Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Agnes Tachyon is many things to the student body of Tracen Academy, most of them entirely redundant relative to each other. Monikers such as ‘mad scientist’ and ‘lunatic experimenter’ cover much of the same ground, after all, regardless of their actual veracity.

‘Creepy loner’ is another common appellation to her name, and one that she must admit carries some truth to it, if to a lesser degree than it would have in the past. A work in progress is not an inaccurate way to describe it, she thinks.

‘Phantom Triple Crown’, in the meanwhile, is something left behind in the past entirely, as it should be. The epitomisation of her lacking physical constitution is something she has buried firmly beneath the ground with her victory over her senior year Arima Kinen.

‘Undefeated Racer’ and other such variations are common amongst those who pay attention whenever she puts theory to practice. It is only natural - she was born to not just look beyond the horizon, but to claim what lies in those unseen vistas.

‘Rival’, however, is far rarer a word used to describe her. She can only think of two people - Manhattan Cafe and Jungle Pocket - who ever brandished it against her and actually meant it. Not just tried to hype themselves up in the face of a seemingly insurmountable obstacle, but to try and overcome it, no matter the odds.

And last but not least, ‘friend’. The fact that she does, in fact, maintain positive personal relationships with some of her peers would no doubt come as a shock to the common Tracen Umamusume, should they ever bother to look past their trifling conventional knowledge and love of gossip.

Funnily enough, in spite of all her efforts to foster the capabilities of other runners back when Plan B seemed to be the far more viable option, she is friendly with more people than there are people capable of calling her a rival to her face without flinching.

Manhattan Cafe and Jungle Pocket both count, of course, though in their own, idiosyncratic ways that stray from typical societal expectations. Her roommate, Agnes Digital, could also be said to fall into the category of friendliness, though her… attitude marks her as a definite outlier that defies categorisation. Daiwa Scarlet, one of Tracen’s latest crop of up and coming runners, while not exactly a friend, is also an individual she has come to care about the well being of a surprising amount. She is not half-bad company for tea either, and does not shy away from indulging her own scientific curiosity here and there. Air Shakur is another such individual, though in this case she would describe them both as professional acquaintances first and foremost.

And while Tachyon has come to value them in her own ways, she would never, ever admit it to their faces. Not under most feasible circumstances. 

Though there is an exception.

Her Trainer and most highly prized Guinea-pig.

The three years they have spent together, at times tumultuous and at times as neat as a mathematical equation, have made acts of subterfuge rather difficult, to say the least. Even the nature of her body did not escape his gaze, in spite of her efforts to offer nothing but the vaguest of answers and most misleading of hints, if even that much instead of a casual dismissal.

Hindsight, as always, is a curious lens through which to look upon past events, as an honest admission from her end may have avoided her being pulled back after the Satsuki Sho due to his misplaced concerns and panic.

Yes, that had been a rough patch for certain…

But Tachyon digresses.

Indeed, trying to hide something between the two of them is more of a signal for courtesy than it is a genuine attempt at subterfuge.

But such a blade cuts both ways, and Agnes Tachyon had never been one to rigorously follow social conventions of behaviour anyway.

So. When it became beyond clear that not only was her Guinea-pig troubled, but also that he had no desire to share his thoughts with her, she decided to dig into his brain with all the care and gentleness of an overclocked power drill, courtesy of a potion whose effect have put her brain’s memory recall capabilities into overdrive and her dinner in a toilet bowl. But such is the cost of progress and all that.

It certainly took her a moment to adjust, both to the sudden and mercifully temporary onset of extreme nausea and the fact that any random recollection could and would send her flying down a rabbit hole of her own memories.

And as always, each and every moment of pain was so very much worth it!

Three years - well, less than that, actually, but rounded up - of memories present a staggering amount of information to search through and categorise. Luckily for her, this is not a situation where she is blind and without a lodestar to guide her.

The image is still there, in her mind’s eye, and clearer than ever before at that.

That empty, despondent look in his eyes, as if the Goddesses themselves descended to give his dreams physical form only to crush them to worthless dust…

… Well. Nothing so overt. Simply a shadow, a dullness that is easily dismissed as a lack of proper amounts of sleep or a random downturn of one’s mood. Perhaps even just a reluctance to engage with the world on a particular day. All that can be easily accepted as just having gotten out of bed with the wrong foot.

Tachyon is very familiar with it, to be honest. She had to put up with it in the mirror for far too long, after all.

But why would her Guinea-pig mourn the death of his dreams?

It is so awfully common for people, be they human or Umamusume themself, to pin all their hopes and expectations onto the runner of their choice. She has seen both ends of this relationship from several different perspectives - be that Plan B or the adorating cheers of her fans.

Rather one sided affairs, to be honest. These forms of relationships very often are as far as she understands the topic. 

But the trainer of an Umamusume? Well, that is a different matter entirely. More than just ephemeral hopes and dreams, they place their literal careers and livelihoods on the line. And even farther than that, as Tachyon herself has learned, trainers and trainees tend to also grow closer to each other as their time together increases, whether they like it or not.

The accomplishments of one are very much the success of the other, their joys and victories very much shared.

So why is her Guinea-pig so sad in the aftermath of her triumph, the Arima Kinen the site of her most successful experiment? Did she not deliver on the promises they have made together, to see the potential of an Umamusume fully unleashed?

Well.

No, actually. 

She thought she did, and according to that wording the answer is ‘yes’, but the crux lies in the promise.

The difference between ‘We will reach the potential of Umakind together’ and ‘Together, we will reach the potential of Umakind’ may be so semantic as to cause her physical pain, but at the mystical hours of one in the morning, her brain is capable of catching onto the oddest of stray threads and following it to a legitimate conclusion.

Tachyon is well aware of what their promise really says - that she wants to see her own full potential not as defined by conventional, faulty knowledge, but as the horizon she used to envision and has now realised. 

Her Guinea-pig too knows that fully well. 

But when has something as silly as ‘common sense’ stopped either of them from hoping for more?

Yes, indeed, the different interpretation of their promise implies that they would both reach their full potential. Which is an impossibility considering his human nature, naturally.

Agnes Tachyon strongly doubts that that little factoid ever made him yearn for it any less.

Or rather, hm, should it be her?

Well. 

She can ponder that later. For now, she has dots to connect!

Operating under the hypothesis of her Guinea-pig hiding the desire to be an Umamusume, a great deal of their past interactions which she had dismissed in the moment as either inconsequential oddities, a worrywart nature or even scientific enthusiasm are painted in a different light.

In no particular order…

The fervor with which she was hounded regarding her wardrobe and stance towards fashion. All in the name of her public image, of course, regardless of whatever resistance or utter disinterest she herself had displayed.

The interest in her personal affairs, namely friendships and the like, asking for details that probably should remain in the sphere of one’s personal life. Eh, it helped her form a few hypotheses once her eyes were opened to the full power of emotions, so who really cares.

Those awkwardly long stares at seemingly any random Umamusume on the street or even in the Academy’s halls, though those were far more fleeting owing to a basic sense of propriety. A waste, in her opinion, since it diminishes the capacity for one to analyse potential research subjects.

And last but certainly not least, the outcome of one of their earliest experiences, at least insofar as her Twinkle Series career is concerned. That quaint little VR environment wherein her Guinea-pig was endowed with the body of an Umamusume. To gather data on some of the neurological differences in mental capacity between humans and Umamusume, which was useful, but also rather taxing on the research subject. Well, in hindsight, the resultant malaise may have been less caused by exhaustion and more the result of having one’s most secret desire so cruelly teased.

“Current hypothesis,” she mutters to herself while her fingers furiously type away at the keyboard, eyes locked onto the scorching white screen, “is that subject Guinea-pig suffers from being a male human due to a desire to be an Umamusume instead.” Stopping for a moment, she hums, considers, then resumes. “Evidence is rooted in past observations reevaluated through supercharged memory.”

It is a pitiful amount of text she has written, far less than she considers acceptable for even the flimsiest of her work, but this is only a start. While the idea of an immediate confrontation is appealing in its own way, Tachyon will have to gather additional information before making her move. You know, actually wrap her head around what is going on and all.

… And she is nothing if not an excellent scientist, capable of simultaneously spinning many plates indeed.

Why, all throughout her ponderings, a personally crafted headgear has been monitoring and collecting information on her neural performance under the effects of her memory potion. And while reviewing already gathered information is all well and good, as her current primary effort obviously showcases, but some things are best understood in the moment!

Switching to the readout on her device, she picks up a nearby journal and pen and begins writing everything she sees down. Every number and little, near irrelevant figure.

… It does little to distract from the ever quickening swirl in her gut, however. Her current work remains unimpacted, yes, but what of the future?

To turn a human male into an Umamusume… That is a feat that goes beyond even her wildest dreams.

But Agnes Tachyon has conquered one horizon already.

For her Guinea-pig, she will gladly conquer another.

She owes nothing less. 

Chapter Text

Of all the things any and all prospective Umamusume trainers are taught, educated, trained and warned of, the paperwork somehow escapes any special attention. 

Which is understandable, of course. Umamusume racing is a career fraught with risks and dangers both expected and not, from the simple difficulties of concocting the perfect training plan to the curve balls that come with the territory of being at least nominally in charge of a teenage girl.

But he still wishes he had gotten more than some of the driest seminars at five in the afternoon to help him power through it all.

The URA and Tracen both demand their pounds of paper in the form submission forms for entry into races, events, school projects, medical examinations, special issue meetings, requests for the commercial use of her image…

And that is just what can be considered ‘regular’, insofar as anything that happens in the Academy can be called normal. 

The worst part is, well, it can always be pushed back until the last minute, right? There is always something more important - or even just less mind numbing - to focus on in its place, and with Director Akikawa being the way she is, consequences are more of an overused joke than something tangible most of the time.

So long as a trainer fully dedicates themself to the wellbeing of their trainee, she is willing to cover a lot of ass in the process.

… ‘A lot’ isn’t ‘all’, of course, and the government man always cometh, so before that day, the entire ass has to work itself off to cover up those last few bits. A time defined by lukewarm at best coffee and a distinct lack of sleep.

Fortunately for him, since his trainee has decided to do as she is wont to and hole herself up in her lab for a week, all those silly little distractions that come with doing his job aren’t around to distract him.

Unfortunately for him, since said trainee is Agnes Tachyon, that also means he has to hole himself up in his office because did the two of them ever delay everything like their lives depended on it for the past three months.

Now, from what the Trainer of Agnes Tachyon understands, the trainee usually contributes in some manner to the bureaucratic processes involved in their career, if only in the form of at least stating their preference for media handling more elaborately than an absentminded shrug on most days.

And said shrugs come from a very irritating kind of apathy - not the kind that doesn’t care to do it, but that special breed that is willing to do it if convinced or properly motivated. It’s just that fulfilling either condition is up to the Three Goddesses and no one else, so he has to guess and triangulate what Tachyon might be willing to do, what she would consider a waste of time and what she would get on his case about missing out on while factoring in her existing public image and how to best use it.

It really is no wonder that he kind of just let the piles build up and only focused on what opportunities she went for personally. Out of sight is out of mind, yes?

Which has been holding up rather well, until the last week or so.

With Tachyon returning to form and ignoring training practice again, there really wasn’t much else left for him to do that would still help her in some way, so sorting through the accumulated mess he went.

It did not even take a full hour before regret and remorse overpowered any motivation he might have felt in that now distant past, but there was also no hiding it all again. Pandora’s drawers were opened, and they would never welcome another inhabitant again until said inhabitant was filed in triplicate.

He gives one of the many paper towers threatening to collapse his desk a look he hopes is not entirely devoid of hope and positivity, sets the pen held in his right hand down and stretches his arms above his head, feeling something behind his shoulders twinge with dull pain.

Letting out a sigh, he glances at the clock precariously positioned on the very edge of the desk. Not even lunch yet, so no easy escape for him.

Well. He could, of course, just give himself a break whenever he wants it, but that’s a slippery slope for him. Twenty minutes now and then it’ll be just about half an hour until lunch, and at that point he just wouldn’t feel like trying very hard, then he’d drag his feet while eating…

Better to abuse his muscles and bones a little more thoroughly or he will need another entire week to sort all this out.

But maybe a little change of pace away from the nth interview request would not be amiss.

It took him two entire days to even just organise everything into proper stacks. Medical stuff here, training plans there, school requests somewhere in between - that kind of stuff. And by far, his most favouritest of them all is the bundle of fan letters Tachyon had received in the course of her career.

Though fan mail is one of the few things she bothers with outside of racing and her experiments, a considerable portion of the total volume always manages to find a way to his office. 

It feels… a little dirty, to constantly peek at something never intended for him, but Tachyon leaves him with little choice in the matter. Throwing any of this out or even leaving it to gather dust would basically be a sin though. 

Running a hand across one of the envelopes, something despicably forlorn claws at the inside of his chest. What kind of well-wishes and admiring words are hidden inside, a piece of him can not help but wonder.

And an even larger part so painfully wants to imagine what it would be like if it was his name those very same words extolted, congratulating him on his accomplishments. That all these meticulously organised papers would refer to him as something more than just a guarantee of Tachyon’s cooperation or a bureaucratic formality.

That he could taste that glory for himself rather than vicariously live it out through the literal paper trail of another, feel the wind rush against him not in her wake, but as soft fabric cut by his own passage, the spotlight shining for him and him alone. Have it be real.

… Yeah. Like that’ll ever happen.

He is - he is just fine where he is. It already is too good for a mangy mutt like him. How it is that Tracen ever decided to tolerate him dragging his muddy, pathetic feet through its halls is both a mystery and yet another confirmation of its innate insanity.

…

Gently picking up the envelope, he works his fingers under the edge and gets ready to tear it open.

