Orfevre's beautiful golden tail swept across Fujiwara Chiya's face, then curled around his neck and brushed against him.
Half an hour later, Chiya lay there utterly defeated.
"Mm."
Orfevre straightened up.
"Ninety-two points, I suppose."
"What… kind of score is that?"
"A flavor score."
Orfevre tossed her jacket onto Chiya's face, then began putting her clothes back on.
"Breakfast… want some?"
"I already had some just now." Orfevre turned her face away. "Now get up already. How long are you planning to sleep? I was exhausted yesterday and I'm still more energetic than you. We still have training later. Don't forget, that race was only a trial. The real battle is a month from now. Give me one hundred and twenty percent of your focus."
"I had some focus left… until a minute ago."
Orfevre's face flushed.
Compared to when this whole mess first started, her sense of shame had dulled quite a bit. By now, Orfevre was beginning to get used to being with her trainer.
"Who told you to be so obvious first thing in the morning? I couldn't ignore it even if I tried. And that's not the kind of focus I meant. It's better if you're out of that kind anyway. Then your head won't be filled with nonsense, and you can focus on me instead."
Orfevre flicked her tail.
"In any case, hurry up and get out of bed. You still need to arrange my training."
Chiya silently got dressed. Before leaving the room, Orfevre warned him not to tell anyone about what had happened. Especially Shirayuki.
He still remembered what Orfevre had been like when they first met. Arrogance written all over her face, calling herself the tyrant of the turf, refusing to listen to a single word anyone said.
And now?
Still arrogant.
But surprisingly obedient.
All bark, no bite, her actions betraying her words at every turn. She had even become the kind of girl who rated his "flavor."
If someone had told him that back then, he never would have believed it.
The untouchable Orfevre acted like this in front of him.
It was honestly ridiculous.
After making himself a simple breakfast, Chiya left the room. Orfevre was standing outside the door with a sandwich in her hand.
"I brought this from the cafeteria. Have you eaten breakfast?"
"…No. I was about to eat back at the office."
"Then good."
She handed it to him, then turned and left.
It felt like every uma musume he trained eventually turned into something like this. Slowly, they stopped being "just" his students.
Maybe it was because he was close to them in age, making him a suitable romantic target. Maybe it was his face. He did have uma musume blood in him, and uma musume were creations of the gods, each blessed with a face cute enough to be unfair.
So among men, Fujiwara Chiya was probably pretty cute too.
Maybe those uma musume liked his face and wanted to get closer.
The tragedy was that the muscles he had worked so hard to build had quietly shrunk by about thirty percent. He had poured so much effort into that body, keeping up a solid amount of exercise every single day.
And now?
Gone. Bit by bit.
Either way, Chiya felt that his relationships with the uma musume he trained had to stop at Orfevre. If every single uma musume he coached ended up developing this kind of relationship with him, he would not survive.
What was he holding tryouts for, uma musume?
No.
At that point, he was basically picking wives.
Thankfully, this phenomenon probably would not last forever. In a few more years, the age gap between him and these girls would widen. Then they would stop seeing him as a romantic option.
Still, he needed to be careful over the next few years. Maybe he had to restrain his attitude a little. Keep some distance.
But… how was he supposed to keep distance?
Talk less?
Do less?
Or just abandon them to train on their own?
Chiya had already forgotten how to keep his distance from uma musume.
He had completely fallen into the herd.
Back in the office, Chiya ate the sandwich. After two rounds of breakfast, his empty stomach finally felt pleasantly full. He patted his cheeks, couldn't help but marvel at how lively his body still was, then shifted his attention to the next race.
After Orfevre's race ended, Gold Ship's trial race came next.
It was the same race Shirayuki had taken part in last year.
The Prix Niel.
Chiya called Gold Ship into the office and explained the key points to her.
"Relax, Trainer. When have I ever let you down?" Gold Ship waved her hand grandly and pointed at herself. "I could win a race like this running backward."
"Oh, thank heaven. Then please don't run backward. All I need from you is to plant your feet properly before the race and not start doing high-knees in the gate."
"What's that supposed to mean, Trainer? Are you looking down on my legs, or are you looking down on my hips? So what if I give them a three-length lead?"
"If you give them three lengths, you're dead. What, you think you're some kind of superhorse? Even Treve might not win after giving away three lengths."
"Doesn't that just mean I'm even stronger than Treve?"
"Enough. Just run seriously. Don't start any weird nonsense. You're perfectly capable of winning, but then you go and throw the whole thing away with your antics."
"Have I ever thrown a race?"
"Last year, you got into an argument with that uma musume called Air Shakur inside the gate and didn't even notice when the gates opened. I still can't believe it. How does someone start arguing inside the gate? Is that a place for chatting?"
"That was because she copied the way I talked! The great Gold Ship cannot tolerate cheap imitation!"
"That wasn't even your first time pulling something like that. For this race, remember this. Enter the gate normally. Race normally. Then win."
"Boring. No flair."
"I don't need flair. I need normal."
"Then if I act normal, Trainer's gotta act normal too."
"Haven't I always been normal?"
"Says who? Every time Shirayuki or Orfevre has a race coming up, you're massaging their bodies, doing foot care, all that fancy service stuff. Have you ever done that for the great Gold Ship?"
"You don't need it. Your body's in excellent condition. Practically brand-new. You don't need me to help you loosen up."
"If I don't need it, then I don't get it? Rich people don't need that much money either. Does that mean I can go rob them? You're just making excuses for being lazy."
Gold Ship slammed a hand to her chest, overflowing with righteous indignation.
"I strongly condemn your obvious favoritism! The great Gold Ship wants service too! I want a host club experience too! I want fairness!"
"I'm not a host…"
"This is a transaction, Trainer. If you act normal, then I can act normal."
Looking at Gold Ship standing there with her nose in the air, Chiya sighed.
"Fine. I'll do it. But you'd better not mess with me during the race."
"OK!"
Gold Ship kicked off her shoes.
"Come on over, Yayako! Give the great Gold Ship your finest spa treatment!"
"Yayako… You really have no respect for your elders."
"Silence. Focus on your host duties."
The corner of Chiya's eye twitched.
He walked over to the sofa, took Gold Ship's clean, pale foot in his hands, and began massaging it.
What a waste.
A body with legs this nice had been paired with that mouth.
Otherwise, Chiya might have given her a perfect score.
As he kneaded her foot, Gold Ship suddenly raised it and caught Chiya's hand.
"Trainer, let's play thumb war."
"…With your foot?"
"You use your hand. I use my foot."
Her four round toes, slender as little bean sprouts, hooked around Chiya's hand, while her big toe pressed down on him.
"Well? Pretty flexible, right?" Gold Ship grinned.
"You too?"
"I'm different from Orfevre. I was born this way. And I'm even better than her."
Her voice was half-joking, half-serious.
"If you don't believe me, Trainer, next time I'll blindfold you and let you figure it out yourself. Was it Orfevre messing with you, or was it the great Gold Ship?"