: Logan had crossed over.
One moment, he was stepping out to buy groceries; the next, he blinked and found himself seated in a strange office. Before him lay a pristine wooden desk, the protective plastic film still peeling at the edges, and resting atop it was a book titled Trainer's Manual.
It didn't take long to realize where he was. He was in the world of Uma Musume.
This wasn't a world of ninja wars or apocalyptic plagues. There was no Chakra, no Oripathy—only a legion of adorable girls who lived and breathed for the racetrack. By all metrics, this should have been the safest, most idyllic form of transmigration imaginable.
But while others get whisked away to living, breathing realities, Logan had been dropped into a glitch. He wasn't in the "real" world; he was trapped inside the game.
To be precise, it was a purgatory halfway between reality and code.
Every person he saw floated through life with a status bar hovering over their head, displaying parameters for [Mood], [Stats], [Affection], and [Skills].
If visual clutter were the only issue, he could have lived with it. But when Logan approached these girls—iconic beauties with animal ears and swaying tails—and greeted them, the horror set in.
"Good morning, Trainer," they would reply in unison, a pre-recorded soundboard loop.
If he pressed further, asking anything outside the script, they would simply stare through him, pivot, and return to their classroom as if he didn't exist.
Every single one of them.
The Glitch in the Matrix
He called it "half-real, half-game" for a reason. As the sole "Player," his interactions were severely limited. If he said, "Good morning," the system triggered their response. If he said, "You dropped something," they remained stone-faced. They possessed no comprehension of anything outside the system's pre-written code.
Desperate, Logan tried to leave the academy grounds, hoping the outside world was different. It wasn't. He was blocked by a transparent barrier at the gate.
An invisible wall. A collision box.
He was a prisoner, forced to roleplay the character of "Trainer" in a gilded cage.
"Trainer, what is the training menu for today?"
A girl with a high ponytail trotted into the room. She possessed a beauty that felt impossible for the real world—skin so fair it seemed translucent, cheeks tender enough to pinch water from, and massive, vibrant sky-blue eyes. A signature white streak, shaped like a crescent moon, highlighted her hair.
The floating text above her head read: Tokai Teio.
The first time he saw her in the flesh, Logan was struck dumb. The 3D model didn't do her justice. She was breathtaking.
Unlike the others, Teio responded to his commands, provided they were prefaced with the magic phrase: "Today's training menu is—"
It was like entering a console command. As the syntax was correct, the unit obeyed.
But the restrictions were absolute. He could order her to do push-ups, but he couldn't ask her to solve a math problem. He could order her to move her tongue, but he couldn't command her to speak her mind. Attempting to access her thoughts or personality caused her to freeze—a literal system crash.
She was a semi-intelligent gynoid, capable only of receiving inputs.
The Living Doll
Logan ordered Teio to run ten laps. When she returned, he pushed her onto the sofa and removed her running shoes. Throughout the process, she remained limp and compliant, like a marionette with cut strings. Her stamina bar dropped slightly; her [Speed] stat ticked up from ** to **.
But Logan wasn't looking at the stats. He stared at the shoe in his hand.
The rigorous exercise had done its work. Heat radiated from the opening of the shoe, warming his fingers. The snow-white cotton sock was damp, stained with faint yellow perspiration marks, releasing a humid, tart scent of sweat and exhaustion into the air.
This was the cruelest irony. The physiology was real. These weren't polygons; they were flesh and blood. They sweated, they breathed, they warmed the air.
Yet, they lived strictly by game logic.
He peeled the sock off, revealing toes flushed pink and glistening. When he ran his finger along her sole, her toes curled instinctively—a biological reflex. But she said nothing. When he stopped, she stood up, barefoot, and walked out of the room.
The status bar above her head shifted to [Hungry].
At meal times, the Horse Girls flocked to the cafeteria. They chatted and laughed like normal students, creating a backdrop of ambient noise. But Logan couldn't join them. He was a ghost in the machine. Even the cafeteria lady looked right through him.
That was the moment it truly hit him: He wasn't a resident of this world. He was an entity outside the code.
He clutched his head, denial warring with despair. Why is my transmigration broken?
Three Months Later
Logan lay on the office sofa, his head resting comfortably on Tokai Teio's lap.
Teio might have been young, but her thighs were incredible—soft, resilient, with perfect curvature. Sinking his head into them felt like resting on a cloud, but with a tactile warmth that was addictive.
He often slept like this. The penalty was purely numerical: Teio's [Mood] would drop the next day, and her stamina recovery would be halved.
"Trainer, what is the training menu for today?"
"Today's training menu is to sit there and be a good girl."
"Yes."
Logan turned his head, burying his face into the soft junction of her thighs. The scent of citrus filled his nose. It wasn't fabric softener or perfume; it was Teio's natural scent. He had tested this hypothesis thoroughly.
Every girl smelt sweet. Except after training. Then, they smelled sour and salty.
The "System" governing them was baffled by hygiene. If their clothes got dirty, they cleaned them. But if Logan hung objects on them, or stripped them naked, they didn't react. It was an edge case the developers hadn't accounted for.
Thankfully, they could wash themselves. If not, the combination of sweat and hormones would have made the office unbearable. As it stood, the mix of their natural sweetness and post-workout musk created a unique, heavy pheromone that was initially pungent, but increasingly intoxicating.
Logan had surrendered to his darker impulses several times now. It was terrifying how easy it was.
"Teio, just talk to me... please..." he mumbled, stroking her thigh.
Through trial and error, he discovered Teio was the only one he had "Admin Privileges" over. Attempting to command other girls triggered a popup: [Error: Not in Trainer-Trainee Relationship]. And since he couldn't figure out how to initiate a contract—even physically forcing their hands to sign documents did nothing—he was stuck.
What is the point of me being here? Is this just a realistic dating sim? Am I just supposed to grind stats?
He had nothing else to do. He trained her like he was playing the mobile game. Her stats—Speed, Stamina, Power, Guts, Wisdom—had all broken past the 120 mark.
But a man couldn't survive on lust and grinding alone. In his boredom, he read the manual. The "Main Quest" was the Debut Race. He had no idea what failure entailed. Would he be erased? Reset?
Logan, a pessimist by nature, assumed the worst.
The calendar on the desk indicated the race was imminent. If he failed, he might vanish.
Honestly? Whatever.
This world was a colorful tomb. It looked vibrant, but it was dead silence masked as noise. No dialogue. No connection. No feedback.
Nothing.
As the sky outside the window darkened into twilight, Logan closed his eyes. Every night, he prayed to wake up back in his old life. He was sick of being a bird in a gilded cage. He was on the verge of a mental break.
Tonight, he would sleep on Teio's lap again. He had tried others, but they lay in their beds rigid as corpses. At least he could order Teio to straddle him, to create the illusion of intimacy.
Without these two thousand students acting as his toys to pass the time, the isolation would have driven him insane long ago. No internet. No screens—just white textures. He felt himself fading, becoming just another hollow puppet.
The clock ticked past midnight.
Suddenly, a chime shattered the silence of the dark world. A dialogue box, glowing and crisp, popped open inside his mind.
[Triggered Scenario: Debut Race]
...
"Trainer... Trainer! Wake up, sleepyhead!"
Logan's eyes snapped open, blurry shapes coalescing into focus.
The first thing he saw was a pair of puffed-out cheeks and a small hand shoving his shoulder.
It was Tokai Teio. And she was looking at him.