At Tracen Academy, with its massive student body of Horse Girls, infirmaries are scattered across the campus like convenience stores. I had guided the girl I'd bumped into to the one closest to the "accident site." After confirming for the second time that she wasn't in any pain, I finally let out a long sigh of relief.
"So, you're... uh, sorry. I didn't catch your name?"
Once I was sure she was uninjured, I had stepped out for a moment to grab a canned coffee and a bottle of carrot juice from a nearby vending machine. I held out the juice; she took it with a look of profound apology.
Her physical state mirrored her mood: her dark ears were pinned back and down, and her tail hung limp and lifeless. She didn't seem wary of me, exactly—it was more that she seemed so deeply depressed that she'd simply stopped caring about her surroundings.
"..."
She offered no answer. She had clearly heard me, but she seemed physically pained by the idea of introducing herself.
(Well... this is a problem. If I don't know her name, I can't even contact her trainer...)
As it stood, I couldn't even make a simple call to say, "I've got one of your students here, please come pick her up." Worst case, I'd have to call Ms. Hayakawa to handle it, but seeing the girl's eyes so swollen from crying made my chest tighten with worry.
(She looks like a Junior High student. Given the timing, is this about failing to win a Pre-Maiden race? Or... is she thinking of retiring?)
I didn't recognize her from the dirt circuit, so she was likely a turf runner. But unlike the dirt tracks, the turf divisions were a shark tank. It was a "demon's realm" where every year, promising girls were pitted against future G1 legends in their debut races, only to have their confidence shattered to the core.
Under the fluorescent hum of the infirmary lights, I took a proper look at her. She was a bit taller than Urara—maybe around 145 centimeters? Since Urara is exactly 140, it's easy for me to gauge the height of girls in that range.
Yet, her expression was so devoid of confidence, so darkened by tears, that she looked utterly defeated. When I thought about how Urara might have ended up just like this if she hadn't managed to break her losing streak, I found I couldn't just walk away.
I popped the tab on my coffee. The sharp crack made her flinch. With a wry, sympathetic smile, I took a sip of the steaming brew and exhaled.
"Phew... well, look. If you don't want to give your name, that's fine. Drink your juice and I'll walk you back to your dorm. But you should probably do something about those tears first."
I handed her a box of tissues from the counter. If this were Urara, I'd have wiped them away with my own handkerchief, but doing that to a girl I'd just met was a one-way ticket to getting kicked through a wall.
She hesitated, then gingerly took a tissue to blot her eyes. She took a small, tentative sip of the carrot juice before whispering a single phrase.
"My name... is Rice Shower."
"Rice Shower... Ah, so that's why you were calling yourself 'Rice.'"
The pieces clicked. I took another sip of coffee, then tilted my head slightly.
"But still... Rice Shower, huh?"
"...!"
When I repeated her name, her face contorted. It wasn't anger—it was a flicker of negative emotion, like someone bracing for a blow or cowering in fear. Puzzled by the reaction, I simply spoke my mind.
"That's a beautiful name."
"...Eh?"
Rice showers are for weddings—people throw rice at the bride and groom as a blessing. If I remembered correctly, rice symbolizes a bountiful harvest; it's a prayer for a fruitful future and prosperity for the couple.
Like my Haru Urara, I felt like many Horse Girls had names that were either auspicious or poetic. Though, to be fair, there were some where you had to wonder what the parents were thinking.
"Rice is... I'm Rice Shower, you know?"
"Hmm? Yeah, I heard you the first time."
Did I mishear? Was I pronouncing it wrong? I looked at her, confused by why she was insisting on it so heavily.
"Rice... Shower."
"Yeah... okay. You're Rice Shower. Got it."
As I answered, I found myself mentally scratching my head. What kind of conversation is this? At the same time, my brain was frantically searching for any hidden meaning behind the words "Rice Shower." Aside from the wedding tradition, I came up empty.
Maybe it meant something in a different language? Something like, "You're being too informal, peasant!"? No—looking at her fragile frame, there wasn't a haughty bone in her body.
(No, that's impossible. So... is there an association I'm missing?)
Did she expect me, a trainer, to know her the moment she spoke? Was she... famous?
I pulled out my phone and typed "Horse Girl Rice Shower" into the search bar. Lo and behold, before I could even finish, the search suggestions jumped out at me: Rice Shower Kikuka-sho.
My heart skipped. I tapped the link. The girl sitting in front of me had not only run in this year's Kikuka-sho—she had taken first place.
"No... way..."
I'm sure my face was a mask of pure idiocy. The shock was so great I felt my features literally melting.
Seeing my reaction, Rice Shower shrank back, trembling like a frightened woodland creature. She looked even more vulnerable than Urara; she practically radiated a need for protection.