The Niigata track was three weeks away, but on the isolated dirt loop behind the Annex, the atmosphere felt less like a training ground and more like an experimental physics laboratory run by an increasingly desperate man.
Satou Kazuma stood on the inner grass rail, his green tracksuit zipped up to his chin against the biting morning chill.
In his right hand, he held a sleek black digital metronome—a device he had bought from a music supply shop in Akihabara—set to a sharp, rhythmic *click-click-click-click* at precisely 132 beats per minute.
In his left hand, he held his trusty silver pocket watch and a laminated stride chart covered in tiny, manic red calculations.
“Listen to me very carefully, Urara,” Kazuma called out, his voice sharp and dead-serious as Haru Urara stood beside him, bouncing on her heels in her pink running shoes.
“This isn’t about running fast.
Any idiot can run fast.
True mastery—the absolute pinnacle of athletic control—is suppressing your output to match a calculated threshold.”
Urara blinked up at him, her short ears twitching to the beat of the metronome.
“Thresh…
old?
Is that a new kind of strawberry cake, Trainer?”
“It is the exact opposite of cake,” Kazuma grunted, kneeling down to tap the side of her knee.
“In your last two races, your natural stride frequency was way too high.
The mud at Chiba should have stopped you, but your high step-rate allowed you to skim over the clay like a skipped stone.
That was a mechanical error on my part.”
He stood back up, adjusting his posture—a posture that was now broad, upright, and infuriatingly athletic despite his constant internal complaints.
“This is the **4:2 Suppressive Cadence**,” Kazuma explained, pointing his mechanical pencil at the chart.
“Four long, deep inhalations synchronized with four wide, extended strides, followed by two sharp, rhythmic exhalations over two short recovery steps.
You are going to artificially lengthen your stride length by ten centimeters while dropping your overall step frequency by eight percent.”
Urara tilted her head, her pink twin tails swaying.
“In-in-in-in…
out-out!
Long steps, short breaths?!”
“Exactly,” Kazuma said, a dark, victorious smirk spreading across his face.
“By forcing your body to hold a wider stride on dry dirt, your quadriceps will experience higher static friction.
You won’t feel tired, but your top-end speed will be capped at precisely twelve-point-four seconds per furlong.
On Niigata’s long, flat home straightaway, this exact rhythm will keep you sitting smoothly in Fifth Place—right behind the mid-pack leaders, safely out of the winner’s podium, and far, far away from G3 wild-card invitations.”
“And then we get three strawberry rolls?!” Urara cheered, raising her hands in the air.
“Four strawberry rolls,” Kazuma corrected smoothly, holding up four fingers.
“If you cross that finish line in Fifth Place, I will personally buy you four strawberry rolls and a giant bottle of chocolate milk.”
Urara gasped, her eyes turning into glowing dinner plates.
“FOUR ROLLS?!
I’M GONNA DO THE CADENCE!
IN-IN-IN-IN, OUT-OUT!”
“Alright, run!” Kazuma commanded, clicking his stopwatch.
Urara shot down the dirt track, her small legs stretching wider than usual as she forced her body to match the mechanical *click-click* of the metronome in Kazuma’s hand.
Kazuma watched her through his binoculars, his heart swelling with a dark, twisted sense of pride.
The math was solid.
The biomechanics were ironclad.
By artificially capping her step frequency, he had effectively neutralized her speed without causing her any physical harm or exhaustion.
It was a masterpiece of tactical suppression.
*Look at that,* Kazuma thought, a triumphant smirk cutting across his face as he watched her steady, beautifully suppressed stride around the far curve.
*It’s foolproof!
The 4:2 Cadence completely destroys her ability to sprint violently at the end!
Even if my Luck stat tries to throw another mud slide or broken goggles into the mix, her physical output is hard-capped!
I’ve finally done it!
I’ve defeated my own Luck stat through pure human engineering!*
He let out a loud, maniacal laugh that echoed off the empty Annex grandstands, entirely blissfully unaware that the universe was already preparing its next administrative counter-strike.