Then the doors of his office swing open without warning.

“Guinea-pig!” Tachyon, as expected, shouts at him, crossing what little space there is between them in three exaggerated steps. “I have research results that must be discussed with you!”

Dread overtakes whatever strange bitterness he felt in the prior moments. “Ah, I’m busy? Lots of backlog to work through. Too much for the usual February rush.”

She ignores his admittedly shabby attempt at avoiding experimentation with her usual aplomb, all but slamming her hands onto what little clear space there is on his poor, poor desk, damn near undoing all of his hard work. “That’s nearly two full months away and you know it,” she points out. “More than enough time for you to complete this drudgery, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I want it done properly for once, so no,” he argues back. “Hayakawa-san will eat both of us alive if we come in kissing the last minute of the deadline again, and she’ll make it hurt if I mess up and get something wrong.”

Unfortunately, Tachyon remains undeterred in the face of his counterattack. “Very well, if obstinance is how you wish to approach this, I will use a different approach.” She leans in closer, eyes glinting. “You detest this as much as I do. There is a great deal of time left before caring about it becomes a necessity. You have not attended training for the past weekly period and you have not prepared any food for me!” Her eyes bore into his, unflinchingly holding his gaze and forcing him to do the same. “And lastly… Ever since my victory, you have been visibly despondent. In short, you have been experiencing a prolonged state of emotional upset without any clear or non-contradictory cause. This has, in turn, significantly affected your typical behaviour patterns.”

Her words come in an almost detached, observational manner. Were it not for that one slip up - which he will have to make up for, he swears it - he’d dare say that she might have managed it in near perfect monotone. Which is honestly terrifying, coming from the usually manic Tachyon.

However. “Do not worry yourself over whatever state I’m in, and I am doing perfectly fine, thank you for asking. Maybe a little under the weather, but that’s winter for you. Us lowly humans don’t get to just coast by.” He sharpens his gaze. “Moreover, you have more important matters to focus on than overanalyzing every little moment we share together, don’t you think? You might have won the Arima Kinen, but there’s more fight in you yet. No need to ease up and settle for the Dream Trophy League.”

One of her ears twitch with irritation. “You are my Trainer. The efficacy of your efforts depends on your wellbeing, so at a very pragmatic and base level, that is enough of a reason for me to have a vested interest in any irregularities. Furthermore,” she continues, her voice carrying the weight of a guillotine, “I do care about you, Guinea-pig. Your skull may be abnormally dense at the best of times, but I still care.”

The Trainer of Agnes Tachyon is taken aback by the direct admission. No scientific nonsense to cover it up or kind words hidden behind half-hearted insults. Just four simple words - ‘I care about you.’

Somehow, it is the thing that makes him the angriest. But he keeps it inside, tightening the reins until they dig into the flesh and make it bleed. “That’s - thank you, Tachyon, but focus on yourself. You have a lot more than me to look forward to, and nobody in this world wants you making that one wrong step because you kept your eyes on someone like me instead.” He sighs, dragging a hand across his jaw, growing irritated at the scratchy patches of beard hair already growing out of it. “Look, I’ll give up on this for now and start coming back to training and cook you the best damn meal of your life, alright? I will be functional again and everything will go back to normal.”

“Will you?”

“What?”

“Will you be functional?” Tachyon’s eyes stop glinting and outright glow, pinning him in place. “Even as nondescript as the term is, it does not apply given what I know.”

“... And what do you know that I don’t?” He feels his voice shake more than he hears it, the tiniest hint of strain making itself apparent inside of his throat.

“Something best supported with direct evidence,” is all the warning he receives before she all but leaps forward, stomach on the desk as her hands grasp at its drawers.

He is too stunned to react, eyes locked onto Tachyon even as all his work flutters through the air like snowflakes from the sky.

“Aha!” Tachyon soon cries out, hand pulling open a drawer with a worn handle. From there she withdraws a simple, unappealing grey VR headset with a dozen wires sticking out of it. “Knew this thing had to go somewhere.”

She slides off his desk as if nothing had happened, turning the headset in her hands this and that way to inspect it, absently waving away some stray documents as they flutter towards her.

“Commercial models like this one are - or were, I suppose - top-shelf. More experimental pieces meant to push technological boundaries than true products ready for use by the common consumer. Amazing performance, yes, but terrible battery life and even worse heat management.” A finger knocks the battery socket loose, revealing the mess inside. “And this poor thing has almost melted into sludge. Couldn’t resist, could you, Guinea-pig? Well, I don’t blame you.”

Instinctively, he draws himself up, going from a slump to a shoulder-squared posture. “I don’t even remember taking it, honest. Must have made a mistake one evening and - okay. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Hmph. Caring any less is statistically improbable on my end. But are you willing to entertain Socrates and answer the question, or do I have to spell it out for you again?” A moment passes, too quick for him to even gather his thoughts. Tachyon interrupts. “Wait, no. No. I will kindly do it for you. Direct is the best approach when it comes to you. And Socrates is overrated anyway, so.”

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for her own words. The light thud of her setting the headset on the desk might as well be the ringing of a gong bell. “You, my dear Guinea-pig, have been in a slump ever since I won. Or so I thought at first. No, seeing me reach beyond and fulfil a piece of my full potential ignited something that’s been deep inside of you all this time.” Her eyes scan him, seeing something in him he was always too afraid to. “But that fire sputtered out, slain by the mercilessly cold winds of reality. Because, whatever you may want, the cards you have been dealt have made you a man. Oh, don’t give me that look, no shame in it! Except, well, you know that’s not what you want.”

Is it? His mind finishes for her, the tone and voice of it entirely unlike Tachyon’s, an undercurrent of something almost catty to it that scrapes at his insides like chalk on a blackboard.

Or, just maybe, it is something that wants to be let out and is finally seeing its chance for it.

It is a downright enchanting thought, that. Sweet and sour in all the right ways to get his tongue loose and basic fucking sense completely blind.

“No,” a voice from the inside fights its way through, in part admitting what he never wanted to.

Agnes Tachyon smiles. It is not unkind. “Exactly! Merely watching sated your hunger for a time, but it was roused. Holding back is hurting you - has been hurting you, from the moment of our promise to your tight lips now.” She extends an arm as she speaks, hand open for a second before it begins to close into a tight fist brought to her chest. “You want to feel the wind in your hair! Hear the thundering of feet against the turf! Be the first one across the finish line! In short,” the words come breathlessly, the composed facade she had been wearing falling off of her like a feather-light veil, blown away by her sheer energy. “In short… You want to be an Umamusume.”

The world goes silent.

Only her heartbeat can be heard.

It is… a realisation, yes, but not quite. This - she can say that this had been simmering inside. Always. She may not have a name for it or even known what it was until it was pointed out to her face, but-

-but she can recognise it on sight, now, like the lifelong friend that it is.

It slots in too perfectly not to be.

And for a blissful moment, that is everything that matters.

But as always, she soon begins crashing towards the earth once more, soon to be covered and drowning in the mud she belongs to.

“A dream that is impossible to achieve, some might say,” Tachyon hammers the point home. But then- “I, however, am not ‘some’!” She strikes that pose of hers, elbows bent so that her arms form an inverse ‘V’, index and middle fingers shooting out. “I have reached the potential that lies within every Umamusume, and I will help you achieve yours, Guinea-pig! Fret not, for the impossible particle that surpasses the speed of light is on your side! No matter how impossible, far-fetched and insane the means must be, we will see the ends be manifested!”

Her energy is striking. Infectious. Inspiring.

Like a sudden gust of wind to give her fledgeling wings the boost they need to carry her through the air, Agnes Tachyon’s Trainer can not help but draw in one of the most desperate breaths of her life, tasting not the stale air of her office, but instead the freshest breeze to have ever blown over her.

It tastes like hope.

It is, as Tachyon herself admitted, utterly insane.

But Tachyon is also hardly concerned by such a concept on the best of days.

She may not be able to walk whatever path could fulfil such an impossibility - can not even think of one to begin with - but Tachyon can. She already has, in fact.

Putting her dreams onto her shoulders is her only option here.

“I will do this for you, Guinea-pig,” Tachyon reiterates, reading her as cleanly as an open book. “You helped me achieve my impossibility. It is only fair that I return the favour, is it not?” Her ears press flat against her head. “Well. Well! If you don’t need me for anything? I believe it’s best that I get to work as soon as possible. And you need time to think. Um, feel free to call me if you need anything. Or something. I can make time for my best Guinea-pig.”

And just like that, she leaves as suddenly and rapidly as she had entered, leaving nothing but chaos in her wake. 

Were she less dazed, she would see the escape for what it is and probably try to futilely stop it, but that is not the case.

Instead, amongst the hundreds of thoughts and emotions running through her brain, a different idea goes unsaid, not that there would be much of a point to it now; You don’t owe me anything.

Chapter Text

Manhattan Cafe’s breath comes out as puffs of ephemeral mist, the vapour brushing against her cheeks and nose as her run carries her into it, forming a lukewarm and clammy layer of wetness on her face. It is remarkably different from sweat in the way it feels on the skin, though that is probably just because it is entirely exposed to the chill of early February.

Years of running have made bearing with it an afterthought, her mind registering it only as the price to pay for running during the year’s colder months. 

A little discomfort is nothing compared to the goal she must reach. The goal she knows can be reached.

Even now, she can see her Friend ahead of her, her pace as casual as Cafe’s own, yet still beyond her abilities to fully match. It is teasing, almost, but she has grown more than used to it.

For a moment, her eyes wander towards the overcast sky. The time for the sun to fully set has not yet come, as a few creases and gaps in the cloud cover reveal, yet it is so heavy and dark with potential rain that it appears as though night has already come.

Hm. She better finish her little cooldown run soon, or she might catch a bad turn of the weather. Getting sick again is certainly not something on her to-do list, her capricious health having stolen too much training time from her as is.

Altering her running path, she takes a route that will take her through the Academy’s centre towards her dorm. A crowded area, both in terms of general traffic and other runners, but it’s late enough that she should have no issues maintaining her current pace. And it never hurts to see the statue of the Three Goddesses, even if just in passing. 

The idea of a pleasant encounter escapes from her mind the moment she sees the sole figure come to admire the statue.

Agnes Tachyon.

An enigma, once upon a long since gone-by time.

Now, mostly a nuisance, as well as her rival.

She can be nothing less when she did what Cafe herself has failed to do for her entire life.

But still a nuisance.

Especially a nuisance, come to think of it. For the whole of January, she had pestered Cafe more times than she managed in some quieter semesters, trying to trick her into testing this or that drug or undergoing some shady procedure no person in their right mind would willingly subject themself to. Not to mention that the amount of times she found her sleeping in her chair in the morning, most likely having worked through the night on whatever madness induced experiment has captivated her.

It has seriously made her consider temporarily moving out of their shared little space, if only so that she may drink her coffee in peace without fears of having her entire supply spiked when she isn’t looking.

… Though, it is worrying. Tachyon is quite far from what could be considered ‘normal’ due to her many obsessions, and she is certainly open to running herself into the ground in her pursuit of them, but never so consistently. Sooner or later, she tends to snap out of it, if only because so much so as a single step more will see her collapsed on the floor.

And she has never seen her visit the statue through anything more than blind chance before.

Well. She should at least warn her that it might rain. In spite of all her intelligence, Tachyon can absolutely miss even that which is beyond obvious.

Cafe deaccelerates, gradually slowing herself down until she is only walking at a brisk pace.

Tachyon does not notice her approach whatsoever, even once she gets close enough to see the downturn of her ears and the sad, motionless tail. She is mumbling something to herself - or, perhaps, to the Three Goddesses - that only she can hear, but that is common with her.

Cafe lets out a soft sigh, eyes momentarily trailing the ever more distant figure of her Friend. 

“Tachyon,” she calls out. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”

“Oya?” Comes an almost startled noise, her ears twitching in rhythm with two rapid swishes of her tail. “Ah, it’s you, Cafe-kun. Out and about on a stroll, I take it?”

“... What are you doing? You look-”

“Awful?” Tachyon cuts her off. “Oh, believe me, I am well aware. But I am possessed with a purpose I can not let go of - one that goes beyond seeing my potential through to its fullest, you see. One that demands I go so far beyond that all who witness me will only see the twinkle of a star millions and millions of kilometres away!”

Cafe hates everything about the lopsided grin Tachyon delivers those words with. 

“Such an endeavour can be met with nothing but one’s best, and then even more when all strength is exhausted! So you see, Cafe-kun, I wear these eyebags with pride! For they are proof of my unshakable commitment in the face of the utterly impossible!” Her head tilts upwards, towards the dark sky, yet her eyes seem to be locked onto something infinitely beyond. “Because that is what I have embarked upon, Cafe-kun - the completely, utterly, totally, absolutely impossible! Isn’t it grand, to be faced with an insurmountable mountain?! To engage every last drop of potential within you and only find that your well does not run deep enough!?”

As Tachyon commits herself to acting like a raving lunatic, Manhattan Cafe takes several steps back, preparing herself to cut and run.

But before she can, the act collapses, Tachyon’s arms going limp from their position of greedily reaching for the sky and her head hanging so low it seems like she might fall over.

“... As you can probably guess, no luck in proceeding past the hypothetical stage. Some avenues proved to be somewhat fruitful, generating interesting results, but on average? Complete failure,” she explains, uncharacteristic bitterness seeping into her tone. “A month for a task of this size is - it is not enough, I will admit. I am treading grounds never touched upon before and so much of the work is just creating everything from the bottom up, but I am racing against time itself here. The deadline is not a hard limit on my work, but meeting it would be most satisfactory, and not just for myself.”

Cafe blinks. “For someone else?”

