Racing against Kitasan Black was impossible. Not in this lifetime.
The girl beside him was already a true G1-level Uma Musume. The speed she could reach belonged only to runners of that same class. Even setting G1 races aside, Yasui Makoto had no realistic chance of keeping up with an ordinary Uma Musume, let alone her. If they ever raced for real, he would simply be left eating her dust.
He thought that, yet when he turned down Kitasan Black's sudden whim, he used a different reason.
"Stop messing around. Look at the truck bed up ahead."
"The truck bed… what about it?"
Kitasan Black followed the direction of his hand and looked forward. After dropping Yasui Makoto at the foot of the mountain and loading her luggage, the small truck had not raced up the slope. It simply kept a steady pace in front of them.
"The drone camera on top is running."
Yasui Makoto pointed at the familiar backpack fixed to the truck bed.
"While you were buried in final exams this past month, I wasn't only getting ready for the training camp. I upgraded a lot of the gear… and this is part of that preparation. The drone now has thermal imaging, so it'll be easier to track your physical consumption curve later. There are other functions too, but the point is this is training right now, Kita-chan."
A flicker of apology crossed her eyes. Kitasan Black awkwardly scratched the back of her head but said nothing more. She wiped away the earlier bright expression, patted her cheeks once, fixed her gaze straight ahead, tightened her grip on the shoulder straps, and strode forward with purpose.
Yasui Makoto gave a quiet nod of approval.
More than half a year of training and racing had not dimmed her cheerful, lively nature, but a calmer, more mature edge had begun to show. In the past a reminder like that would have sent her into a fluster of apologies. Now she simply shifted her focus to the work that needed doing.
After a brief moment of quiet appreciation, he composed himself and concentrated on the special training.
He was experienced with overtraining. For Kitasan Black, this was the first time.
The principle was simple, yet the difficulties lay in countless small details that were hard to put into words. The main goal was still to trigger supercompensation, but at the same time they were working on optimizing physical consumption efficiency. The same amount of stamina could be spent very differently depending on upper-body posture and the way each step was planted. By constantly adjusting those details during training and locking in the most efficient way of applying force, those movements would eventually become instinct during a real race.
Yasui Makoto stayed slightly behind and to the side, watching every motion in detail and offering quiet reminders when needed.
"Shift your center of gravity a little farther forward."
"Treat it more like running. Use your hip and waist muscles too so the load doesn't all fall on your feet and calves."
"Don't lose the breathing rhythm. Speed isn't the priority right now. Lock the rhythm in first, then everything else."
"Remember the uphill special training. Lift your hips… lift them! Feel the power travel from your feet through your legs, into your hips, and all the way up to the top of your head."
Heat haze shimmered above the asphalt. Cicadas droned from the trees on both sides of the mountain road. Instructions and short replies floated between them while two sets of footsteps moved steadily upward.
For the first session Yasui Makoto kept the intensity modest—only five kilometers. The first 2.5 kilometers she carried a bicycle to burn through stamina. For the second half she rode the bicycle and tried to push past her current limit. The remaining stretch of mountain road would be covered by truck; once they reached that point the training would be finished.
When he finally climbed into the passenger seat, Yasui Makoto could tell the overtraining effect was already clear.
Beside him, Kitasan Black's black bangs and the white meteor streak were plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her small face was flushed deep red, the usual fair skin now looking as if she had just stepped out of a hot spring or sauna. She held a large bottle of energy drink, but instead of tilting it back and draining it the way she normally would, she was taking slow, intermittent sips through the straw.
"This… compared to Nakayama Racecourse… compared to Tokyo Racecourse… no…"
She spat out the flattened straw and looked at him with a rare expression of pure exhaustion.
"It's harder than every racecourse put together…"
"You're a pervert, Trainer…"
Is her phrasing a little off…?
Yasui Makoto felt a strange flicker of unease, as though something about those words didn't quite sit right. He rubbed the side of his nose, scratched the back of his neck, and glanced toward the driver in the cab. Seeing that the man was fully focused on the road, he quietly let out a breath of relief.
"Overtraining is like that," he said, spreading his hands. "Otherwise how are we supposed to build real stamina?"
"I know… it's just that I've never done anything like this before. It's hard to get used to the first time…"
Kitasan Black answered weakly, then suddenly tilted her head.
"By the way, Trainer… what exactly did you do before?"
"Me?"
Yasui Makoto paused. "What else? School, exams, then Tracen Academy. Before I came here it was just school and exams."
"But…"
Kitasan Black looked him up and down for a long moment, confusion clear on her face.
"Why am I this exhausted, but you don't look tired at all…?"
"Ah, that."
Understanding dawned, and he smiled.
"Exactly as you said—this is your first time doing this kind of training, so you don't know a lot of the small techniques yet. When I was still in school I used to do special training like this all the time… of course it wasn't this intense, because my body hadn't developed to the level it is now. I told you before, right? I used to be in an Extreme Stunts club."
Kitasan Black already knew that part. After discovering how much Yasui Makoto loved Extreme Stunts, she had asked him a great many questions out of curiosity and looked up a fair amount of information on her own. She had a vague memory of the club he mentioned—something sponsored by a large beverage company that scouted teenagers who both loved and excelled at Extreme Stunts. If a student showed enough talent, they could enter actual competitions through that club. Strong results brought prize money and endorsement deals, and the treatment for champions could rival that of top Uma Musume. In some of the biggest events, the rewards even surpassed them.
"See that mountain road over there?"
While she was still recalling those details, Yasui Makoto pointed out the window with sudden energy.
"The one that drops straight down from the forest. I once had a competition on a road just like that. We rode from the top all the way down in one go, and at the end there were four high-altitude jumps of over ten meters each. I must have told you—this is called hardline deceleration. Before the results came out I thought I was fast enough. If I couldn't take first, I figured I could at least finish top three.
"But my opponents… if you've ever seen people like that, you'd understand they're the real perverts. What am I compared to them? I mean the genuine geniuses. Looking back now, even though I really love Extreme Stunts, my talent in that field… was probably just ordinary."
He was still talking when a low murmur, soft and touched with a smile, came from beside him.
"No, you're not…"
Yasui Makoto turned his head almost without thinking and met a pair of quietly smiling eyes.
"I think… Trainer is amazing. And a genius."