Welcome, Toujou Kaisoku, to Tracen Academy—
Yeah, no.
That kind of reception ceremony was definitely wishful thinking.
Kaisoku dragged her luggage through throngs of umamusume, feeling like a drop of water swallowed by the ocean.
She’d never seen this many umamusume in one place in her life.
In your typical isekai anime, you wouldn’t cram every last elf into a single campus, would you?
But in the umamusume world, apparently you could—and it was the largest school in all of Tokyo, to boot.
Partly this owed to the genuine need for umamusume training facilities, sure.
But the fact that they could hold this much land in central Tokyo, where every square meter cost a fortune, spoke volumes about just how wealthy the umamusume industry was.
It made Kaisoku—who would happily split a single coin in half to stretch her budget—suspect she might be the only broke person on the planet.
Still, having successfully dodged Diamond and Kitasan Black’s offers to accompany her here, she felt a childish thrill of independence.
Not that she’d ever planned on attending Tracen Academy.
Racing held zero appeal for her, so standing on these grounds—grounds that most Tracen students had dreamed of reaching—stirred absolutely nothing inside her.
But this would be her home for the next three years.
Three years here, then off to Tōdai for graduate school.
Fundamentally, she was just switching schools.
No big deal.
Her academic ability was probably the one thing she could feel good about—she picked up anything she studied with remarkable speed, a small gift she’d had since childhood.
And that was precisely where it ended.
Otherwise she’d have already made a name for herself as a superstar illustrator rather than burning out and transmigrating here.
“Now then… where’s the Student Council building…” Kaisoku glanced around but couldn’t find anything resembling a student council office.
Reporting to the Student Council first thing upon arrival had been Rudolf’s explicit instruction.
Who knew what traps that troublesome president had laid for her this time—Kaisoku’s opinion of Symboli Rudolf was currently rock-bottom.
Being schemed against “for your own good” didn’t make it any less infuriating.
Every building on this campus seemed to follow the same design philosophy of go as big as possible, making it impossible to tell what was what.
She’d assumed this would be straightforward, but the lack of signage or campus maps was quickly proving her wrong.
She grumbled to herself—this was absolutely the school’s layout being confusing and absolutely not her own sense of direction betraying her.
This kind of thing demanded a formal complaint to Rudolf.
“Ah… this looks like the club building.” Kaisoku slowed to a stop.
A familiar piano piece had caught her ear, drawing her toward the source.
“So umamusume do have extracurricular clubs.
I half-expected this place to be nothing but running fanatics.”
She peeked through a window into an otherwise empty classroom where a black-haired umamusume was playing piano.
Every umamusume was beautiful, as though their features had been designed by a master artist—the differences lay only in what kind of beautiful they were.
But even by those standards, this girl playing Chopin’s Nocturne No.
13 was among the most striking Kaisoku had ever seen.
The girl was absorbed in the music, seemingly oblivious to the world, lost in her art.
Her fingers channeled the composer’s inner melancholy with each note.
Kaisoku must have stared too long, though, because the girl’s tempo gradually slowed.
She turned toward the window.
Kaisoku jerked her head back out of sight.
“…” The girl simply gazed in Kaisoku’s direction—expressionless, like a flawless black porcelain doll.
Then, when Kaisoku gathered the nerve to peek again, she was gone.
Kaisoku had apparently interrupted someone’s private performance.
She’d apologize if they ever crossed paths again.
Kaisoku considered herself someone who still harbored the stubborn soul of an artist, so she respected the pianist deeply.
That performance had clearly been cultivated through years of dedicated practice.
She’d never heard a Nocturne No.
13 quite like it.
The piece was traditionally described as mysterious, haunting, and tragic—but this girl’s rendition felt like a young woman running through a rose garden at midnight.
No fear at all.
Instead, the rapid passages in the latter half had sparked a mesmerizing, almost addictive excitement.