“Yes, yes, for - hm. Mhm,” Tachyon makes several noises, head shooting up so that she can stare straight at Cafe. “You are trustworthy, are you not? Good to take a secret to the grave? This is a sensitive matter, so while I would very much welcome any second opinion at this point, I will not divulge to anyone unwilling to bear the burden.”

Her first, second and third instinct is not even to say no or decline, but to resume her previous plan of just running away. With added enthusiasm, most likely, because a raving, gibbering Tachyon is enough of a problem - a Tachyon willing to reduce herself to such a state for the sake of another?

A total mystery, and taking gambles with her is something Cafe does not believe ever pays out.

But in the corner of her vision, she sees her Friend. Just standing at the edge of the sidewalk next to some bushes, her featureless gaze focused on Tachyon and the Statue she is standing in front of.

Leaving would be the right choice. The logical choice.

“You can trust me. I won’t tell anyone,” Manhattan Cafe makes a mistake, placing her trust in something she has never been able to grasp.

Agnes Tachyon studies her, gaze as sharp as ever and unburdened by her fatigue and increasingly manic mania. 

Eventually, she nods to herself, satisfied with whatever conclusion she has come to. “I am doing all this for my Guinea-pig. She certainly deserves a shot at fulfilling her dreams after helping me keep hold onto mine.”

… ‘She’? Isn’t Tachyon's Trainer a man? Or did Tachyon manage to rope another unfortunate soul into her chaos?

“I can see it on your face, Cafe-kun. Yes, I am talking about my dearest Trainer. She wishes to walk - ah, no, rather run on the same path as us, but this funny little coincidence during foetal development is sadly posing quite the obstacle. I wish to see this remedied as soon as possible, as does she, but that goes without saying,” comes the almost off-hand explanation.

“... Your Trainer wants to be an Umamusume?” It feels odd to say, like the words don’t fit in their reality, punctuated by the feeling of cooling sweat just under her neck.

“My, you catch on quick. Are you sure you are making the right decision every time you decline to join me on the path of scientific discovery?” Tachyon shamelessly pushes.

“Have you gone completely insane?” Cafe casually ignores her. “It’s impossible. Forget it never being done before, I don’t think anyone has even considered it…”

“Hmph!” Tachyon turns her nose up at her. “Awfully close minded for a social outcast, wouldn’t you say? The bounds of human imagination are boundless! It is only our reach which lags behind our ambitions.” Her eyes glare at Cafe. “And I think I explained the nature of this task quite well myself, no need to repeat my words at me.”

She shakes her head. “Are you listening to yourself at all? You’re just going to burn out.”

Cafe ‘knows of’ Tachyon’s Trainer more than she really ‘knows’ him - or her. She’s not sure how that works out… But that doesn’t matter right now. She’s seen them plenty of times inside of Tachyon’s makeshift laboratory, usually either on their way to experiencing Tachyon’s tender experimental mercies or already caught up in one of her webs.

They never interacted - there was never any need for them to truly interact, outside of when one of Tachyon’s incidents had to be handled.

Which, well, underscores the one core quality she feels confident in ascribing to them: they care about Tachyon. 

Cafe does not think that they want or like Tachyon driving herself into the ground like this, even if it is in the pursuit of their very own dream, as Tachyon had said. 

She herself can attest to the fact that seeing someone else fulfill it feels far more discouraging than it does encouraging, and from what she understands of Tachyon, she should be of the same opinion as well, unless she already forgot why it is that Tracen Academy almost kicked her out.

This can not end well.

“Anything for success,” Tachyon says dismissively, and the worst part is that Cafe can not tell if she is acting arrogant or genuinely believes that.

“If you’re willing to do anything,” she tries steering her away from anything potentially catastrophic, eyes desperately searching for anything she could bring up before her staggered silence kills any hope of this working.

The Statue of the Three Goddesses impossibly gleams beneath nonexistent moonlight.

“It’s said that every Umamusume is chosen by the Goddesses,” Cafe finally finds the words. “If you… If you want to turn someone into one, shouldn’t you ask them?”

She receives a blank look. Then, laughter, free and unhinged and so strong Tachyon has to bend over and clutch her stomach.

It makes Cafe feel stupid.

“Ahahahaha! Oh… Thank you, really,” she says, taking in deep breaths. “While I would normally be leery of relying on the supernatural, if the advice comes from Tracen’s resident expert on the paranormal, then a try can not hurt!” Her face takes on a slightly sheepish look. “And, well, I came here hoping to luck upon some ‘divine inspiration’ in the first place, if you can believe it.”

… She can not, admittedly, but Tachyon has changed. She has to acknowledge that, even if it may not matter right now.

“Here goes nothing,” Tachyon mutters, then steps closer to the Statue, clapping her hands and bowing, firing off a string of words beneath her breath so rapidly Cafe would not understand even if she could properly hear them.

Whatever prayer, plea, demand, request or simple message Tachyon wished to convey soon ends, and with that comes silence.

…

… Too much silence, Manhattan Cafe realises at the same time as goose bumps erupt across her body, tail going ramrod straight while her ears tug themselves back against her head.

Tachyon is not moving, keeping her bow picture perfect. She may not even be breathing.

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing inside of her dares to make a sound, the words clogging up her throat.

Her Friend steps beside her, close enough to touch, as unnaturally silent as the world right now, yet, paradoxically, more real than she has ever been.

A finger is pointed at the Statue’s base.

The fountain water is glowing with the reflection of hundreds of stars.

She looks up at the still overcast sky.

Tachyon does not even twitch.

It is unnerving.

Her Friend steps away.

Cafe feels like she can breathe again.

Tachyon slumps.

The sweat running across her body is ice cold.

“... I gotta be in real deep for that,” she oh so faintly hears Tachyon mumble, her ears still refusing to straighten themselves out.

The water keeps glowing.

“Do you,” she musters the courage to speak. “Do you not see it…?”

“And what would ‘it’ be, Cafe-kun?” Tachyon asks with a tilt of her head.

Cafe just mimics her Friend by pointing a finger.

Tachyon stares at her, posture affronted, but after a moment just shrugs and goes along with it.

Soon, she finds something in the fountain, the glow disappearing as her hand retrieves something that hurts Cafe’s eyes to look at.

“My oh my, Cafe-kun. What good eyes you have! I’d love to examine your eyes to confirm any potential adaptations to low-light environments, but I have more important matters to see to now. Bye-bye!” And just like that, Agnes Tachyon all but skips away like a giddy child with a brand new toy.

Manhattan Cafe remains frozen in place for a while longer.

Raindrops begin to fall and remind her why she decided to cut through here in the first place.

As she hurries to her dormitory, she tries to reflect on what she witnessed and chose to do. 

No matter what, she is now inextricably linked to whatever it is Tachyon can and will commit. 

Cafe is… not enthusiastic about the idea, but she has made her bed, however unknowingly, and has no choice but to lie in it. She can only hope that things will not end in total disaster or worse.

… Hope, of course, won’t be enough. Just hoping that Tachyon will not be herself can be put in a dictionary as an example of futility or insanity. Probably both.

Her feet pound against the ground as she picks up speed, hoping to vent some of her building frustration into it. No such luck.

If she is so afraid of Tachyon irreversibly messing something up then, well… Hrngh. What other real choice does Cafe have then taking her up on one of her damn offers and helping her with this?

She could report her to the Student Council, or even try to contact the Director’s Office directly. A warning that Tachyon is about to do something dangerous would not receive a second glance before they’d mobilise to hopefully stop her and at least minimise the damage.

But Tachyon herself said it - this isn’t about her, but her Trainer.

And whatever thoughts and feelings she may have on this… She would not just be trampling on someone else’s dream, but do it to someone who has no way to fight back.

She can’t do that.

That she would hate even more than what she might have to do.

Chapter Text

Hayakawa Tazuna breathes in the still crisp February air on her way to her office. The chill of it as it travels through her airways diminishes with every step taken, but a tiny bit of it remains as the air gets to her throat, causing an almost ticklish sensation.

It is a pleasant morning, with a shining sun in the sky and a light fragrance coming from the Academy gardens as some specific flowers bloom at this time of the year.

A shame that the entire day would have to be spent locked away inside four walls, a floor and a roof, but to ensure the smooth running of Tracen Academy, it is a burden she will gladly bear.

She would be even more glad if Director Akikawa would stop it with her generous allowances to certain teams and trainers, but alas. She has long since realised that that is beyond her power to reasonably achieve. 

Besides, the Director’s stated motivation of allowing everyone to focus on racing as much as possible is something that she can not begrudge.

What she can begrudge, however, is the careless laziness some think they can afford until the very moment she starts breathing down their necks. Don’t they know that for an institution as prestigious as Tracen, every little problem is magnified? Vigilance and diligence both are needed to avoid any unfortunate situations.

She gives some of Tracen’s early birds a friendly wave as she enters the building, going straight towards the staircase, ignoring the admittedly alluring aromas of the cafeteria. Tazuna had her breakfast back home, which was quite delightful on its own. No need to stuff herself silly.

As she walks across the hallway, however, she sees someone waiting before the Director’s - and hers too, by extension - office.

Short-cut black hair, an unshaven face and an untucked shirt a size too big. Agnes Tachyon’s Trainer, though she can not recall his name for the life of her right now. The man rarely makes an appearance outside of mandated events, after all, and even then she understands that he prefers the moniker more.

“Good morning,” she greets him, seemingly startling him, hands fumbling with the rather thick binder he is holding. “If you have business with the Director, I would kindly ask you to wait a little longer. She likes to take her mornings slow, outside of emergency situations.”

“A-ah, good morning to you too, Hayakawa-san,” he somewhat nervously responds. “And no, I don’t need anything from the Director. I was waiting for you, actually.” Lifting up the binder a little, he gives a small, sheepish smile. “Got all the paperwork done yesterday. Thought I might as well hand it off first thing in the day too.”

Her smile grows a little more after he explains. “Excellent. Then please, come inside and let’s get this squared away.”

“Excuse me,” he almost mutters after she opens the door for him.

She looks at his back with some concern before she follows, gently closing the door behind her, the poor thing receiving more than enough abuse from hurrying trainers and overeager trainees on the regular. 

“Put it on the desk, please,” she instructs, taking her place behind it in several smooth steps. “Thank you for your expedience on this matter. We may be brushing up against the deadline, but I think we have over forty trainees still unaccounted for. Anyone we can sort away before the rush truly begins is welcome.”

“There’s no need, I should have gotten this done earlier anyway. I know that Tachyon’s records are,” he stops, searching for the right word, “are a little bit thicker than normal.”

“It’s alright,” she reassures him. “Our students are our pride and joy. A little extra work to ensure that they are as healthy as possible is nothing.”

Tazuna had her reservations about the Trainer in front of her. His arrival and employment in Tracen Academy did not follow a conventional track, making use of an almost obsolete apprenticeship program, and the person he was apprenticed to also caused her to perhaps overcorrect against any potential bias.

Her opinion of him improved only a little when he managed to earn his license through more traditional channels, and him spurring Agnes Tachyon into continuing her stay as well as racing career barely moved him a step above that. That girl is entirely too driven by her own interests for any trainer to be able to dictate her course, let alone a rookie one.

It wasn’t until the incident and revelations following her Satsuki Sho victory did Tazuna find it in herself to award him with genuine credit.

A bad first impression did a lot of damage to her view of him, in retrospect. A mistake on her part, especially as he had turned out to be a fine trainer indeed.

“Your trainee is lucky to have found a trainer as attentive and caring as yourself,” she offers the praise freely, both to make up for her past dismissiveness and because he genuinely deserves it.

“No. I’m lucky to have her as my trainee,” he responds without any hesitation, staring straight at her. It almost sounds like a rebuttal, but they’re hardly engaged in an argument here. Why the force?

She keeps smiling nonetheless. “The bond between an Umamusume and her trainer is an important one. It makes me happy to see that you are getting along so well.” 

“Mhm.” He nods. One of his now free hands goes into a pant pocket, fiddling with something. Tazuna almost raises an eyebrow. “Can we check everything, please? I want to know if I got anything wrong now rather than later.”

“Of course,” she easily agrees, opening the binder with a hand while the other fishes for her reading glasses. 

The next several minutes largely pass in silence, as she is focused on double-checking everything and unless she finds a mistake, he has nothing to add, leaving her to work in peace.

Fortunately, none are to be found, so the work really is finished, at least in this specific instance. “Everything checks out. Good work.” Opening a drawer, she withdraws a simple paper form from it. “Please, just sign this here to confirm the handover.”

“Right.” He grabs the offered pen and dots his signature down, a loopy mess of characters too butchered to properly make them out on their own.

“I’ll have this stored in the archive, as per usual. Though, would you mind staying a little while longer? There’s something I would like to ask about,” she tries. “Feel free to decline, of course.”

He shuffles his feet a little, aimlessly glancing around the office. His shoulders slump a little as he sighs. “Yeah, sure. Shoot.”

“Thank you for entertaining me,” Tazuna says with a polite little bow. “Now, I’ve come to enjoy watching Tachyon’s races quite a bit. The way she runs is mesmerising to watch and even a little inspiring, if I’m being honest!” Perhaps too much, if the phantom ache in her legs is anything to go by. But some yearnings will never go away. “So, I’ve been wondering… When will she race next?”

He withdraws the hand in his pocket before shoving it back inside in clear panic, apparently afraid of accidentally dropping whatever it is he has inside. So, he scratches the back of his head with the other hand instead. “Ah, well, who’d have thought that Tachyon would have a fan this high up here in Tracen itself. I promise to convey any compliments, though I can’t promise that she’ll pay attention.”

Tazuna lets out a small giggle. “No need to tell her. Just think of me as her secret admirer.”

