Walking through the gates of Tokyo University, Kaisoku was surprised to find that this dream school of hers exerted no particular pressure.
Beyond those four characters at the entrance, the place looked like any other campus.
In her previous life, she’d considered studying abroad, but the financial burden had killed that idea before it started.
Her TOEFL and JLPT scores had been decent back then—not at her current level, which felt like having a built-in translation engine, but good enough to have a real shot at Tōdai.
The catch was that she’d have been applying as an international student, which was a completely different ballgame from the Japanese domestic track.
When she’d picked the art academy, she’d never imagined where it would lead.
Of course, she was now in an entirely different world—though certain things, apparently, had carried over unchanged.
She gazed at the Akamon she was about to walk through and drew a deep breath.
She didn’t know if this was the right path.
She was just pressing forward according to her own judgment, that was all.
This was her second life, after all.
Even if only for Toujou Kaisoku—for the poor girl whose body she’d taken over—she owed it to her to find happiness.
That goal was what had driven her this far.
“Nervous?” Maruzensky asked.
She thought this girl was oddly quiet—occasionally eyeing the street-side scenery with curiosity, but rarely saying anything aloud.
So she broke the silence herself.
“Not really…” Kaisoku shook her head.
“I’m just curious about this place.”
“Tracen Academy’s quite nice too, you know.
The moment you walk in, you can see the cherry trees.
When they bloom, the entire campus is covered in pink petals—like you’re sinking into an ocean of sakura.
Once you’ve seen it, you never forget.” Maruzensky smiled.
“Rudolf told me you have talent for racing.
So why Tokyo University?
You don’t strike me as someone who’d make this choice on impulse.”
“Talent for racing, huh…” Kaisoku went quiet for a moment.
“How many umamusume enroll at Tracen Academy every year?”
“Hmm, I’ve never crunched the numbers exactly.
But it’s easily in the triple digits… and even more if you count the regional academies.” Maruzensky’s figure wasn’t a surprise to Kaisoku—she’d estimated roughly the same.
“And how many of them actually make a name for themselves?” Kaisoku asked.
“I don’t dislike racing, but if you run the math, the number of umamusume who achieve genuine self-actualization—who can still make a decent living even after retirement—is vanishingly small.
Sure, anyone who wins a G2-level race basically never has to worry about putting food on the table.
But considering that even G2 counts as a prestige race, the percentage of umamusume who actually clear that bar is tiny.”
“Mmm… I’ve never really thought about it like that.
For most umamusume, actually competing might not be the most realistic career move.
For them, it’s just a step toward fulfilling a dream.” Maruzensky replied, but Kaisoku had already considered that argument.
“Right—for most umamusume, even if they don’t make it big, that period of their lives becomes a treasured memory.
But what about their lives after retirement?
They either marry their trainer, or marry some civilian salaryman, and become full-time housewives.
And then the racing years become something they draw on to get through their later lives.
On top of that, you have to factor in the physical toll of competition.
Ignoring the ones who get injured during races, even the lucky ones rarely retire with their bodies completely intact.”
Kaisoku had thought this through clearly.
The umamusume racing path could certainly be adorned with the banner of “chasing your dream.” But plenty of people had crashed spectacularly on that road, or dropped out before reaching the end.
Even the ones who completed the journey usually carried hidden injuries.
Chasing a dream was a fine reason.
But Kaisoku had already chased a dream once, in her previous life.
She’d just crashed too hard.
The right to dream had been revoked.
Beneath this young exterior was the soul of an exhausted wage slave.
The only things her past life had given her were stronger willpower and the knowledge stockpiled during those grueling high school years.
So she’d chosen exams over gambling on an unfamiliar road where she might get hurt.
“It’s not that I don’t have dreams.
I just can’t bear their weight anymore.
Maruzensky-senpai—can you understand that?” Kaisoku stopped alongside Maruzensky. Get faster updates on g.com.
Whatever emotion lived in her eyes, Maruzensky couldn’t parse it—but she’d never seen an umamusume this young with eyes that still.
As if they contained not a youthful soul, but a girl who’d been weathered by life into premature maturity.
“…Then all I can do is wish you luck, Toujou Kaisoku.” For a moment, Maruzensky found herself genuinely unable to counter the girl’s reasoning.
Appeals to dreams weren’t going to budge her.
All she could offer was a blessing.
The girl lacked dreams, but she had a quality that made your heart ache—and those eyes would probably stay in Maruzensky’s memory for a long time.
“Thank you, Maruzensky-senpai—” Kaisoku bowed, then turned and walked into the building.
Following Maruzensky’s directions, she went straight to a quiet office where a robust, white-haired old man sat behind a desk, fiddling with a pipe.
When Kaisoku pushed the door open, he flashed a kindly smile.
“Rudolf told me about your situation.
Quite unusual, really—very few umamusume choose the Tōdai path.” The professor’s opening made Kaisoku slightly uneasy, but his tone quickly shifted.
“That said, I also believe Tokyo University could use some fresh air.
An umamusume?
I like it.”
“Professor… good morning.” Kaisoku nodded.
“I’m here for the early admission exam.
Where’s my test paper?”
“No rush—the papers are right here on my desk.