Where have I heard something like this before…
Kaisoku searched her memory but couldn’t place it.
Probably just her imagination.
Since the pianist had vanished, Kaisoku resumed her quest for the Student Council.
She didn’t notice the girl silently reappearing in the classroom, standing at the window, watching Kaisoku’s retreating figure until it disappeared from view.
Only then did the doll-like girl’s lips curl into a smile.
Moments later, music filled the room again.
But this time it wasn’t the Nocturne No.
13—it was Beethoven’s Für Elise.
Legend had it the piece was originally a gift from Beethoven to his most beloved student, though it eventually became his most despised composition.
What transpired between them, no one knew—but no one would deny the simple piece’s beauty, either.
Kaisoku, oblivious to what had unfolded behind her, hurried through the academic building and promptly collided head-on with another student who’d been rushing just as recklessly.
Both were on the smaller side for umamusume, and the mutual impact sent them tumbling in opposite directions.
Kaisoku rubbed her head and found herself facing a girl even shorter than she was—tiny, with the endearing presence of a small woodland creature.
“Sorry… I was running too fast and didn’t see you.
Are you from the middle school division?”
“Huh?
Rice Shower… Rice Shower isn’t from the middle school division…” The smaller girl, who’d been about to apologize first, looked flustered by the assumption.
“Rice Shower is just… short.
Not a middle school student…”
“Is that so…” Kaisoku struggled to imagine a senpai shorter than herself.
Both Diamond and Kita had shot up after honkaku-ka—and filled out in certain departments too.
Only Kaisoku had grown taller while remaining a tragic A-cup.
Damn it… honkaku-ka, couldn’t you have tried a little harder?
At least bump me up to a B…
Every time this crossed her mind, Kaisoku felt deeply aggrieved.
Her solidarity partner was Sweep Tosho—the two of them had formed the “Honkaku-ka Happened and We’re Still Flat—Is This Some Kind of Mistake?” alliance.
For the record, the name was aggressively light-novel, but this was a serious issue.
Push her on it and she’d get heated.
After all, everyone had gone through the same process.
How was there this much disparity?
Honkaku-ka was a flawed system!
But seeing this self-proclaimed senpai called Rice Shower, sympathy welled up immediately.
“Senpai, there are people in the same boat as you!
Don’t worry—there’s still time to grow!”
“Huh?” Rice Shower blinked.
“Um, Rice Shower is actually—”
“Oh!
Right, I still need to find the Student Council!
Sorry, Rice Shower-senpai—I’ll buy you a soda next time!” Kaisoku checked the time, realized she was running late, and dashed off before Rice Shower could finish her sentence.
“—going to the training grounds, not the Student Council—ah, she’s gone.”
Rice Shower quickly realized the newcomer was completely lost—heading toward the training grounds instead of the Student Council.
She tried to chase after her but the girl had already vanished.
She stopped in her tracks, murmuring to herself.
“So fast… what incredible speed.”
Kaisoku had considered asking for directions, but upon reflection, getting lost inside your own school was too embarrassing.
So she pressed on blindly—and this time accidentally ended up at the training grounds.
These were Tracen Academy’s crown jewel, occupying the most real estate on campus.
Multiple track surfaces—sand, dirt, turf—with every configuration imaginable, including courses stretching up to 3,600 meters.
Impressive at a glance.
The grounds were packed with umamusume in matching red-and-white training uniforms (apparently near-indestructible, stain-resistant, and easy to wash—seriously high-tech fabric, issued three sets per student in case of emergencies).
Thoughtful, all things considered.
But watching these umamusume pour their sweat and passion into training, Kaisoku felt like a fraud—a dreamless nobody wasting the air in this shrine to ambition and hard work.
It was at this point that someone noticed her.
A fellow grey—or more precisely, a pair of grey umamusume.
“Hey, a grey umamusume—” Gold Ship elbowed Mejiro McQueen, who was lugging a recruitment sign beside her.