“Okay. Yeah, I think it’s better if we avoid any chances of her getting an even bigger head,” he says with a small smile of his own. “It’s big enough as is to hold that big brain of hers.”

“If only she put that ‘big brain’ to use by attending her classes,” she adds some intentional cheekiness to her voice. Enough to poke but not agitate.

“Good luck with that. Just getting her to show up for training can be a challenge on some days,” he grouches.

She claps her hands together. “My, I don’t think my poor fan heart can take anymore slander against my favourite.”

“And knowing when she’ll race next will heal it, I take it?” He picks up what she is putting down.

“Indeed,” Tazuna unashamedly admits.

“Well,” he draws out the syllables, good mood slipping off his face like water from a window. “I don’t know? Look - Tachyon does what she wants, right? And races aren’t really different and you know the mess we all had to go through to get her to take a damn break. But this also means that she races when she wants to, and while she might appreciate any plan I make for her, it’s never definitive until she’s flying out the starting gate. It’s disappointing, I know, but it is what it is.”

… That is disappointing to hear. Also not unexpected.

Oh well. “I will be on the lookout for any signups then.”

He responds in the way of a nod, going silent now that there’s nothing to tug him along with the flow of the conversation.

“Actually,” he breaks the silence, surprising Tazuna. “Can I ask you a question too?”

“It’s only fair.”

“Tachyon’s running - you said it’s inspiring. Why? What is the thing that caught your interest?”

Black eyes peer deep into hers. A common black, seen on every street in Japan.

But they glint with something almost golden.

So, she swallows down the misdirections, lies and omissions, and speaks the truth. “Her tenacity,” she reveals, face resolute and legs aching with faded surgical scars. “Every time she steps onto racing turf, she is risking it all. But that has only ever slowed her down once. I,” her voice hitches against her will, the ears hidden underneath her cap minutely twitching against ironclad discipline. “‘Could I bear such knowledge with me?’ I find myself asking whenever I watch. That just one wrong step might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, sending everything onward to a painful crash to the ground.” Painful indeed. Were it that she could have avoided it, more than happy to pay the price of temporary glory as Tachyon had. But wisdom comes with age and experience, not the speed of one’s feet. “All Umamusume put a great deal of things on the line when they step onto the turf. Tachyon has been putting more than even that, and I… find it admirable.”

There are regrettably many Umamusume who have had to end their careers early because of injury or disease. Some find a way to stand back up, but for equally many that is no longer an option.

Agnes Tachyon is only an exception insofar as her potential tragedy does not stem from a sudden accident but rather long time underlying medical conditions. 

But that makes all the difference in Tazuna’s mind.

For Tachyon, the idea of a career ending injury is not just some nebulous possibility that can be headed off with insurances of ‘doing things right’. No, for that girl, it has been a very distinct possibility all her life.

That any of her races might end up being not just her last but also bring about the end of her whole legs…

The ‘Phantom Triple Crown’ they called her, after she was put on hiatus. A moniker that makes her own heart twinge.

The fact that she dispelled any such doubts with the skill of legends made her heart soar.

“‘Tenacity’, huh…,” his voice pulls her outside of her thoughts, faint as it is.

“Yes. Tenacity,” she confirms. “Every runner has to have it, especially at the level of graded races. But for Tachyon, I believe, it’s both her best and most important quality. More than even her record breaking speed.”

He closes his eyes, letting out a deep, drawn out breath. When he opens them again, he does so with a small chuckle. “Yeah. She never just stops, does she? Her experiments, races - everything she does she does to finish it.”

Tazuna is getting worried now, though does not yet try doing anything. Tracen Academy is a plentiful breeding ground for odd events of all stripes. Sometimes things just happen or people do something a little odd, but nothing actually concerning is at play.

She still worries.

“... Thanks, Hayakawa-san,” he says, looking down at his pocket. “Yeah. I know now. Heh. Thanks again.” A moment of awkward silence as his turn comes to be lost in his head. “I’ll be going now. So many things to do… Oh! Actually, I’ve been thinking about taking a vacation soon. Tachyon is engrossed in some research and experiments right now, I can barely get her to look at me, honestly. It’s the perfect time, really. Think I can swing by with the request in the afternoon, if it won’t be too busy?”

“Ah?” Her eyebrows scrunch together. “Well, I suppose? I’m free this lunch though,” she extends a lifeline. “We can talk over your vacation then, if you’d like.”

“No,” he immediately shoots her down, his hand once more twitching in his pocket. “I have business this lunch. Can’t reschedule it either. I’m sorry, but that’s how the dice have landed.” He gives an awkward, painfully fake smile that Tazuna feels is impossible to call out as such. “How about a raincheck? For the future. I’m sure I can make time for Tachyon’s secret admirer eventually.”

The counteroffer only makes her worry grow. “If you can’t, then that’s fine. Feel free to call me if you need to talk, however. Not just regarding work, but anything. You are pleasant to hold a conversation with.”

“Is that so?” Disbelief twinkles in his eyes, but the smile does not slip from his face a single inch. “Guess I’ll reserve some more time, then. For now… Goodbye, and have a nice day.”

“Have a nice day,” she repeats as he turns around, finally fishing the object in his pocket in a carefully clenched fist.

Tazuna does not get even the smallest glimpse of it.

Chapter Text

Tracen Academy has surprisingly many empty classrooms and unused spaces.

Its standards have simply eclipsed the number of those capable of meeting them.

An oddly sobering fact about the Academy, but it is useful right now.

Tachyon has her laboratory in one such empty classroom, converted to serve her purposes.

Claiming another and turning it into an improvised hospital room was simple enough.

“Are you finally ready, Guinea-pig?”

She stays silent until she is standing next to the bed.

“... Yes.”

“Now now, say it with your chest. An operation such as this deserves nothing less.”

An aborted sigh.

“I am ready, Tachyon. I want this.”

“I know you do. And you’re getting it tonight!”

A glance across the room, at the rows of various pharmaceuticals and other concoctions.

Contingencies all, showcasing a degree of caution she never thought she’d see.

The madhouse impression it all gives off is strangely comforting, a stray brush of warm air.

But she still feels cold.

There is no world in which she doesn’t.

She remains silent as she is directed through the preparations.

“Vital readings are stable. Cafe-kun, please pay attention to this here-”

“I am paying attention.”

Her last chance to say ‘no’.

There is no world in which she isn’t tempted.

But she has to remain tenacious.

If she gives up here, then that’s that. She will never again dare to reach for this.

And she has no place to go back to.

Not with this shame.

So, really, it isn’t much of a choice at all.

She does not wince when the IV catheter is inserted into her hand.

“Ah, please pass me the blue roll of tape. That’s the best one.”

But butterflies do flutter in her stomach.

No one knows how long this will take. 

No one has ever done this before.

It may come and go in the blink of an eye.

It might take months to complete.

Or it could not work at all, dashing her hopes and dreams against the cliffside rocks.

But the less she thinks of that, the better.

“I will administer the sedative cocktail soon.”

A deep breath.

A look at the vial of clear liquid that sparkles with an entire kaleidoscope of colours.

She unwraps the tape holding it safely closed with reverent motions.

“You just need to drink it. Make sure to get every last drop for maximum effectiveness.”

Right. 

Here goes nothing.

Or, everything.

gulp

It tastes like warm, sugary water.

“You actually did it…”

“... No discernible effects following ingestion…”

She lies down on the bed. Pulls on the face mask.

“Well, no matter. All is proceeding according to estimations regardless. Administering the sedative cocktail now.”

“Shouldn’t you explain first?”

“See, Cafe-kun, this is why I have made you my assistant!”

The pillow under her head is firm.

“To go over this one more time, Guinea-pig: Using a custom cocktail, I will induce a state of deep sedation within your system. The stock is enough to tide us over for two weeks, though I’ll blow the lid on this operation if we get to the second one and get official assistance if things go that far. Until then, I will always be in this room with you, monitoring you every second of every minute of every day. Cafe-kun will be here with me whenever she can, looking over my shoulder and making sure I don’t make any mistakes. Your safety is of utmost importance, so I will pull the plug and go from there if any adverse effects appear. Otherwise, I will only pull you out after the transformation is over and done with. Understood?”

“Crystal.”

“Perfect.”

The cannula stings less than the catheter.

“Sweet dreams, Guinea-pig.”

“... No.”

“Hm?”

“Call me - call me Sable instead.”

“Ahahaha! Of course! Sweet dreams then, Sable.”

She lies back with a small, fragile smile and waits until it all goes black.

Chapter Text

She is in a hospital room, all white walls and white furniture. A machine softly beeps from somewhere next to her, the steady and repetitive rhythm having been the thing that woke her up, having penetrated through the haze of uneasy sleep having grasped her.

Her mind feels sluggish, every thought lagging at least two steps behind where she wants it to go. 

The light in the room feels aggressive, like a knife brandished at her in the back of an alleyway in the bad part of town. But there is no way to fight back or run away, just the option between screwing her eyes shut and risking going back down under or stubbornly staring at all the white, white, white around her, driving pins into her eyeballs.

… Good grief, why do hospitals have to be white?

Such a bothersome colour to wake up to with sensitive everything…

…

How did she end up here anyway? She can’t remember from the top of her head.

What was she doing…?

Something with… Tachyon, right, but big and very important. The urgent anxiety thrumming through her skull like a mole digging through dirt is rather directly informing her of that fact.

Her throat makes a noise her ears don’t quite pick up on, suddenly very dry and scratchy. She turns her head to see if there is anything to drink nearby, but the muscles in her neck protest the movement, too stiff and weak to do so without pain.

Nothing - just an end table with a filled and vibrant flower vase.

Something that should have been a sigh turns into a cough that sets her throat on fire.

Were it possible, she would sink even further into the bed, the corners of her eyes involuntarily filling up with tears.

With nothing else to do but wait and wonder, she at least tries moving her toes and fingers. Just a little wiggle, honest.

And unlike with her previous attempts at motion, she barely feels this. Has to try a few more times to be sure, even, the feeling in her extremities near totally numb.

… Just what the hell did Tachyon do?

And could her brain kindly come up with something else than this stupid tip-of-the-tongue feeling!?

The spark of infuriation brings a little of her memory to life. Sharp needles and a glowing vial, the former completely irrelevant while the latter meant the entire world to her.

…

Ah. Right.

The… transformation potion Tachyon had made.

Since she is… in an actual hospital room instead of their little improvisation of one, then that has to mean that things have gone horribly wrong.

Oh.

Somehow, the shock freezes any tears in their tracks.

She would like nothing more than to go back to a dreamless, clueless sleep, but her eyelids refuse to close.

What little activity had already been firing through her brain comes to a stop, all thoughts enveloped by the loudest silence of her life.

The door to her room creaks open.

“Excuse me, um, Miss Sable?” A nurse calls out to her. The name she says does not register.

She only reacts when the nurse walks close to her, face hanging above hers as she checks up on her stupid, stupid body.

“Everything is all right. You’re safe.” She does not want to look into those eyes, so she forces her own to close. “Right now, you’re in Tracen’s infirmary. You, well, you must know better than me, but you got caught up in one of Miss Tachyon’s experiments. You’re both fine, don’t worry.”

The reassuring words keep coming, but she shuts them out with ease, in one ear and right out the other, the inside of her mind caught in its own downward spiral. She only pays the nurse attention whenever Tachyon is mentioned, but outside that first time, she almost seems to not want to refer to her directly.

But the soothing tone weathers her flagging stubbornness down, slowly, over the course of what might be several minutes or an entire hour. She feels herself relax, the tension in her muscles dripping away little by little until she feels ready to fall asleep again.

And just as she is about to welcome it, the weight of her eyelids becoming more and more insurmountable every moment, the world provides her with all the reason to stay awake she will ever need.

“Guinea-pig!”

Her eyes shoot open.

“You’re still awake, excellent! Long-term sedation and bed interment are hardly conductive to physical health, so I feared I would be too late, but I’ve caught your first moments of consciousness nonetheless,” Agnes Tachyon fires off without hesitation, shoving the nurse behind her and out of the room, barreling over her sputtering with her own voice.

She gets a chair from somewhere, though it very well could have been in the room and she just did not notice it, pulls it next to her bed and takes a casual seat. “Now then, I hope you’re not too exhausted and disoriented? Asking that nurse would have been pointless, by the way. You wouldn’t believe just how obstinate the medical staff here has been with me. Like, please, what other person on the planet can you even conceive of that is as qualified as me in this situation?”

Though Tachyon is just about two steps above thoughtlessly rambling, the pride she carries with her is unmistakable, like the light of the sun itself. It is not quiet or subtle, abandoning even what little restraint she would normally showcase it with, demanding that it be seen and acknowledged.

She feels herself smile, in spite of the everything.

It must look funny, on her ugly mug of a face, since Tachyon cracks a humorous one of her own. “I know, right? For my next experiment, I should try turning them all into actual guinea-pigs. They’d be more helpful that way!” She cackles like a witch. “Ah, the future has never looked more promising than now.”

‘The future.’

Right…

The smile falls from her face for reasons unrelated to exhaustion and weakness.

“Tachy,” her voice, bloody and dry and scratchy and heavy and awful, barely manages to say. “Did…?”

She hopes, hopes against everything sane and rational, that her previous conclusion was wrong. That she is still shot up to the gills with whatever drugs were pumped into her veins and that her brain is too mushy right now to be so painfully right.

Tachyon understands perfectly what she means, her face going soft in a way she has never seen it before, all those hard-won edges of arrogant pride gone in the blink of an eye. 

Digging a hand through one of the pockets of her ever-present laboratory coat, she retrieves a makeup mirror. Probably took it from someone else, since never in her life has she seen so much as a single speck of makeup on Tachyon’s face.

