On Nakajima Shin’s end, right after Teio nodded to lock in her debut race, a quest popped up immediately.
[Quest Triggered: Debut Race!] [Description: Need I say more?
The first battle of your career, and the starting line for your trainee’s undefeated Triple Crown run.
You absolutely must win this!] [Reward: Victory grants the Tokai Teio Support Card.]
Reading through the prompt, Nakajima thought to himself, Looks like the newbie bonus is gone.
But it didn’t matter anyway.
With his system advantage already active, who would even think about losing a debut race?
He had to take it.
After that, he arranged long-distance running practice for Urara to get her used to sustaining her pace on turf.
Meanwhile, he ran alongside Tokai Teio to monitor her legs for any post-run issues, and conveniently knocked out his daily campus run quota in the process.
Time flew by, and soon it was 5:30 PM.
“Training’s over.
You can head out.
Teio, come grab your clothes.”
Nakajima pulled her outfit from his backpack and waited for her to take it.
Tokai Teio took the barely-worn clothes with a hint of regret.
Seeing her trainer about to leave, she quickly called out, “Trainer, let’s grab dinner together.”
Nakajima waved her off.
“I’ve got stuff to do.”
“What is it?
Do you need help?”
“I can help too!” Urara immediately raised her hand.
Nakajima shook his head.
“It’s personal.
No need for your help.
See you later, Urara, Teio.”
“Bye, Trainer.”
After saying his goodbyes and heading toward the school gates, a sudden thought struck him: was there something off with how they addressed him?
Urara called him “Trainer-san,” but Teio just said “Trainer.”
Having lived in Japan for years, he knew the Japanese were strict about honorifics.
Dropping the suffix usually meant you were pretty close to someone.
Was it really appropriate for Tokai Teio to call him that?
Nakajima mulled over their interactions, which barely totaled 24 hours, and noticed she’d switched between “Trainer-san” and just “Trainer” interchangeably.
Maybe I’m overthinking it, he reasoned.
Teio probably just doesn’t care about these social formalities, hence the mix-up.
Otherwise, if I’m supposed to believe we became this close after just one day, I might as well believe Orfevre turned into that old-design mask-wearing girl, instead of the current version who just goes “waaah-waaah-waaah” and is completely useless aside from her raw stats.
Nakajima chuckled, shook his head, and shoved his hands in his pockets as he headed toward his Tracen Academy dorm.
He’d peeked inside when he was hired two days ago, but today he needed to properly settle in.
He’d probably be moving in officially in a couple of days.
Judging by his conversation with Hagino Top Lady yesterday, he’d figured out Daiichi Ruby’s motive for letting him stay and continue the trainer evaluation: she wanted him to become her trainer.
Right now, his trainees were Urara and Tokai Teio, both considered long shots by outsiders.
If he couldn’t secure an extra trainee slot, why would Daiichi Ruby waste her time on him and delay her own debut?
Once she updated her files and saw the full picture today, she might just kick him out of the hotel and cut ties.
Better to prepare early.
Soon, he arrived at the dorm building.
The whole place was dead silent, quiet as a tomb.
His footsteps echoed down the hall, the kind of atmosphere that could scare the living daylights out of a timid person after dark.
Just now, while climbing the stairs, he heard muffled “mmph” sounds and hurried footsteps above him.
He figured someone had just scared themselves.
But Nakajima wasn’t afraid.
As Shigawa Teina had mentioned, someone used to throw raves and sing karaoke in the old dorms, keeping everyone awake and nearly getting the cops called.
That’s why the newly built dorms were fitted with heavy soundproofing.
And he’d gotten lucky, being assigned to this new wing.
He scanned his fingerprint, pushed the door open, and took in the room: a double bed in the center, a double-door wardrobe separated by a nightstand, and a private bathroom with a shower just beyond the balcony door.
One room, one bath, completely free.
Absolute top-tier dorm life.
Schools back in his past life with 12- or 24-person dorms should really take notes.
He dropped his bag, swept the floor, filled a bucket, and mopped.
Once the place was spotless, he checked tomorrow’s forecast.
Sunny.
He proceeded to wash what needed washing and air-dry what needed sunning from the dorm’s provided mattress, sheets, and pillows.
Once done, he shut off the water, double-checked the power switch, and headed out to the Tokyo Grand Hyatt with his backpack.
After scarfing down the complimentary dinner, he fired up his laptop to check the debut race brackets for early next month, deliberately picking the weakest field to sign up for.
After that, he spent some time thoroughly testing the System.
He found that all training facilities and island tiers in the cultivation module were already maxed out.
Support Cards could be slotted in instantly, and he didn’t even need to grind affinity to trigger full stat distributions.
The only restriction was that a card couldn’t be used on a horse girl with the same name.
In other words, Urara’s support card couldn’t boost her own training stats.
It could only benefit others.
What else could Nakajima say about that?
Only one thing:
Angels, amen.
Next, Nakajima started mapping out Urara’s front-running strategy for the Arima Kinen.
By December, she’d need to drill this specific pacing rhythm to perfection.
But saying he “needed to prepare” was a bit of a stretch.
Honestly, there wasn’t much left for him to do.
Because the core of this front-running strategy had already been executed today during the mock race, and by everyone who watched it.
That core was psychology.
As the world’s top front-running jockey, he knew better than anyone: front-running is fundamentally a psychological war.
I’m charging the lead.
Are you going to chase or hold back?
Do you think I’ll fade in the final stretch, or not?
When exactly do you need to unleash your late kick to catch me?
The mental shifts triggered by all of this were the essence of front-running.
Master the psychology, and you master the pace.
The foundation for her Arima Kinen victory three months from now was already laid today.
Everyone knew exactly how far Urara could front-run.
Everyone knew the exact meter mark where she’d lose steam and get caught.
Because of that, no one would panic about the gap she opened up, since they were certain they’d reel her in eventually.
That exact mindset would give Urara a massive twenty-horse-length lead.
It wouldn’t be until the final 700 meters that some rivals might finally realize she wasn’t the weakling they remembered, and start pushing hard.
But after meticulous calculations, the real key to her victory came down to one factor: whether anyone’s late kick could close the gap on the uphill slope around the final 200 meters.
And that was something only a horse girl in her Domain could pull off.
It was also the only weak point in his front-running strategy where they could actually be overtaken.
Oguri Cap, Tamamo Cross…
are you two really going to catch her?