“What if we make her Spica’s final piece of the puzzle?
Boost our in-team grey count!”
“Is that really a sound basis for recruitment?” McQueen shifted the sign and studied the newcomer staring at the training grounds.
First impression: quite good, actually.
Her hair was a bit long—falling over her eyes—but her clothes were immaculate.
Her features had a delicate, almost Lin Daiyu quality.
Most importantly, there was something unmistakably fresh about her—a youthful rawness.
McQueen understood why Gold Ship had singled her out from the crowd.
What the girl herself hadn’t even noticed was that plenty of other umamusume nearby were stealing glances at her too.
Part of it was that she was genuinely beautiful—even by umamusume standards.
But it was also the snow-white hair and those ruby-red eyes.
She looked like a pure little white rabbit.
Even in a crowd, there was an otherworldly quality about her that made her stand out.
“Could she be some kind of idol?” McQueen murmured suspiciously.
“She really is a lovely girl.”
“See?
See?
Gold Ship’s eye never lies!
Plus, she’s in a brand-new uniform—definitely a freshman!
We’re still short on members for Spica, right?
Might as well recruit her.” Gold Ship proposed.
The reasoning was flimsy, but since the prospect genuinely looked promising, McQueen reluctantly nodded.
“Fine.
But don’t scare her off.
That would defeat the purpose.” Before McQueen finished her warning, Gold Ship had already plucked a small white flower from the training ground lawn, stuck it between her teeth, donned a pair of sunglasses, and was striding over with the swagger of a runway model.
She circled around behind the unsuspecting girl, leaned in close to her ear, and breathed huskily:
“Hey, miss—a club that’s interesting but has a few… quirks, or a club that’s boring and full of dull umamusume.
Which would you pick?”
“Neither sounds great…” Kaisoku had jumped at the sudden intrusion but answered seriously nonetheless.
“If you’re selling something, I’m going to decline right now.
I’m broke.
Drowning in debt, actually.”
“Come on, miss.
You look like you’ve got free time.
How about you and I—Gold Ship—go experience the harmony of life and the warmth of shared body heat?” Gold Ship persisted with increasingly cheesy pickup lines, though the surrounding onlookers had all arrived at the same conclusion: Oh, it’s Gold Ship.
That tracks, and Is that poor girl okay…?
“Want to join Spica?
We’re the school’s premier—”
“Powerhouse?”
“Freak show!”
Gold Ship cheerfully badmouthed her own team while flashing a confident thumbs-up.
She was then launched into the air by a running Rider Kick from McQueen, who’d approached at a sprint.
“Stop talking nonsense!”
“GWAAARGH—” Gold Ship went rolling from the impact, tumbling a good seven or eight meters before shakily propping herself up.
Her expression was one of pure bewilderment.
“A ninja?!
Why is there a ninja here?!”
“Stop doing your Ninja Slayer bit that literally nobody gets!” McQueen, having dispatched Gold Ship with a single kick, swept her hair back with practiced elegance and turned to Kaisoku.
“I apologize.
My teammate was harassing you.
I assure you, our team is not entirely composed of weirdos like her.
This was an anomaly.”
“…Oh… okay.” Kaisoku blinked.
She’d assumed this was just how umamusume teams recruited.
Apparently not.
Good—so this world wasn’t entirely populated by eccentrics.
The umamusume who could split the sea with a single kick, the little devil who flirted with her trainer, the ghost that haunted the science wing—those were all just urban legends after all.
“However—as she mentioned, Team Spica does have one open spot.
If you’re interested, would you like to try joining on a trial basis?” McQueen extended her hand with a gracious smile.
“If it’s not to your liking, you’re free to leave anytime.
No pressure.”
Finally back online!
This past week was so crazy I literally had no time to breathe.
But it is the weekend now so I am popping up again, hehe.
I really hope you guys haven’t forgotten about this novel yet!