It has been five days since I added Rice Shower to my roster alongside Urara.
To be honest, these five days have seen my workload skyrocket to levels I never imagined. Our actual training sessions take place from after school until dusk. Since winter is closing in and the sun sets early, we often rely on the track's night lighting, clocking in three to four hours on weekdays and significantly longer on weekends.
Naturally, every other waking moment is the only "free time" I have. By racing through the administrative tasks assigned by the Academy, I can carve out chunks of time for research and data collection for my two girls.
My days are a blur: groveling before my fellow rookie trainers to squeeze out bits of turf-racing data, scrutinizing that data, and filtering out anything that might help Rice. I spend hours watching her race tapes—from her debut to the Kikuka-sho—until I practically have the frames burned into my retinas.
Of course, I haven't neglected Urara. I'm constantly refining her training regimen and scouting potential rivals for her upcoming races, meticulously logging every strategy and adversary into my computer, printing files, and studying them until my eyes bleed back at home.
The Academy (mostly Ms. Hayakawa) gets twitchy if I log too much official overtime, so this has become "voluntary self-improvement"—the polite term for unpaid labor. In my past life, I'm sure I thought overtime was the root of all evil, but if I don't move fast, both Rice and Urara will pay the price for my incompetence.
But the finish line isn't even in sight. The sheer depth of the turf-racing talent pool is terrifying. The amount of information I need to synthesize is enough to make my head spin.
"Ah... the cocktail of vegetable juice and energy drinks is finally hitting my stomach and my brain..."
I muttered to myself, nursing a drink from a crate of supplements I'd bought in bulk from the school store. I was balancing them with vegetable juice for a semblance of "health," making sure to follow the dosage instructions. If the Trainer collapses, the whole operation falls apart. But here's the thing about energy drinks: they hide the exhaustion, but they don't actually remove it. The fatigue is still there, lurking, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike.
It was Sunday, and I'd been in the trainer's common room since before sunrise. I wrapped up my research at 10:00 AM. Today was a training day, but I had a different plan for the girls. I'd told them to meet me in their civilian clothes. Even though it was a weekend meant for long practice sessions, I had a little scheme in mind.
"Trainer! Morning!"
"G-good morning, Trainer."
When I reached the main gate, I found Urara in her usual overalls and Rice in her private attire. I'd seen Urara's casual look a dozen times, but this was a first for Rice.
She wasn't wearing her signature black hat; instead, her dark hair was adorned with a pale orange ribbon. She wore a knee-length coat—somewhere between a dress and an overcoat—in shades of cream and black. On her feet were simple black loafers.
She looked like someone out of a fairytale or a classic picture book—the perfect, somber contrast to the whirlwind of energy that was Urara.
"Morning, you two. Glad to see you both made it in your street clothes."
"Yup! So, Trainer, what are we doing today?" Urara asked, her tail swishing with excitement.
I gave her a sly grin before turning my gaze to Rice.
"Before I tell you... Rice, it's been less than a week since I became your trainer, but you're still constantly saying things like 'It's my fault' or 'I make everyone around me unhappy,' aren't you?"
"U-um... yes. I'm sorry."
The thing that bothered me most about Rice wasn't her skill—her pride in her strength and her passion for racing were immense—it was her staggering lack of self-worth. She viewed herself as a harbinger of misfortune.
Every time she said something self-deprecating, Urara would innocently shower her with praise or try to cheer her up, but Rice's moods remained volatile. She felt like a burden to me because of her previous overtraining, and above all, she lived in terror of public opinion. She was haunted by the idea that by stopping Mihono Bourbon's Triple Crown run, she had become a villain in the eyes of the world.
"I've decided that 'bad girls' like you need a punishment. What do you think?"
"Eh...? P-punishment?"
Rice looked more bewildered than scared. Wait, was "punishment" too strong a word? I didn't mean extra laps or anything like that.
I cleared my throat, adjusting my stance as Urara began to climb onto my back, shouting, "Rice-chan isn't a bad girl!" I put on my sternest face.
"Today is Sunday. A day of rest. Do you understand, Rice?"
"Y-yes... but there are so many people training today. If I don't work hard, I won't win... I should be out there..."
"I know you're anxious, but overdoing it is forbidden. Honestly, I'd like to put you on total bed rest, but... you want to run in the Arima Kinen, don't you?"
Knowing the state of her body, part of me wanted her to skip the Arima Kinen entirely. In my estimation, she was on a razor's edge. She'd only recover if she stayed strictly within her limits. But more than her body, I was worried about her spirit. In an athlete, and especially an Umamusume, mental state is the primary driver of performance.
"Yes... Rice is still scared... but I want to run. I really do."
Rice nodded firmly. She was caught between the fear of the crowd's jeers and her innate soul as a racer.
"I thought so. But Rice... your body is frayed. I respect your drive, but as your trainer, I can't allow you to reckless... no, that's not right."
I thought back to Urara's desperate sprint during her maiden race.
"Sometimes, recklessness is necessary. But it should be a choice made at the finish line, not a constant state of being. You're trying to force yourself when it isn't necessary. Do you see the difference?"
"...Y-yes."
I had seen a girl push past her physical limits just to win a minor maiden race. I couldn't deny that drive. Only the runner themselves has the right to decide when to burn their own life force for a victory.
"I believe what you need most right now is rest. But if you want this, I will do everything in my power to let your body recover while still sharpening you for the race."
"B-but that's just more trouble for you, Trainer... and it'll take time away from Urara-chan... I'm just being a nuisance..."
Rice looked down, her voice fading. Urara immediately hopped off my back, grabbed Rice's hands, and beamed at her.
"That's not true! I have so much fun practicing with Rice-chan!"
"Urara-chan..." Rice's eyes began to shimmer with tears.
"Back to the point," I interrupted, reaching into my pocket. "If Rice insists she's a 'bad girl,' then a bad girl needs a penalty. Therefore..."
With a theatrical flourish, I whipped out a folded piece of paper and held it out so they could both read it.
"Your punishment: All training is strictly prohibited for the day! Rice, you are to go out and play with Urara! Furthermore, you must stop at the shopping district and buy the ingredients written on this list! Upon your return, I will be cooking carrot hamburgers for dinner. Your punishment only ends once you've finished every bite!"