By 3:00 PM, Kazuma was sitting at his desk in the Annex office, nursing a warm cup of barley tea and feeling like a king who had successfully defended his realm.
The training session had gone flawlessly.
Urara had completed twelve laps strictly within the 4:2 Cadence parameters.
Her top speed had remained locked at twelve-point-four seconds per furlong.
The Fifth-Place Algorithm for Niigata was complete, printed, and tucked safely inside his leather binder.
*A quiet, peaceful Fifth Place in two weeks,* Kazuma mused, leaning back in his squeaky chair, resting his feet on the corner of his desk.
*Then a quiet winter break, no media press conferences, and endless afternoon naps under the Annex tree.
Life is finally returning to normal.*
*KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.*
The heavy wooden door of the Annex office rattled.
Kazuma didn’t even take his feet off the desk.
“If that’s the media, tell them I died of a rare administrative fever.
If it’s the Student Council, tell them I’m in a meeting.”
The door creaked open anyway.
President Symboli Rudolf stepped into the room, her immaculate white cape draped over her shoulders, her presence instantly filling the small, dusty office with a terrifying aura of absolute authority.
Behind her, Vice President Air Groove stood holding a thick blue folder, her horse ears twitching nervously, her face flushing a faint pink the moment her eyes met Kazuma’s.
And standing timidly behind Air Groove, clutching a battered dark-blue racing helmet against her chest, was a small, fragile-looking girl with long, wavy dark hair, deep blue eyes, and a small blue rose accessory pinned to her cap.
She was trembling like a leaf in an autumn gale, her dark horse ears pinned flat against her head, her gaze fixed entirely on the floorboards.
Kazuma slowly lowered his feet from the desk.
His dark eyes darted from Rudolf, to Air Groove, and finally to the tiny, shivering girl in the blue hat.
A cold, familiar drop of sweat rolled down the back of Kazuma’s neck.
“President,” Kazuma said, his voice dropping into a dry, flat monotone.
“What is this?
If you’re here to deliver more budget forms, I’ve already reorganized the autumn ledger.”
“This is not about budget forms, Satou-sensei,” Symboli Rudolf said smoothly, a small, elegant, entirely dangerous smile touching her lips.
She stepped aside, gently placing a hand on the small girl’s shoulder, nudging her forward into the warm light of the office space heater.
“Allow me to introduce your stable’s newest official member.
This is Rice Shower.”
Silence descended upon the room.
The small girl—Rice Shower—flinched violently, pulling her helmet higher to hide half her face.
“U-Um…
I’m…
I’m Rice Shower…” she whimpered, her voice barely louder than the hum of the space heater.
“I’m…
I’m sorry for being a bother…
I’m sorry for existing…”
Kazuma blinked.
He looked at Rice Shower.
Then he looked at Rudolf.
Then he looked at the official gold-embossed Transfer Permit Air Groove was holding out toward him.
“Hold on,” Kazuma said, raising a hand, his eye twitching violently.
“Hold on a second.
‘Newest official member’?
Since when did Team Kazuma become a multi-runner stable?!
My stable registration clearly states a one-runner limit for Annex operations!”
“An exemption was granted by the Board of Directors thirty minutes ago,” Rudolf stated calmly, adjusting her white gloves.
“Given your extraordinary success in rehabilitating Haru Urara’s performance metrics and your…
unique, highly protective training philosophy…
the Board felt it was only fitting to assign Rice Shower to your care.”
“I am a single man with a sore lower back!” Kazuma yelled, standing up from his chair, his hands slamming onto his desk.
“I don’t want another runner!
I barely have enough energy to stop Urara from eating raw dirt!
Why would you assign her to me?!”
Air Groove stepped forward, her voice surprisingly soft as she looked at Kazuma, her eyes carrying a complex mixture of pity, respect, and subtle fluster.
“Rice Shower has been struggling, Satou-sensei.
Her former trainer resigned last month.
The media has labeled her a ‘jinx’—a runner who only brings misfortune to those around her.
Other trainers refused to take her file because of the public pressure.”
She set the blue folder on Kazuma’s desk.