Don’t worry, I think highly of you, but if you don’t meet my standards, I’ll have no qualms rejecting you regardless of Rudolf’s endorsement.” The professor smiled.
“My evaluation includes both a written exam and an interview.
And in my assessment, the interview carries significant weight—though you don’t need to be nervous.
I’ll ask my questions after you’ve finished the paper.”
“Understood.
How much time do I have?”
“Forty minutes should suffice.
The paper isn’t long—that should be plenty.” The professor checked his watch and casually set the exam duration.
Kaisoku nodded.
They’d even prepared a small desk and chair for her.
When the professor placed the exam in front of her, she immediately picked it up and scanned through the entire thing.
No familiar question types.
Custom-made?
She figured as much—a Tokyo University professor writing his own exam wasn’t unusual.
She’d specifically tracked down recent years’ liberal arts entrance exams for Tōdai, but it seemed the professor had no intention of following the standard playbook.
The girl took a deep breath and forced her emotions to cool.
This was the first step in her pursuit of happiness.
If she lost her nerve here, she wouldn’t even earn a favorable impression.
After reading every question through, she decided on her answering order and got to work.
Harder problems, shelved.
Nail the ones she was confident about first, run a first check, then use the remaining time to tackle the difficult ones.
A basic strategy, common but effective.
She started fast, gradually slowed, but even at her slowest, she completed every question.
She set down the gel pen, checked the paper one more time, and handed it to the professor.
“You know, you still had five minutes.
You could’ve checked once more.” The professor smiled.
“These questions were tricky, weren’t they?
I figured you’d have studied the old entrance exams, so I deliberately put together an off-pattern set.
A bit unfair to you, perhaps, but I thought if you’re trying to leapfrog your way in, the bar should be raised accordingly.”
“It’s fine.
I’ve already checked it four times.
If an error still slips through after that, there’s nothing more I can do.” Kaisoku answered with quiet composure.
“I don’t like gambling, but I also hate half-measures.
So—this is my best.
Please go ahead.”
“For a middle schooler, your composure is really something.
He made no move to grade it, instead settling back into his seat and looking directly at Kaisoku.
“Shall we start the interview now?”
“…Haven’t you been conducting it since the moment I walked through that door?” Kaisoku smiled ruefully.
“I’d imagine you’ve already scored most of it.”
“Ha!
I figured you’d catch on.” The professor dropped the pretense.
“I like you.
Are there many girls like you these days?
You’re just a middle schooler, but you carry yourself like someone who’s been out in the working world for years.”
“I’m probably an exception.
After all, I’ve had no one to rely on but myself.” Kaisoku answered honestly.
“I’m sure you’ve reviewed my file, Professor.”
“I have, though I won’t be giving you bonus points for a tragic backstory.
You’re hardly the world’s only person dealt a bad hand, and I’m not so easily swayed.” The professor smiled.
“Well then, let’s get down to business.
First question: why did you choose Tokyo University?”
“…I think that’s a strange question, because Tokyo University is the best university in the country.
My reasoning for targeting Tōdai is extremely simple—the resources here are the best.” Kaisoku saw no point in flattery.
From the start, she’d resolved to answer everything truthfully—unless it touched on the transmigration itself.
She wouldn’t mask her real attitude.
“Of course, I could say it’s because of Tokyo University’s inherent excellence, but I don’t think that kind of praise needs my contribution.”
“Mm—fair enough.
Next question.” The professor nodded, smiling.
“Why did you give up Central Tracen Academy?”
“Because I don’t have confidence in my racing ability.
In my view, pursuing further studies at Tokyo University suits me better.” Kaisoku shrugged.
“Of course, if I fail here, I’ll be joining Tracen Academy per the terms of the bet.”
“And you’re content to let a wager decide your future?” The professor’s expression turned serious.
“Your answer?”
“Of course not.
Even at Tracen Academy, I’d continue attempting the Tokyo University entrance exam.” She shook her head.
“Nobody said you can’t study hard at Tracen.
If I don’t make it this time, I can try again.
And if the second attempt fails, maybe I’d consider Waseda—though the tuition there is higher…”
“All right.
I think I’ve gotten a sufficient read on you.” The professor nodded thoughtfully.
“One final question.
If Tokyo University needed you to participate in certain activities beneficial to the school’s publicity, would you agree?”
“…?” Kaisoku blinked, momentarily unable to discern what kind of test was hidden in the question.
Participate in school promotion?
What did that have to do with her?
She didn’t dwell on it long.
“If it’s a request from the university, I’ll cooperate as much as I can in my capacity as a student.”
“Excellent—you may head back now.
I’ll notify you of the results by mail within a few days.” The professor smiled, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, Kaisoku felt a chill run down her spine—the sensation of being watched by a predator.
His smile suddenly looked like something belonging to some species of owl.
“…Understood.
I’ll take my leave, then.” Kaisoku bowed politely and exited the office, replaying that last question in her mind.
If she got into Tōdai, participating in a few publicity events was hardly a big deal, right?
Why single it out for a separate question?
The puzzled girl shook her head and left the building.
Inside the office, the professor reached beneath his desk with a grin and produced a voice recorder, laughing until every wrinkle on his face had unfolded.
The very picture of an old fox.
“Mature, certainly—and skilled.
But just a touch short on street smarts.
Youth, eh.”