The air in the paddock area of the Niigata Racecourse was electric.
The paddock tunnel was filled with the echoing cheers of thousands of spectators packed into the grandstands.
Satou Kazuma stood right in front of Haru Urara, grabbing both of her small shoulders with a grip that was entirely too desperate.
“Listen to me very carefully, Urara,” Kazuma hissed, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper.
“This is it.
The absolute climax of my managerial existence.
If you take first place today, we are legally bumped into Grade 3 territory.
Do you know what Grade 3 means?
It means national media, five times the paperwork, mandatory press conferences, and ZERO naps for the rest of my natural life!”
Urara blinked her big, innocent pink eyes, tilting her head.
“No naps?!
Trainer, that sounds terrible!”
“It is a fate worse than death!” Kazuma emphasized, shaking her shoulders slightly.
“So remember the plan!
Gate Seven.
The 4:2 Suppressive Cadence!
Do not—I repeat, DO NOT—accelerate past the fourth runner on the final turn!
You stay right behind them, glide into the Fifth-Place pocket, and cross that finish line like a smooth, perfectly calculated middle-of-the-pack athlete!
Got it?!”
“Got it!” Urara cheered, giving him a energetic military salute.
“Fifth place!
Four strawberry rolls!
Mission start!”
“Good.
Now go out there and be gloriously average!”
As Urara trotted down the tunnel toward the dirt track, Kazuma let out a long, heavy sigh, wiping a bead of cold sweat from his forehead.
He turned around, ready to find a quiet, isolated corner by the fence where he could quietly watch his mathematical victory unfold.
Instead, he froze.
Standing right behind him, forming an inescapable semicircle of pure, overwhelming pressure, was practically the entire upper echelon of Tracen Academy.
To his right stood Rice Shower, clutching her carrot-shaped cheer pom-poms tightly against her chest, her dark blue eyes shimmering with absolute devotion.
Beside her was the entire Student Council: Symboli Rudolf, Air Groove, and Narita Brian.
Behind them were Urara’s classmates—King Halo, El Condor Pasa, Special Week, Grass Wonder, Vodka and Daiwa Scarlet—all standing in high-visibility support gear, waving pink banners with Urara’s name written in glitter.
“Satou-sensei!” Special Week gasped, her eyes shining with admiration.
“Your intense focus right before the race is so inspiring!
Look at how tightly his jaw is set!”
“Indeed,” Symboli Rudolf nodded approvingly, her hands folded behind her back.
“A true master of preparation.
He leaves nothing to chance, yet remains as calm as a motionless pond.”
Kazuma’s actual physical body locked up completely.
He stood like a statue in his worn green tracksuit, his arms glued to his sides, his face frozen into a stoic, deadpan grimace.
*WHY ARE ALL OF YOU HERE?!* Kazuma’s mind shrieked in absolute, chaotic, high-pitched agony.
*WHY IS THE ENTIRE STUDENT COUNCIL AT A REGIONAL DIRT OPEN?!
THIS IS A LOW-TIER RACE!
GO BACK TO YOUR AIR-CONDITIONED OFFICE!
WHY IS KING HALO HOLDING A GLITTER BANNER?!
THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!
I AM LITERALLY SURROUNDED BY MONSTERS!*
In the real world, Kazuma simply adjusted his collar with a single, rigid flick of his fingers, staring coldly toward the track without uttering a single word.
“Look at him,” Air Groove whispered to Narita Brian, her heart beating with quiet reverence.
“He doesn’t even feel the need to boast.
He carries the weight of all their hopes in complete silence.”
“Hmph,” Narita Brian grunted, crossing her arms, her red eyes locked onto Kazuma’s rigid side-profile.
“His aura is suffocating.
He’s already calculated every step of this race in his head.”
*I HAVEN’T CALCULATED ANYTHING EXCEPT MY ESCAPE ROUTE!* Kazuma screamed internally, his soul crying tears of pure blood as he felt his Luck stat cackling in the deep abyss of his mind.
*CURSE YOU, GODDESS ERIS!
CURSE MY LUCK STAT!
I SPENT THREE NIGHTS ON THIS MATH!
IF MY LUCK MESSES THIS UP AGAIN, I SWEAR I WILL RETIRE AND BECOME A FARMER IN THE MOUNTAINS!
BE AVERAGE, URARA!
PLEASE, JUST BE AVERAGE!*
“AND THEY’RE OFF!”
The starter’s gun echoed across the Niigata track, and twelve gates burst open simultaneously.
The crowd erupted into a deafening roar as dust kicked up into the sunny sky.
Haru Urara shot out from Gate Seven, her pink twin tails trailing behind her as the pack clustered aggressively toward the inner rail.
Kazuma stood at the railing, his body completely rigid, his eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits as he clutched his stopwatch.
*Yes!
Perfect!* Kazuma cheered inwardly, watching the red-and-white uniforms surge ahead.
*Look at that!
She’s dropping back!
The front-runners are taking the lead by three lengths!
She’s settling into sixth position!
The 4:2 Cadence is holding!
My mechanics are superior!
