I couldn't help but chuckle. It felt pathetic and a little nostalgic to talk about myself in the past tense like that.
"I think you're a big deal now, Trainer!"
"Haha, thanks... but here's the thing. Once I got to middle school, there was always someone smarter. Someone faster. I tried, I really did, but 'Number One' became something I couldn't reach anymore."
Even with the advantage of a previous life, a mundane person is still mundane. My "prodigy" coating had lasted a few years, but eventually, it started to peel away.
If I hadn't gone to the Trainer Academy, where would I be? Even at the Academy, my grades were nothing to brag about. I was still being outpaced by people like Kiryuuin.
"But one day, my parents took me to see an Umamusume race. I wasn't even interested before that, but... it changed me. My heart wouldn't stop pounding. It was the most incredible thing I'd ever seen."
When I decided to become a trainer, there was a bit of calculation involved. It was a high-paying job that didn't exist in my old world, and it looked exciting.
But after meeting Urara, that calculation had turned into an obsession.
I wanted to make this girl strong. I wanted to see her take first. I wanted to see her dancing in the center of that stage.
I wanted to see the girl who finds joy in everything be the first one to cross that white line.
At first, I scouted her because I couldn't find anyone else and her name was a legend I recognized. But somewhere along the way, I started dreaming with her.
"After the race, the winner was dancing and singing. She looked so happy... so proud. To me, she was the brightest thing in the world."
I wasn't old enough to be a "proud parent" type, yet that was the only way to describe the feeling.
"When you girls run with everything you have... it's like... I don't know. It's like a dream. It's full of hope. It's... something sacred."
I was fumbling for words, so I just reached out and gently ruffled her hair.
When you're a kid, being "First" is easy. First in a footrace, first on a test, the loudest kid in class. But as you get older and the world gets bigger, "Number One" moves further and further away. For most people, it becomes a fairy tale.
That is why Umamusume races fascinate us. We see these girls training every single day, risking everything for that one spot at the top, and it moves us. It gives us back something we lost.
"If you want to run because it's fun and exciting, that's fine by me. My job is just to make sure you can win while having that fun. And I believe—more than anyone—that you're going to get that 'First' someday."
I paused, then gave her a wide grin.
"When you finally get it, you'll have to tell me what it feels like, okay?"
If she wanted to keep reaching for it, I would be the ladder.
In my previous life, "Haru Urara" was a name everyone knew. I'd seen her on the news; she'd had plushies made of her; she was a superstar.
In this world, popularity leads to merchandise. Keychains, stuffed animals—the works. But that's usually reserved for the G1 regulars, the champions.
The girls I recognize from my old world are, without exception, legends. So I assumed Haru Urara would be a powerhouse. I figured she must have swept the Triple Crown or won the Arc de Triomphe.
But the girl sitting next to me was 0-for-3. She couldn't even make it out of the Maiden circuit.
But she's Haru Urara.
She's bright, she's positive, she works harder than anyone, and she moves people's hearts. Who cares what her name meant in another life?
I am her trainer, and I am her first fan. I want her to win. I want her to be the center.
Every time she loses, it kills me. I feel the weight of my own inadequacy. I feel like if I were just a little bit better, a little more "genius," she'd be on that podium.
I've realized it now. I didn't just take her on because of luck or a familiar name.
I am her trainer. And I never want to see her lose again.
"Hmm... I guess I still don't quite get it," Urara said, blinking.
I laughed. I shouldn't have expected a philosophical breakthrough. Understanding a concept and internalizing a burning desire are two very different things. Until Urara herself truly wanted it, nothing would change.
Maybe I just needed to train her so hard that she'd win regardless of the circumstances. If I could build her up until she was untouchable, maybe the hunger for victory would follow.
I started mentalizing a new, injury-free but high-intensity regimen. But then, the girl who had been tilting her head in confusion spoke softly.
"...But, I think I understand how much you care about me, Trainer."
She stood up from the bench. She turned back to me and gave me a smile unlike any I had seen from her before—not just bright, but deep. Focused.
"So... I've decided! I'm gonna work really, really hard!"
She punched the air with a tiny fist, then tapped her chest.
"Watch me, Trainer! I'm gonna give it everything I've got!"
I stared at her, dumbfounded. She wasn't promising a win or talking about getting stronger. She was just saying she'd "work hard"—her usual catchphrase. But the look in her eyes... it was different.
"Ha... Hahaha! Right! Just... try not to get hurt, okay?"
"I won't! Okay! I'm gonna go practice right now!"
She took off toward the track, but she was still in her school uniform and loafers. Predictably, she lost her footing on the sand and took a spectacular faceplant, her skirt fluttering as she went down. I couldn't help but groan with a smile.
(Maybe she's destined for greatness exactly as she is...)
I'd meant for today to be easy, but maybe it was better to let her run the gloom of yesterday out of her system.
I shouted for her to go change first, then sat back down to draft a training menu that would make her stronger than she ever thought possible.
We picked our next race: one month away.
Early October. Tokyo Racecourse. 1300 meters on the dirt.
Ironically, it was the same venue and the same distance as her debut.
But this time, I was going to see something I never expected.