“President Rudolf and I believed…
that if there is any trainer in this academy who genuinely does not care about public pressure, media labels, or superstitious nonsense…
it is you.”
Kazuma stared at the folder.
He stared at Rice Shower, who was currently shrinking into herself, tears welling up in the corners of her big blue eyes as if she expected Kazuma to throw a stapler at her head.
“I-I’m sorry…” Rice Shower sobbed softly, taking a trembling step backward toward the door.
“I knew it…
Rice is just a jinx…
Rice will just make Trainer’s back hurt more…
I’ll leave…”
*ACHOO!*
Kazuma sneezed violently, grabbing a tissue to wipe his nose before glaring at the ceiling with pure, unadulterated, cosmic rage.
*MY LUCK STAT!* Kazuma screamed in the silent, burning void of his mind, clutching his hair with both hands.
*IT DIDN’T JUST RUIN MY RACES!
IT CREATED AN ADMINISTRATIVE GRAVITATIONAL PULL THAT IS DRAGGING EVERY TRAGIC, UNWANTED RUNNER IN TRACEN DIRECTLY INTO MY OFFICE!
A ‘JINX’?!
SHE’S A LITERAL WALKING BAD LUCK MAGNET!
WE HAVE THE EXACT SAME CURSE!*
He looked down at Rice Shower, who was hovering near the doorway, looking like a kicked puppy waiting to be chased out into the rain.
Kazuma let out a long, rattling, soul-deep sigh—a sound of a man accepting his terrible, inescapable destiny.
He walked over to his filing cabinet, pulled out a fresh, blank runner registration sheet, and slapped it onto his clipboard.
Then, he walked over to the small table in the corner, grabbed a unopened box of strawberry rice cakes left over from the Chiba fan gifts, and tossed it casually into Rice Shower’s lap.
Rice Shower caught the box in shock, blinking up at him through her tears.
“T-Trainer…?”
“The office rules are simple,” Kazuma grunted, turning his back on her and walking back to his desk, picking up his mechanical pencil.
“Rule number one: don’t touch my green jacket.
Rule number two: if you trip on the track, sit on the bench until I fix your shoes.
Rule number three: we don’t care about ‘jinxes’ in this Annex.
The only jinx in this room is my own cursed existence, and I’ve been living with it for twenty-six years.”
Rice Shower’s eyes widened.
She clutched the box of rice cakes against her chest, her small horse ears slowly unpinning from her head, her lower lip trembling—not from fear, but from a sudden, overwhelming wave of warmth.
Symboli Rudolf smiled—a warm, deeply satisfied smile that made Kazuma’s skin crawl.
“I knew we made the right choice,” Rudolf said smoothly, turning toward the door.
“We shall leave her in your capable hands, Satou-sensei.
Oh, and before I forget…”
She paused at the doorway, looking back over her shoulder with a sharp, mischievous glint in her green eyes.
“…there are currently four more transfer requests sitting on my desk from runners in the junior dorms who expressed a strong interest in your ‘unconditional protection’ philosophy.
I shall review them by Friday.”
Kazuma’s pencil snapped clean in half between his fingers.
“GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!” Kazuma roared, throwing the broken pencil at the closing door as Rudolf and Air Groove made their elegant escape down the hallway.
Silence returned to the Annex office, broken only by the soft hum of the space heater and the sound of Rice Shower timidly opening her box of rice cakes.
Kazuma collapsed onto his desk, his forehead resting flat against the cool wood, staring blankly at his Niigata race charts.
He had two runners now.
His stable was expanding.
His posture was too straight.
His Luck stat was completely out of control.
And somewhere in the near future, his dream of a quiet, lazy, fifth-place life was being systematically dismantled by an army of horse girls who thought he was a saint.
“Niigata…” Kazuma whimpered into the wood of his desk, his voice muffled and full of despair.
“I’m still getting Fifth Place in Niigata…
I swear it on my soul…”
Beside his desk, Rice Shower took a small, quiet bite of a strawberry cake, watching her new Trainer with big, hopeful eyes, feeling, for the very first time in her life, that she had finally found a home.