She leans forward, arm stretched out so that the mirror is face-level with her on the bed. 

Her heartbeat is loud as she watches Tachyon’s fingers fiddle with it for a moment. 

And just like that, she opens it.

The black hair is the first thing that catches her attention - just the same mop she has been forced to look at for her whole life, unremarkable no matter what she had ever tried to do with it.

Though, looking at it right now, ruined, sweat-laden bangs are sticking out in each and every direction on the pillow. She must have been sleeping for a long time if it got this long… 

But that’s not everything shown in the mirror. It’s just what takes up the most space on its small surface.

Her eyes - small, black, always slightly bloodshot due to bad sleep - are there too.

Or they should be.

In their place is instead a pair that seems larger, healthier, freed from the burden of one too many long nights, presenting a pure white where she has come to expect a criss-crossing of blood red. 

But that can be attributed to getting rest, even one as prolonged and unnatural as hers.

The colour cannot.

Where once an unassuming black - a deep brown, really, so not even that special - sat, now a glinting yellow stares back.

It is unfamiliar, unexpected, even considering her situation.

Her mind does not comprehend the implications for several seconds.

Those eyes - her eyes - widen when, at long last, it clicks.

More than just hope, this is something tangible, even if it isn’t that impossible dream Tachyon awakened her to.

But it is enough for her heart to race, the electricity running through her veins sparking into currents that bring her back to life.

The bangs of hair that stretch beyond the top of the mirror twitch-

-something pulls at the muscles in her back-

-and those wide-open eyes sparkle.

“Heh,” a singular, laugh-like sound escapes her.

This is wonderful.

“Yes, it’s quite amusing how much of a resemblance to Cafe-kun you have. Why, the uninformed might accuse me of stealing her genetic material for use in your potion!” A beat. “Which I did not do. I’ll say the same thing to you that I said to her when she freaked out on me,” Tachyon explains, waving her free hand across her body. “This? This is all you. You’re all you, Sable.”

A sniffle.

Then tears, free to flow.

“While I’m not one for it,” she adds, saying, “crying is proven to produce several beneficial emotional as well as physiological effects. So, feel free to let it all out. You deserve it. You were confined to a bed for long enough that your musculature has suffered, but combined with - well. I think it’s better to cover the minutiae later. You will recover just fine, especially since I have many things to say about the topic, but for now… Just focus on whatever comes to mind, I guess? And rest.” A nod. “Yes, rest. Very important for you right now.”

“Thank you,” Sable says. There is no pain.

Tachyon looks like she has several things she would like to say to that, but holds them all back, giving only a light chuckle. “You are very welcome.” A sudden crack in her composure. “Actually, how long have you been awake for? The medical staff has you under constant surveillance - I wouldn’t let them get away with anything less - but their systems are rather unsophisticated. I was halfway across the Academy stuck in a useless meeting with our most esteemed Empress and I still made it here almost as soon as that slacker. You might be more exhausted than I thought…”

“No, stay,” she cuts off that train of thought. Damn near mute as she might be right now, Sable still wants to share as much of this moment as she can with her.

“Hmph. I suppose I can entertain you, for now. Just - please, don’t make a habit of this. My time is quite valuable,” Tachyon grouches, but goes along with her wish, closing the mirror and laying it down on the end table. “This will be waiting for you here when you wake up again. It’s too small to be effective, but getting a proper mirror in here has been vetoed and, well, you would be unable to make use of it without assistance in your current state of muscular atrophy. So starting small makes sense. Maybe.”

Tachyon keeps talking, her voice quieter and gentler than normal, going on and on about this or that topic that catches her momentary interest, from simple things like complaining about accidentally drinking Cafe’s coffee again to some of the experiments she is looking forward to trying.

Sable can not say in good conscience that she follows along with anything more than maybe a fifth of what she says at most, but it does not matter.

This verbal deluge is comforting, like a well-worn groove in the sole of a shoe. So many times did she just bear with it that it became routine, a little ritual where Tachyon would talk her ear off while she organised their plans for the day. A small way to communicate without having to be direct that grew from the ground of what was not quite a clash of personalities, but still a more cordial and cold relationship than what she saw other rookie trainers establish. 

Her fingers try to clench around a nonexistent pen and notebook just thinking about it.

It is a good thought to fall asleep to, the cherry on top of everything else amazing and perfect.

Chapter Text

Sable struggles with the spoon in her hand, a shallow thing of white plastic barely half-filled with soup, grip shaking as her weak muscles do their paltry best at what she wants from them. 

She nonetheless manages to bring it up to her lips, as well as swallow the soup itself without choking like an idiot, her remaining strength just barely enough to put the spoon down on the tray laid above her lap before she lets it go slack by her side.

The soup still leftover in the bowl receives a baleful glare. “I’m worse than an infant.”

“You’ve only started recovering,” Manhattan Cafe reminds her with a cool tone. “This is enough. Don’t strain yourself.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “... You don’t have to do this, you know? The nurses can help me and Tachyon comes by often enough.”

She barely ever spoke to Cafe, even in passing. The vast majority of what could be described as their interactions came from either Cafe or Tachyon confronting the other while she was in the general area and couldn’t avoid overhearing, most of the time really just acknowledged with a quick glance by the two of them.

And while she is thankful to the girl for driving Tachyon forward as her rival, giving her a more normal reason to run and give it her all, that is rather one-sided, isn’t it?

“No, I don’t,” Cafe agrees with an incline of her head. “But I chose to get dragged down with this. So,” she continues, her face shifting into an interesting expression, “I’m… taking responsibility, so to speak.”

“For what?” Sable questions. “You helped look over me, yeah, and thank you for that! But Tachyon explained that that’s everything you contributed. Really, you have better things to do than watch me fail at feeding myself.”

She tries looking Cafe in the eye, the half-lifted configuration of the bed making the act actually mean something as they are eye-level, but the girl looks away from her, pinning her gaze to the floor. A moment of uncomfortable silence, her moment of uncomfortable silence as she realizes that she pushed too hard, the distressed motion of her flicking ears alien and delightful both.

“... I could have stopped Tachyon, I suppose. Reported her to the Student Council or washed my hands of this by not getting involved. But I had a bad feeling about this - Tachyon was… She looked bad, even by her standards. Like a raving lunatic. Leaving her to do this alone like that would have been asking for a disaster, I felt like.” A shrug. “She managed everything fine without me. I didn’t help much. But I’m still in too deep to leave, aren’t I?”

No, Sable wants to say but doesn’t. Everything Cafe did for her she did out of the kindness of her own heart and concern for her friend. And she is grateful for it all but she doesn’t need to burden herself further with this… this situation.

“Besides.” Her cold voice thaws. “If I did do any of that, I would hurt you, wouldn’t I, Sable? Tachyon wasn’t working for some harebrained theory of hers. She did it all for you.” A rare smile spreads across Cafe’s face, small but honest. “And I want to help you, I think. I can’t say I know what will happen, but it will be a lot.”

She sucks in her lips and tries not to make a sound, clinging onto what little dignity she has in the first place. A sniffle still makes it through, even if only a quiet one. But anything more she holds back, keeping the conversation more or less intact and herself capable of talking with Cafe.

“That’s very kind of you,” she begins, throat too tight for comfort and voice clipped in a way that gives everything away. “You are very kind, Cafe. I… don’t know. How to feel about things. I, I mean, this is - I didn’t even know I wanted this so much before Tachyon slapped me in the face with it, but now I can’t even imagine going back. And I can’t go back! Because there’s nowhere to go back to. I made sure of that.” A weak laugh slips out of her. “So all I have now is a one-way road I know nothing about…”

Cafe makes a contemplating noise after Sable falls into silence. “Then, that’s just like a race, isn’t it? All you have to do is run with all you have and trust yourself to make it through.”

… She really should have expected an Umamusume to equate it to a race. 

She wiggles her toes, eyes watching as the blanket shifts a little. “‘Trust myself’?” 

Despite everything, it feels impossible to. She may feel better than ever in spite of the noodles she has for muscles right now, but there were very few times in her life where she felt as paradoxically directionless as now.

“Yes. When you step on the raceturf, you can’t afford any second thoughts. They just weigh you down until it feels like you’re trying to run through a hurricane… Win or lose, that’s never good. So you just look ahead and keep running anyway.” Cafe delivers those words as though they were some great, secret wisdom, but Sable doesn’t really see the point of them.

Right now, her entire world is confined to these four white walls. She does not even have the pleasure of a toilet visit to break it all up, her body still too weak to hold itself up unsupported, a catheter taking care of everything. How can she trust herself when she is like this, unable to so much as stand with her own two feet, let alone run?

“... I guess I just don’t want to be here, but I can’t think about what I’ll be doing when I do get out,” she settles for, in the end. It does not feel quite right for what she feels, but neither can she put it into better words. 

Cafe looks around the room, at the sheer sterile white of it. Her ears droop a little. “It does feel suffocating here.”

“Tell me about it,” she mutters, leaning into the pillow keeping the back of her neck supported.

She already received a prognosis from the doctor trusted to handle her case - significant muscle atrophy, though with few other ill effects or conditions. A recovery time of months before she’ll be strong enough to get through a day on her own and without any accidents.

Tachyon’s judgement on the situation is a good bit more optimistic, as expected. Just a few days of actually eating before she should be capable of everything save for walking on her own, her new muscles, though weak right now, still worth more than a human’s pound-for-pound. They should recover enough for basic functionality rather quickly.

And once they do and she can be expected to get through a prolonged conversation without dozing off?

It’ll be time to face the music.

Sable was already visited by members of the Student Council as well as Secretary Hayakawa and Director Akikawa herself. To confirm several things, mainly that this is happening and that she is as well as can be, but to also make sure that she is aware of the reckoning waiting for her the moment she is capable of facing it.

… She wants to delay. She still has some time to, even with the two and a half or so weeks her transformation and subsequent recovery have taken so far. 

“Actually,” she breaks the silence, “I know what I’ll be doing first; dealing with, well, Tracen, I guess. The Student Council and Director mainly.”

“Didn’t you prepare some papers for that? Tachyon mentioned something like them,” Cafe notes, seeming apprehensive at the sudden change in topic.

“Signed and notarised, yes, but that’s basically just cleaning up after myself, making things a little easier for everyone.” Sable huffs. “Doesn’t change the fact that ‘Sable’ doesn’t legally exist.”

“... I’m sure everyone wants to help you,” Cafe adds, sounding unsure.

Can they, though? She keeps inside her head. Cafe doesn’t need nor deserve her negativity, and the people in question are all both competent and well-connected enough to work some magic.

“Well,” she forces herself to say with some cheer. “I better meet them halfway. And the first step to that is eating the rest of this, I guess,” she concludes with a small glare at the bowl of soup.

“Need any help?” Cafe kindly offers.

“I want to do this,” she declines. “Though, could you push the tray a little closer - oh, thank you.”

Her hand shakes as she reaches for the spoon, but there is no ache of overexertion in it. So, she takes things slow enough not to spill it all over herself, keeping her grip as best she can and trying to make sure it all goes down the right pipe.

A random glance at Cafe makes her stop.

“By the way,” Sable starts with a careful tone, “how do you feel about - about me looking so much like you?” Her face cheeks heat up a little, but, hm, it would have to be acknowledged at some point, so might as well rip the bandaid off while the chance is there, right?

Because they really do look awfully alike, even beyond just colouration. She used the mirror Tachyon left behind aplenty, getting a good look at herself, even if just in short bursts, and sure, she might have nailed herself in the eye once when her fingers couldn’t hold onto it, but that is neither here nor there…

But she knows the new contours of her cheek bones and jaw, and has become acquainted with her new small nose. The utter mess that is her hair - and ears too, frazzled like none she has ever seen before - is the main distinguishing point, but it poorly hides the similarities.

“... It is odd,” Cafe says the word ‘odd’ rather oddly itself, probably not being her first or second choice. “But so long as it’s because of chance and not because Tachyon did something, I don’t think I care.”

Sable wisely lets it go unmentioned that everything right now is because ‘Tachyon did something’ and goes back to doing her best at eating instead, giving Cafe only the slightest nod her neck can manage.

She’ll need all the energy this cold soup can give her, after all.

Chapter Text

Sable tries to keep her apprehension from showing on her face, the nervousness and the anxiety that plentifully spring from every stray gaze and whisper she attracts buzzing inside her head like a swarm of insects. It isn’t every day that you can see someone in a wheelchair in Tracen Academy, most Umamusume with those kinds of injuries or strain keeping away until at least crutches are enough for them to get around.

She knew this would happen - teenage girls make for prolific gossips as a rule of thumb - but she also expected herself to take it with more grace than this. Tachyon’s experiments led to frequent and glaringly obvious side-effects on a good day, so her past experience should be helping her out here.

But… that didn’t last long. 

At first, she was positively beyond herself to finally leave her hospital room, which was also right on the tail of her having gone to the bathroom this morning, even if a nurse still had to help her make it there and, well, clean up. 

She basically has no pride or dignity left at this point.

She also does not regret the very healthy amount of tears she cried there. Tachyon herself said that crying is healthy, right? So yeah. 

That elation, however, did not last in the face of reality.

Sable was ready, downright hyped up for her confrontation with the resident authorities. So much so, in fact, that she forgot that said confrontation would be taking place in the Student Council’s office. By her own request, no less, because she has simply grown that impatient for a change of scenery.

And said change of scenery necessitates that she move. Which she can not really do on her own. Hence the wheelchair.

There’s no problem with that. None that she feels, anyway, and if anything she welcomes it as a novel experience.

But once again, once Sable left that glaringly white room, it quickly became obvious that she significantly overestimated her tolerance for the attention of others.