Science beats fate!
Physics beats luck!*
Next to him, Rice Shower leaned over the railing, her hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted at the top of her lungs.
“Urara-chan!
Follow the draft!
Protect your energy just like Trainer taught us!”
“Look at her stride,” King Halo observed, her eyes widening in disbelief.
“It’s…
so smooth!
She isn’t wasting a single ounce of power on the dirt!”
“She’s waiting,” Symboli Rudolf declared softly, a subtle, admiring smile gracing her lips.
“Satou-sensei instructed her to hold back until the final stretch.
He’s controlling the tempo of the entire race from the sidelines.”
Kazuma’s left eye twitched violently.
*I’M NOT CONTROLLING THE TEMPO, YOU OVERGROWN PONY!
I’M CAPPING HER SPEED SO SHE DOESN’T ACCIDENTALLY WIN!* Kazuma raged in the silent sanctuary of his head.
*STOP MAKING ME SOUND LIKE A STRATEGIC GENIUS!
SHE IS RUNNING SLOW ON PURPOSE!*
The pack rounded the final curve, the 400-meter marker flashing past.
According to Kazuma’s flawless, airtight mathematical model, the three lead runners should have maintained their pace, while the middle group closed in, effectively trapping Urara in a tight, unyielding fifth-place pocket.
Then, Kazuma’s notorious Luck stat decided to wake up.
Suddenly, the lead runner on the inside rail caught a loose patch of wet dirt, stumbling slightly and veering outward.
The two runners directly behind her panicked, swerving to avoid a collision, creating a massive, chaotic bottleneck in the middle of the track.
The entire front group crumbled into a tangled mess of slowed momentum and blocked lanes.
“WHAT?!” Kazuma’s brain short-circuited.
*NO!
NO, NO, NO!
GET OUT OF THE WAY!
STAY IN FRONT OF HER!*
Urara, completely oblivious to the chaotic stakes in Kazuma’s mind, faithfully maintained her strict 4:2 Suppressive Cadence.
Because her stride was so light and energy-efficient, she smoothly glided right through the giant, gaping hole left open by the scattered front-runners, completely unaffected by the dirt spray.
Without even trying to sprint, she accidentally coasted straight into FIRST PLACE.
“AND LOOK AT HARU URARA!” the announcer shrieked over the loudspeakers, his voice cracking with excitement.
“THE UNTHINKABLE HAS HAPPENED!
SHE SLIPS THROUGH THE CHAOS LIKE A LIGHTNING BOLT!
HARU URARA TAKES THE LEAD AT THE 200-METER MARK!”
The grandstands exploded into utter madness.
Thousands of spectators leapt to their feet, screaming her name.
“URARA!
URARA!
URARA!”
“AMAZING!” Special Week shrieked, jumping up and down, grabbing Daiwa Scarlet’s shoulders.
“SHE’S IN FIRST!
SENSEI’S TACTICS WERE A TRAP ALL ALONG!
HE KNEW THE FRONT RUNNERS WOULD TIRE OUT!”
“Incredible…” Air Groove gasped, staring at Kazuma with wide, trembling eyes filled with deep, emotional shock.
“He intentionally capped her speed in the early legs so she would have the maneuvering agility to slip past the bottleneck…
His foresight is terrifying!”
“Satou-sensei…” Rice Shower whimpered, tears of pure happiness streaming down her face as she clutched his green sleeve.
“You really are…
the greatest Trainer in the world!”
In the real world, Satou Kazuma remained standing at the railing.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t cheer.
His face was a pale, expressionless mask of absolute, profound, soul-crushing despair.
Inside his mind, however, a apocalyptic nuclear meltdown was taking place.
*AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!* Kazuma screamed, his mental form rolling on the floor, clawing at the dirt, tearing his hair out in sheer rage.
*MY STRAWBERRY ROLLS!
MY NAPS!
MY LAZY LIFE!
IT’S ALL OVER!
SHE’S GOING TO WIN!
SHE’S GOING TO WIN AGAIN!
CURSE THIS WORLD!
CURSE THIS TRACK!
WHY DOES MY LUCK ALWAYS CONSPIRE TO MAKE ME SUFFER SUCCESS?!
SLOW DOWN, YOU PINK TURTLE!
SLOW DOWN FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!*
“Look at him,” Narita Brian whispered, her voice laced with profound awe as she stared at Kazuma’s stoic, unblinking face.
“Even in the face of absolute triumph…
he doesn’t celebrate.
He’s already looking ahead to Grade 3.”
“A true master,” Symboli Rudolf agreed solemnly, bowing her head slightly toward his rigid back.
“He accepts victory not as a surprise, but as an inevitable duty.”
Out on the track, Haru Urara crossed the finish line in FIRST PLACE by a full two lengths, raising her hands in the air with a bright, sun-like smile, completely unaware that she had just shattered her Trainer’s last remaining hope for a peaceful life.
As the crowd roared his name, Satou Kazuma slowly closed his dry, stinging eyes, mentally preparing himself for the mountain of Grade 3 paperwork that was about to crush him out of existence.