So far, she can count the number of people aware and acquainted with the ‘new her’ on one hand. One-on-one conversations and visits made her new body easy to swallow and digest, letting her take things one step at a time, but now?

She’s already passed tens of students, with damn near every single one of them staring right at her when she passes into their sight. Most do the polite thing and look away with painful conspicuousness soon after, but just because their eyes aren’t pointed straight at her doesn’t mean she can’t feel their interest.

It - it makes her feel like she was dropped into a bathtub full of ice instead of a surprisingly comfortable seat. Her ears have gone ramrod straight the moment the first person looked at her and haven’t relaxed since. 

“Tch. Annoying,” the person pushing her towards her destination audibly mutters, one Vice President of the Student Council, Narita Brian. She expected Tachyon or even Cafe to be the ones to help her, maybe even the nurse, but Brain had come through her door instead, looking as mildly irritated as ever.

Unlike everyone else so far, she had shown little outward reaction to Sable, mostly just curtly informing her of what’s happening and then helping her get into her wheelchair with surprising gentleness.

“You don’t see something like this everyday,” she weakly comments.

Brian lets out a small, derisive sound. “They should mind their business.”

Well, she can’t disagree with that, can she? Especially not when she wholeheartedly agrees. 

She taps her fingers on the armrest, hoping to dispel even just a little bit of this nervous energy that way. Tap tap tap the sound goes in some loose approximation of a rhythm, half lost against the backdrop of Tracen’s daily going ons. Except it only highlights her tense nerves, the rhythm turning more and more haphazard with every stare she sees and whisper her ears overhear.

When the elevator doors close, they offer her a very welcome moment of peace.

“Relax,” Brian less tells her than she orders. “Or at least put your ears down. They’re pissing me off.”

Sable gives her an uneasy chuckle. “Right, right. Sorry about that. But, um,” she almost stutters, “how do I do that?”

“... Seriously?”

“I haven’t had them for long, you know!”

Brian opens her mouth to retort, but something flashes across her face, making her stop. “Oi, watch,” she calls out a second later, making her ears stand as straight as Sable’s own before making them relax again.

“That,” she slowly says with a sorry look on her face, "doesn't help me. I don’t know how you did that.”

“Any kid can do it,” Brian gives with a scoff.

“I’m not a kid,” Sable protests. “In terms of experience, I might even be less!”

“You’re enough of a handful to be one,” the girl sourly notes, rolling her eyes. “Gimme a break… Look, you just have to relax the muscles in your ears to…” Brian trails off, staring at nothing for a moment before her eyes narrow and a hand comes up to trace the tape on her nose. “... Huh.”

The elevator dings before she can consider the reaction, the doors opening themselves to directly reveal the doors leading to the Student Council’s office. It is not that much of a surprise for Tracen to have a decent layout from the perspective of accessibility, considering the frequency with which various runners end up hurting themselves.

Here it comes, Sable braces herself internally, sucking in a quiet breath and then slowly letting it back out.

Narita Brian doesn’t knock on the ornate wooden frame, effortlessly pushing the doors open before wheeling her inside.

Four pairs of eyes instantly meet hers.

Symboli Rudolf - ‘The Emperor’ and President of the Student Council. She is the first whose gaze she does not just notice, but outright feels it. Because Symboli Rudolf doesn’t turn towards her, no, her eyes were pointed and at the ready before she even entered this room.

Agnes Tachyon, who gives her a little wave with one hand while the other keeps piling sugar cubes into her tealess teacup. Her being here makes Sable’s nerves ease up a little, as does Tachyon’s usual nonchalance. Not even a hint of stress in those shoulders of hers.

Air Groove, the Empress to Symboli Rudolf’s Emperor, who has to smooth over a look of consternation caused by Tachyon’s undying love of sugar in her tea. Yet her presence is undeniably one of tempered steel.

And last but certainly not least, Director Akikawa, who is trying to inconspicuously pat away crumbs from the corners of her mouth with a napkin. She does not let herself be disarmed by her usual harmless antics, for without a doubt, she is the most important person in this room.

That is not to say that the Student Council does not have a proverbial ton of soft power even just individually. However, being able to sway the opinion of the public with the snap of one’s fingers is of little use to Sable right now.

Making anything about her situation ‘public’ would be the cue to find a large rock to make a home under and absolutely nothing else.

… She really does need to work on herself. It’s entirely too easy to go all doom and gloom when it isn’t called for.

“Hello everyone,” Sable says with a tone of voice just this side of not pathetic, weakly waving her unbandaged hand.

“Hello, Guinea-pig,” Tachyon effortlessly rushes into the conversation, halting whatever response Symboli Rudolf was about to make. “Sorry about not coming for you myself, but I've been sadly preoccupied.” 

“It’s fine,” she notes with a smile. “Which reminds me - thanks, Brian.”

A grunt.

“It’s good to see that you are doing well,” Symboli Rudolf says with a small smile on her face. “But let’s save business for a little while longer. The tea should be just about ready, and as our dear Director has found out, the biscuits are quite wonderful, courtesy of Air Groove’s excellent choice.”

“That they are!” Director Akikawa boisterously confirms. “Oh, but I hope the doctors didn’t put you on a diet? Teasing you with these delicacies would be cruel…”

“Um, no?” She answers, a bit confused by the turn of events. 

“Perfect!” The Director notes with a beaming smile. “Then, please, if I may trouble you, Brian-”

“I’m not a servant or a maid,” Brian shoots her down.

“No hesitation!” She recoils.

Air Groove sighs. “Do not show such disrespect to the Director, Brian.”

“No, it’s fine, Air Groove. I shouldn’t be making requests of her after she helped Sable,” the Director comes to Brian’s defense and oh, Sable herself was not expecting that.

Plenty of people have used her new name already. Cafe and Tachyon most of all, but the nurse and doctor helping her also do so quite freely. Heck, Director Akikawa herself did not hesitate one bit during her short visit, but…

… But she just did not expect it, okay? And hearing it in front of this many people feels completely different! The only reason her ears didn’t shoot straight up like a rocket is because they are already as stiff as they can possibly be!

“Do not make excuses for her behaviour. She’s far from an unruly child who needs a scolding every time she misbehaves. She knows and can be better,” Air Groove mercilessly steps in. 

“That’s enough, both of you,” Symboli Rudolf interrupts the growing argument before it can truly begin. “Brian; apologise to Director Akikawa. You can just say ‘no’. Air Groove; the last few days have been stressful for us all. If you need to take a break, just say so.”

“... Right,” Brian almost begrudgingly agrees. “I apologise.”

“Thank you, President, but it won’t be necessary. I should also have better control over my behaviour,” Air Groove settles for.

Of course, in the time it took for the top three members of Tracen Academy’s Student council to sort themselves out, the combined forces of Agnes Tachyon and Director Akikawa have poured a cup of steaming tea for her, stacked together a tower of biscuits and made a pyramid from sugar cubes, all neatly arranged on a tray that Tachyon puts on her lap.

“Do you see what I have had to deal with for the past month?” Tachyon complains with a pout, keeping herself just quiet enough for nobody else but Sable to hear her. “You owe me big time for all this trouble, Guinea-pig. A thousand experiments at minimum!”

“I’ll do my best, Tachyon,” she whispers back, getting an excited nod in return.

“These biscuits are worth a try even without the tea,” Director Akikawa leans in just as Tachyon pulls away. “With it, they’re going to be heavenly! Go on, eat!”

A sage nod from Tachyon. “Though their glucose content may not be optimal, the energy they can provide to your system should be quite welcome.”

“Indeed, indeed! Settling business on an empty stomach only leaves you more hungry,” comes another agreement from the Director.

The only thing Sable can do in the face of this unexpected team-up is mutely do exactly as she is told, skimming the top of the biscuit tower with a lightly shaking but not unsteady hand and then lightly dipping the biscuit in her cup.

She bites into it.

“Mmm,” escapes up her throat and through her nose as a delicate creamy taste expands across her tongue, pleasantly contrasted by the lemony sourness of the tea. She does not chew, instead breaking up the soft dough with her tongue, yet more of that wonderful taste spreading out with every little push.

“With a reaction that perfect, I can’t wait!” The Director announces with a small giggle, pouring herself a cup.

“Aha… Let me do that for you, at the very least,” a smiling Symboli Rudolf smoothly takes the porcelain kettle from her hands. “You are the Student Council’s guests, after all. Serving you your tea is the least we can do.”

Conversation lulls as the kettle is passed between the members of the Student Council who then pour a cup of tea for everyone, Narita Brian drowning the small mountain of sugar in Tachyon’s cup while Air Groove takes great care in making sure that Symboli Rudolf’s is as perfect as she can manage.

Everyone enjoys their first few sips in silence, with the exception of Tachyon, who is busy breaking up the sugar cubes with a tea spoon and then stirring the mix until she has something that resembles thick syrup far more than it does tea as a beverage. But that’s pretty much normal for her, so Sable ends up being the only person in the room who doesn’t send her effort any worried or bewildered glances.

As for her though, she only drops two cubes in, gently stirring the tea until they dissolve. It makes her tea pleasantly sweet without overriding its own flavour, as well as preserving the funny little pyramid Tachyon had made for her.

She feels herself relax as the polite silence stretches on, the warmth of the tea settling in her stomach and slowly leaking through to the rest of her body, the persistent bite the cold hallway air had left in her throat gone after the first sip. Even her ears finally settle themselves into something comfortable, the very faint reflection in the distant window showing that they have gone from sticking up like sticks to that angle most Umamusume seem to have them in by default.

Symboli Rudolf chuckles. “I believe that I speak for everyone present when I extend my compliments to you once again, Air Groove. Your choice of both tea and biscuits is perfect.”

“Thank you, President,” Air Groove expresses her gratitude alongside a small nod. 

“Now then,” Symboli Rudolf then sets her tea cup down, schooling her expression into something considerably more serious than before. “Since we have hopefully aired out any lingering anxieties, I believe it is high time we see to the purpose of this meeting.”

“While I would love to fully enjoy this tea first, I agree that a swift and focused resolution is for the best,” Director Akikawa voices her agreement with Symboli Rudolf, though she still goes to take another bite from the biscuit in her hand.

“... Alright. That’s why I’m here,” Sable adds, trying to encourage herself. It was so easy to come through those doors ready for a fight - now that she’s staring it in the face, it is taking all she has just to avoid flinching.

“And we apologise for pushing you forward so quickly, even as we are grateful for your cooperation,” Symboli Rudolf notes. “To begin, may I ask you about your state one more time? More than just your physical health, your mental wellbeing is of utmost concern.”

All eyes are on her, waiting for her answer. Right. “You… Want to know how I feel about,” she has to stop, neck tightening just as the words are about to come up. Sable forces hesitation down, all the way into her stomach where the tea’s warmth still lingers. “Okay. You’re curious if I want to be an Umamusume, right?”

“Cutting straight to the chase?” Symboli Rudolf comments with a slightly quirked eyebrow. “I wanted to work my way up towards the question, so as not to disturb you too much, but if you are ready right away then I see no point in delaying. Yes, I want to know if this is truly what you want.” A sigh. “It may be too late to take anything back, and you have voiced your satisfaction with your current state repeatedly already, but I want to hear it here, after you have had the time to seriously consider the implications.”

“What implications? That I’m happier just being than I have ever been doing almost anything else in my life?” Sable hears herself bite back before she can fully realise what she is doing. “And I had more than enough time to think this over, you know! Tachyon - She started all the way in January, and I could have said no and backed out at any time! She gave me more outs than she should have, constantly interrupting her work to ask if I’m okay with this or that… And I was just so happy when I woke up and found out it worked.”

A beat.

Her cheeks burn hot enough to cook an egg. “I’m sorr-”

“Ahahaha!” Tachyon’s laugh drowns out her voice with ease. “I told you! I told you exactly what would happen!” She downs a gulp of the sugary substance in her tea cup. “Now, I hope that everyone understands that trying to grill my dear Guinea-pig on her choices is just a waste of time? Because as far as answers go, that was quite the definitive one, and that’s ignoring all the prior evidence I have shared with you all already.”

Air Groove all but glares at Tachyon, to which Tachyon responds by loudly sipping as she takes another drink. 

“So it is, Tachyon,” Symboli Rudolf allows, face lighting up as she regards Sable. “But it is for the best to get confirmation again at this juncture. You being certain of your path matters quite a bit for what comes next.”

“I, for one, never doubted you, Sable,” Director Akikawa reassures her. “But I also have to admit that Rudolf is right. If you found your present circumstance to be regretful, well…”

“Well nothing,” Tachyon says with a roll of her eyes. “There is no use in pursuing hypotheticals thoroughly refuted by existing research and evidence.”

“She’s right,” Narita Brian breathes out. “Let’s get a move on.”

“I agree with Brian. Sable’s situation, more than just simply being completely unprecedented, also comes with the caveat of figuring out what to do with her as a legal entity,” Air Groove starts. “Namely the fact that, outside of what medical records have been made as part of her treatment, she does not exist. Which will make her life rather complicated, to say the least, regardless of anything else.” 

No ID card, no passport, no driver’s license, no nothing - Sable is well aware of that fact, just as she knows that it’s the biggest hurdle she is facing right now.  

“Then there is the matter of what to do with her old identity. Tracen Academy simply can not just lose a trainer overnight without questions being raised, and while directly admitting the events which have occurred may be the path of least resistance, I also strongly doubt that this is a desired outcome by any present party,” Air Groove continues.

“No. Absolutely not,” Sable cuts off any talk of that before anyone can get a word in. “And I’ve prepared to make a clean cut. I’m on vacation until March comes around, right? So there’s no reason to ask questions yet. Everything I had that was worth anything,” which is really just an old motorbike, “I’ve signed over to Tachyon. Not ‘given’, signed. She has the ownership papers and everything to prove it. I always take my money in cash so there’s no bank we have to deal with, and the one account I had I’ve terminated.”

She stops, feeling breathless. She covers it up by taking a nice, long sip from her cup, uncaring of how the tea is still hot and burns her tongue and throat. “And lastly - when the clock runs out? It’ll run out on the standard first-time trainer employment contract too. Rookie trainers are kept around here for three years to see how they’ll do with the rest hinging on their performance, but even if it’s enough to stay? Renewal has to be agreed upon. And I don’t agree. So Tracen can wash its hands off me consequence free.”

“I will add,” Tachyon steps in, reaching into her labcoat to pull out a pair of envelopes, “that the option for a gentler exit is present, if not one meaningfully different from what has already been described. One of these is an announcement of resignation, in line with the legalese of the trainer contract and the other is an empowerment of yours truly to deliver it on my Guinea-pig’s behalf. Signed and notarised, of course, so there are no means of refutation.”

“... Dealing with my past identity will be easy, as you can see. You don’t even have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Sable concludes. “Just a rookie trainer winning it big with his first trainee and doing the young, stupid thing by dipping while the getting’s good.”

“So you are ready to - no, not ready, but willing to completely cut any ties to your past?” Symboli Rudolf looks at her, something almost like pity but too dignified for that ugly thing in her eyes. “... It is presumptuous of me to ask this as one who is a professional, distant acquaintance at best, but are you certain that you do not wish to maintain at least some of them? Any friends or family-”

“I have none,” Sable shoots Rudolf down. A horrid, ugly bitterness coats her tongue, crawling out through her lips like a line of ants, stinging at her face in an effort to twist it into a scowl. “I don’t think you understand why I’m so happy that I did this… Outside of working with Tachyon? I had nothing going on in my life. So I’m not ‘cutting’ much of anything.” The tea does nothing to wash the bitter taste from her tongue. “In fact, if anything, I’m making a long overdue clean break.”

“It is not my intention to lead you astray from your path,” Symboli Rudolf effortlessly weathers her temper. “I, again, only wish to be certain that you are certain of where you are stepping. But if you have deemed your past to be unsable ground, then so be it. That chapter of the book is closed, and I will make no attempts at treading upon it or your decision.”

Sable stays silent for a moment, then swallows down whatever words bubble up to the front, holding behind her teeth. She bites a chunk out of a biscuit and angrily chews on it.

“... We may tentatively consider the matter of Sable’s past identity resolved. There is little that can be done about it that wouldn’t cross too many boundaries anyhow,” Air Groove somewhat sullenly notes. “Which still leaves us with the issue of your current legal status or, rather, the lack thereof.”

“I believe it would be for the best if we built upon the small cover story we have been using for Sable’s infirmary stay,” the Director reenters the conversation. “Sable is an Umamusume with a long-term health condition that prevented her from participating in normal life. She and Tachyon came into contact with each other over the internet. Tachyon, as she is wont to, became inspired and researched a way to heal this condition. Sable and Tachyon remained in contact during this time, cooperating and planning. Eventually, Tachyon succeeded, and helped Sable enter Tracen Academy. We’ve managed to coast by on these words alone for the past month or so, deflecting any undue attention, but an excuse will only ever be an excuse and sure won’t hold up under the scrutiny we’ll put it under.” 

She lightly smacks her fan into an open palm, mouth set in a bold grin. “But fear not! For there is an auspicious solution to all this! Neither Tracen Academy nor the URA possess the authority or privilege of being able to issue identifying documentation, true, but harmless, tiny mistakes happen all the time, yes? Sometimes we submit a student’s information into the relevant systems only to receive a call that it matches nobody already recorded, so we go on a wild goose chase across Japan’s public institutions in search of the mistake responsible. Which never takes less than too long not to interfere with said student’s career, so I end up forcing the issue at the last minute anyway, to the satisfaction of most relevant parties. Everything missing or wrong is backfilled, the case is closed and everyone moves on with their day.”

Director Akikawa unfurls her fan, ‘Enrollment!’ spelled out in black ink across it. “As Tracen Academy’s director, it would be my pleasure to welcome you as our latest student, Sable!”

Sable blinks. Enrolling here in Tracen is… Well, even ignoring the golden solution that the Director had presented it as just now, it’s the natural thing to do, right? Because Sable is an Umamusume now. And running is supposed to be her big dream now, isn’t it?

She looks down at the blanket covering her legs. Fat chance of that happening right now, but she’s recovering quickly, isn’t she? Just as Tachyon had said - just a few days of food and her upper body is already more or less functional, her muscles building themselves back up from scratch. Who is she to say that she won’t be ready to run and frolic about on the track in a week?

… Tachyon looks at her, in the middle of this stupid bout of hesitation, and offers a smile.

Sable forces the chewed up biscuit in her mouth down and breathes out. She wants a clean break? Well, here’s the best god damn chance for it she’s ever going to get in her life, right after Tachyon made everything here at all possible. 

And how many times has she fantasised herself in Tachyon’s place while she went through her fan mail, a record of her latest race running on a screen in the background, constantly on loop and available for her wandering gaze? This is her opportunity to take those silly daydreams and turn them into something real, just as she wants.

“I’d be happy to,” Sable finally says, voice unwavering. No tears prickle and sting her eyes,  and nothing gets stuck inside her throat this time, her body filled with a sudden confidence she does not believe in.

“Splendid!” The Director’s smile could outshine the sun.

“This isn’t much of a plan,” Air Groove comments, clearly wanting to say more but, as she herself said earlier, she maintains better control of her behaviour. “I suppose that we at least have a starting point, such as it is…”

“‘Unprecedented’ is an apt descriptor,” Symboli Rudolf says, sipping from her cup. “But we would have hardly taken our positions amongst the Student Council if we were not willing to do what it takes for the sake of not only our own dreams, but also those of our charges.”

Narita Brian snorts. “Breaking the law goes a bit beyond that, but sure. It’s basically routine paper pushing anyway.”

Sable feels… small, at that moment, painfully aware of just how thin the fingers of her hands are. She came here expecting a fight, a struggle where she would have to advocate for herself every step of the way. Which - why? The Student Council has as excellent a reputation as it does for a reason, and she already knew that they would help her. Everyone present had said as much during their short visits after she woke up. Sable always had their support.

More so than the traces of bitterness still left in her mouth, it’s that that makes her feel the most ashamed, washing away whatever false confidence she might have felt moments prior.

She looks down into her teacup. What is there is too little to provide a reflection, not that tea is particularly good at that anyway, but she doesn’t need the help either. Imaging what she looks like now is as easy as thinking about Manhattan Cafe, only somehow at least three times worse than even her worst days.

Bringing up a hand to sweep away some stray bangs of hair she, by habit alone, tries to run her fingers through it all, right across her scalp.

She somehow manages to hit the inside of both her ears nail first, eliciting a small yelp and concerned looks from several of the people present.

“Um, sorry. I just spaced out,” Sable quickly says. “Still not used to having these.”

“It’s quite alright,” Symboli Rudolf lets out with a small chuckle. “Ear-related incidents are a common topic when speaking of embarrassing childhood stories, tailing only behind the ones involving tails. Think of it as a part of the authentic Umamusume experience.”

“Yeah, just twenty and some change of years overdue,” her voice admits with a surprisingly honest note of sourness.

“When outside of the starting gate, ‘better late than never’ applies,” Symboli Rudolf says next, her tone and eyes kind. “Your time in Tracen Academy will be filled with brand new experiences for you, Sable. Even more so than it does for the rest of the student body.”

Sable traces the edge of her teacup with a finger. “Yeah,” she simply says. “... Thank you, everyone. For helping me.”

“Naturally.” Here, Symboli Rudolf fully smiles. “Tracen Academy serves as both a home and the launching pad to the dreams of all Umamusume. No matter how unorthodox, it would be a complete betrayal of all our values and ideals to turn you away on our door.”

Everyone else makes various sounds of agreement, adding their two cents to Symboli Rudolf’s statement.

Sable weathers their encouragement with as much composure as she can muster, eyes itching in that special way that signals that the works are about to start any minute now. 

But at least this time, she keeps them from going ahead full force.

Her life - her life really is just beginning anew, isn’t it? There’s nothing to cry about. 

She doesn’t need to cry anymore.

Chapter Text

“How did you do, Sable?” Cafe questions her the moment she steps a foot through the classroom's door.

“Perfectly well, obviously,” Tachyon offers her answer before Sable can even open her mouth. “The only purpose of these examinations is to filter out the charlatans and the stupid, neither of which applies to my Guinea-pig.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. It is basically ten or so years of schooling compressed together into a three hour slog,” she voices, a hand coming up to rub a tight spot in her neck. “Not that it was particularly hard for me either. The trainer exams here are way more demanding. Didn’t have to cram a third as much into my head here as I did then, in fact.”

Tracen Academy, being a well-managed font of chaos more than anything, has embraced the storm that comes with the generally colourful personalities of its Umamusume students. And more than just going along with flow every day, this also extends to the way it operates as a whole.

Students can be admitted and enrolled year round, and several academic programs are offered as well, ranging from a high-school general education course for the younger students to the senior course which Sable herself has picked that excludes anything non-racing related from itself.

It feels like damn near everyone aware of her situation, with the exception of Tachyon, had tried pushing her towards some form of the former, but like hell is Sable going to let herself be locked in a room with children six years younger than her at best. She earned her trainer’s license fair and square at eighteen, becoming Tracen’s youngest locally licensed trainer in the process, even if not by the most glamorous of margins on the final result. She doesn’t need to put up with any more of the education process than strictly necessary.

… Of course, any other prospective student walking in her shoes would also be able to submit proof of them having successfully completed at least their secondary level education, ensuring Tracen that their life will not be negatively impacted by their decision.

Sable, poor, sickly little person that she is, never did get the chance to enter a school, forced to rely on home-schooling before her frail health took that away from her as well. How fortunate it is then that Tracen Academy offers a comprehensive examination to evaluate the educational and intellectual capabilities of the applicants, allowing her to sidestep the bureaucratic necessities, no?

Or so the agreed upon cover story goes.

“Ah, but I’m starving, so let’s save any exam chats at least until I don’t feel like keeling over, alright?” She proposes, acutely aware of the pit in her stomach now that she can spare her attention on other things than sheets upon sheets of paper and the pen in her hand.

“Maintaining a high caloric intake is a priority right now, true. Your body has hardly even begun to adapt to the resource intensive processes involved in the employment of its potential strength and power, let alone begun developing said potential further,” Tachyon comments with a series of rapid nods. “To the cafeteria we go!”

And just like that, she marches off, heedless of the fact that neither Cafe nor Sable are following behind her.

They look at each other and shrug, entirely too used to her as a person to act surprised or overly exasperated, opting to follow her just quickly enough that she does not get out of their sight.

It’s only a few steps before the back of her borrowed jeans rubs against her tail, the appendage much livelier ever since she has started walking again. And just as Symboli Rudolf had said, the ears are a problem second only to the tail.

It took her entirely too many tries to fit it through its intended hole, and there’s no sitting position she can find that isn’t uncomfortable after a few minutes.

“... Are they uncomfortable?” Cafe notices her discomfort. 

“Mm, I’m just not used to my tail. It’s just a matter of time, I think,” she tries.

“The fit has to be near perfect, at least, or it can chafe a lot. It’s bad for the hair too if it’s too tight,” Cafe explains. “Borrowing some of Tachyon’s spares might be fine for now, but you’ll feel it a lot in a week. We should go shopping for something right for you.”

“Well. I guess I do need to buy a lot of things now. Sure, let’s go sometime,” Sable agrees after a moment’s thought. “We don’t need to hurry though. This is all fine for now.” And really, who would have believed that Tachyon being a slob who only ever wears the top three articles of clothing at the top of her wardrobe pile would be this useful?

Cafe slightly shakes her head. “No, you shouldn’t put this off. Getting race-ready is going to take up a lot of your time, and Tachyon won’t be very helpful on that front either.”

Tachyon probably isn’t going to let her have a moment of peace, true. Her latest triumph demands no less than her constant attention and interest, especially now that Sable isn’t stuck to a hospital bed anymore.

“How about this weekend?” She suggests. “I’ll be busy today, once Hayakawa-san fast-tracks the exam results to make my enrollment go through. Then there will be the dorms to deal with and all that. Only upside is, I don’t have to deal with orientation or onboarding of any sort.”

“I think I can shuffle my training schedule around for that,” Cafe agrees with a small nod.

“No, you shouldn’t. That’s too important to mess with for my sake-”

“It’s just light exercises to keep in shape,” she interrupts. “I can replace them with something else earlier or even catch up later.”

Sable stares at Cafe. “And those work best when they are constant. Messing with the regimen messes with the results too.”

“I know how to work with or around irregular exercise. Please, Sable, don’t worry about me or my career,” she argues, mouth pressing itself into a concerned line. “You’ve your own to manage now. Focus on yourself.”

“... Fine, but I do not like it, you know?” As she speaks, her eyes lock onto Tachyon’s back, watching the way her labcoat flaps behind her. There is no chance that she kept up with her training while helping Sable, from January to now in late March. 

So much time, effort and energy committed for the sake of her wellbeing instead of Tachyon’s own. The debt she feels she owes is - it’s everything, isn’t it? This whole life she can now have and enjoy… It belongs to Tachyon too.

Because the clock is ticking for her. Her career may have been stellar, one G1 race win after the other, but there are Umamusume who have managed to reach heights just as great only to be dragged back down to earth in mere moments, their abilities having hit the hard, hard limits of age and biology.

And Tachyon’s body is already more fragile than that of others. Incredibly powerful, yes, but also likely to shatter like glass if treated wrong. How much longer before it’s off to the Dream Trophy League with her at best?

… Hopefully a long time. But the three months she has just wasted sting at Sable, even as Tachyon walks forward with an unshakable pace.

But those three months have produced a complete and utter miracle.

Tachyon will be fine. She has to and can believe that she will be.

Sable can feel the downturn of her mood in the drooping of her ears and the anxious flicks of her tail, but she keeps her face composed. It may not do her much good, not until she gets both those things under control, but she still tries to seem nonchalant and unaffected. 

Fortunately for her, the cafeteria is in sight, leaving Cafe with too little space to restart the conversation and pry into her thoughts.

They hurry up a little to catch up before Tachyon gets the chance to put something in their food, the muscles in her legs not quite flaring with pain or anything like that, but even this small exertion is something they make her feel. 

“Oh, excellent, one of the corner tables is free,” she very faintly hears Tachyon say as her ears twist to better hear her, even the late-afternoon being packed enough with students of all stripes to create a constant wall of noise.

“I’ll hold the spot, don’t have a pass so can’t order food yet,” Sable quickly explains, motioning for Cafe to split off and keep an eye on Tachyon.

“Hm.” She understands the signal perfectly and follows Tachyon, leaving her to sit alone for the moment.

… Though, after only a moment, she wishes Cafe had stayed. Almost everyone here in this wide hall is wearing the Tracen Academy student uniform, forming a veritable sea of orchid violet and royal blue.

A sea from which she sticks out like a sore thumb, what with her beige jacket and simple jeans.

The stares are bearable for but a moment. Then she feels her tail and ears go stiff, beads of sweat gathering around the collar of her shirt, right where her skin will itch the most. And though she can not hear a single word said past all the noise, her mind finds it easy to conjure up a hundred unpleasant possibilities.

She sees some people do a double take, glancing at Manhattan Cafe while she waits in line then back at her.

…

Sable spaces out, at some point, with nothing else to do but sit still and bear the attention forced onto her shoulders.

It’s easy to slip into under such circumstances. 

Eventually, Tachyon’s voice pulls her back up.

“My my, Guinea-pig. Already dreaming about your victories?” Her voice is light, teasing, but those red eyes see right through her. “Ambition is good. Without concrete target figures and end goals, as well as formulated hypotheses to pursue, the waste of time and effort becomes an inevitability.”

“Can’t you let us eat?” Cafe somewhat sourly notes, having taken a seat beside Sable.

“I was just getting to that point, Cafe-kun, but very well, I will make this long story a short one. Oh, the things I do for my assistant,” Tachyon says with a bemused expression. “As I have mentioned in passing previously, the body of an Umamusume, in order to be capable of deploying the full scope of its physical performance, requires a great deal of energy to support this effort and then relies upon a high intake of resources to restore damage and fatigue. Active runners can have appetites that lead to caloric intakes of up to ten times that of an adult human at times of peak activity, with exceptions on the further end of the scale being more common than those that eat less.”

Tachyon leans on the table as she explains, propping her head up with one arm while the other wildly gesticulates through the air, the oversized sleeve flying around like a kite. She makes it easy to focus on her, as always.

“For all this to properly function a metabolism of a similar magnitude is necessary for the processing of this vast intake. Now, it should be noted that all Umamusume, regardless of the level of their physical activity, possess appetites that exceed those of healthy humans. An increase that’s typically somewhere between sixty to a full one hundred percent, most credible studies show, though I suspect that it’s higher on average than that.” A pause as Tachyon works her hand out of the oversized sleeve. She points a finger at Sable. “You, my dear Guinea-pig, fall somewhere in this range. Perhaps on the lower end owing to your still reduced total muscle mass, but overall entirely unsuited for the rigours of racing. Fortunately for you, this is an easily addressed situation - you just have to eat a lot and force your body to catch up, yes? As you well know, working with a trainee on an expanded but managed diet is one of the first objectives a trainer should see to. Few are the Umamusume who come to Tracen in full bloom, after all, and there’s no shame in admitting that you are the latest of bloomers.”

“Are you done?” Cafe asks, who, as it turns out, tuned Tachyon out at some point and got to eating. “If it’s so important you should just let her eat.”

“No, actually, I am not. Nutrition is one half - well, no, a third, you can not forget inherent genetic predispositions, of the entire equation. The missing piece so far is activity or, rather, physical exercise. Consistent physical exercise, I should note, but that is more for your benefit, Cafe-kun, than it is for Guinea-pig's,” she delivers with a smirk.

“... I think you should take your own lessons to heart, Tachyon,” Sable feels a monumental need to note, fueled by some odd three years of frustration.

“So, of course, a training regimen is in order, and one that must take the current facts into account,” Tachyon outright ignores her, as she so often does. “Namely that your body is entirely underdeveloped for the tasks at hand, not just in terms of its underlying biological mechanisms. Also that you possess no practical experience with racing or even just running, though I expect that the knowledge of a trainer will translate in some fashion. It certainly makes for an interesting case study!” She fakes a cough. “But yes, whatever form your training will take in the coming months, it can not be the near full-throttle typically employed. It would hurt you too much.”

Sable picks up her chopsticks, poking a mound of rice in a bowl. “I tried workshopping some ideas, but without knowing what I can and can not do, it was all kinds of useless. We need a trial period of some sort first, just to see.”

“My thoughts exactly. Now, I do recommend ditching whatever meaningless academic tasks you will be burdened by. I am perfectly certain that you are already acquainted with the entirety of the next three years of coursework better than anyone else in your position anyway, so you will not lose anything.”

She eyes the steaming cuts of meat arranged on a plate. “I should have the first week free, actually. Because of my ‘health condition’ and what not, so we can hit the ground running tomorrow.”

“Oh? Perfect. It would be preferable to get you started this evening, but alas. I suppose that my laboratory couch is simply not good enough for you, though it provides all the support necessary for the body to experience a restful night of sleep,” she notes with a shrug.

“... We’re also going to buy clothes and other necessities this weekend,” Cafe adds, wearily eying Tachyon.

“So I heard you discuss, yes. A Saturday should be workable as a rest day, so sort it out then, if you must. I don’t understand why you feel the need when you could just order everything online and have it delivered, but I know that you will not see the light of reason on this topic,” Tachyon bemoans. “Now eat. I’ve experiments to run if we’re not getting started today.”

She doesn’t have to tell her twice.

Chapter Text

The sun casts a toasty warmth onto Sable’s back as she rounds the corner of her last lap, her tracksuit all but eating it up and passing it onto her shirt and skin. If she wasn’t half-soaked through with sweat already, she might have cared.

Instead, she keeps her focus on her breathing, trying to keep a five-two rhythm of inhales and exhales in line with her stride. It’s not the most efficient or practical, but it’s good enough for getting her in the habit of properly controlling her breathing while running.

She maintains a constant pace, even as her muscles burn with layered aches and itches, neither speeding up nor slowing down. Getting past the proverbial finish line is more than enough for her right now, thank you very much.

Even just these last few hundred meters feel like an entire journey, never mind that she has run this exact distance many times over in just the last hour alone, but it’s her last lap for a good reason. Any more than this and she’s liable to fall on the ground from exhaustion.

“There there,” Tachyon all but pats her on the back as she finishes, less slowing down and more stumbling her way to a stop without falling. “Do your stretches first before resting. We both know it’ll feel better that way.”

Sable can only nod in response as she is too out of breath to speak, doing as advised by running her body through a very basic set of stretches meant to help her work it down without feeling like she’s been stuck in an oven, because wow, staying still hurts more than actively putting her body through the wringer.

When it feels like her joints won’t kill her after sitting down, she shambles over to the nearest bench and does exactly that, careful just enough so that she does not sit down on her tail again, each breath so heavy it feels like her lungs want to give out.

“Hmm, you seem more exhausted than estimated, though you did improve upon yesterday’s measurements. Did you push yourself too hard, or are you progressing faster than expected at the cost of additional energy?” Tachyon mutters to herself nearby, rapidly writing her thoughts down into a journal. “Perhaps you are not yet capable of recovering from fatigue overnight… But aside from personal testimony from the research subject, it is too early to identify any hypothesis as the ‘likely’ one. So, Guinea-pig! What do you say?”

“Haaah… I dunno,” she nearly wheezes out. “It’s a lot? Just barely on this side of ‘safe’.”

“Indeed, but for your regimen to have any timely effects, it must walk upon the very fine line between what’s already within your capabilities and what lies beyond them. Taking the safe road would lead to you missing the most prestigious window for your debut race in June,” Tachyon says, her features adopting a slightly sympathetic look nonetheless. “But I understand, I suppose. Pushing ever further beyond does not come easily, even when the process proceeds according to the most optimistic expectations.”

She would know best, wouldn’t she?

Which is a large part of the reason why Sable put up so little resistance to the insane training regimen Tachyon had cooked up for her, only making the most necessary of adjustments. 

Her skill in training an Umamusume lies in slow, gradual and carefully managed marathons as opposed to the neck-breaking speed Tachyon is subjecting her to. It had to develop in that direction in order for her to be able to properly train Tachyon and ensure that her needs are all being met without the risk of something irreversible.

… Ultimately, Sable has to admit that the methods she employed with Tachyon only worked because it was Tachyon she worked with. An absolutely top-grade Umamusume - no, more than just that! The top one percent of the one percent of all runners, limited only by a stroke of misfortune in her genetics, forcing her to crawl towards what should have been hers from the start.

Who is Sable compared to such a perspective? What arguments can she muster in the face of a champion like that? Against the person she now owes everything to?

“... I just have to keep going, then. Until I reach my limits,” she says after a moment of silence, breathing calm enough for fluid speech to be an option again.

Tachyon nods, a grin spreading across her face. “And when you do? We will break through them together, entering the realm of boundless potential!”

And Sable has to smile in response to that. Such is the viral capacity of Tachyon’s excitement.

“I can’t wait,” she states, turning her gaze skywards and above Tachyon’s face, watching a scant few clouds lazily roll through the sky. “But let’s make the most of this break first, alright?”

“Indeed, you do require fuel for the journey,” Tachyon notes, swinging a bag from over her shoulder and putting it down on the bench beside Sable. She opens the zipper, revealing the bounty of haphazardly stacked water bottles and various foods, from simple fitness bars to sandwiches bought in the cafeteria.

She wastes no time in grabbing one of the bottles and screwing it open, drinking from it for as long as her lung capacity allows. Then she grabs one of the packed sandwiches and gets to munching.

Because, more than just exercise, what her body needs are resources. Her transformation had apparently burned through her fat and muscles before her still state could take the first bite, sure, but the combination has turned her into a stick figure.

If she wants to look and be healthy, she has to eat thrice as much not as the sad human she had been, but as a hypothetical healthy Umamusume in her position.

If she wants to be race worthy in time for June, then she needs to eat five times as much, at the very least.

And as Tachyon had said days ago during their shared lunch, in order to see the best possible effects from both eating and training, they need to be paired closely together.

So her training regimen was made with that in mind. 

Altogether, it makes for eight hours of training every day for two days straight, followed by a rest day to give her body time to heal and grow. Tachyon had tried for a three to one ratio, but her classes would have gotten in the way of that, even with a minimally acceptable attendance rate. A two to one is a lot more workable, especially since, outside of wednesdays, a lot of her classes take place in the afternoon.

Getting a trainer of her own would let her ditch a lot more, but finding one is… impossible. ‘Never say never’, but Sable is pretty damn confident that there is not a single one she would willingly divulge her secrets to. Not one that isn’t so retired that contacting him is a miracle, anyway.

She has too many secrets for things to work out long term. And that is a problem, because Tachyon keeping just the one had made their first year and a half together more of a parody than a genuine working relationship, only changing after Sable cut right through the bullshit after Tachyon’s Satsuki Sho.

A sudden pressure on her legs breaks her out of her thoughts. “Hey!”

Tachyon, of course, pays her no mind, fingers pushing and poking this or that spot across her legs, always a little painful and sometimes ticklish. She does her best not to accidentally kick her in the face.

“Your muscles are still underdeveloped, as predicted,” she casually comments, “but in the absence of a more severe reaction to pain, I suppose that I can rule out my second hypothesis. For now, that is. You are only getting started, after all, and improvements do not come into being right here on the track. Not in muscular development.”

“Give me a warning next time,” Sable sighs. “I could have hurt you.”

Tachyon smiles. “But I know you wouldn’t.”

She resumes her munching with a small glare, watching as Tachyon steps away with a small chuckle, once more writing something down while she waits for Sable to be done.

This silence carries on for some time, the burn in her muscles lessening with every further moment, though it settles somewhere in her bones still, gone at this moment but promising to return in the near future.

And, naturally, as it goes with every quiet moment, it is eventually broken.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding!” A boisterous voice shouts out, carrying across the entire track field like a gunshot. “Isn’t this a little too small for you, Tachyon?”

Sable turns her head in the direction of the voice just in time to see one self-proclaimed rival of Agnes Tachyon, Jungle Pocket, throw herself into a sprint, closing the distance with the kind of speed and wild abandon she can only wish she had.

On instinct alone, she braces as the Umamusume nears, expecting her stop to be a lot less graceful than it ends up being - that is to say, all but flawless. It just shows that she is as green as the turf she was running on minutes prior.

“Oi, Tachyon, I’ve been trying to get to you for weeks! Calling or texting just got me the silent treatment and I couldn’t find the head or tail of you in the entire school!” Jungle Pocket launches into a ramble without hesitation, one foot stomping into the ground with enough force to kick up dust while her arms are ready to start flailing any moment. “You weren’t even in your lab when I staked it out and Cafe wasn’t telling me anything when I asked! I had to go bother that otaku roommate of yours to get anywhere, and you owe me extra for that!”

“How you wish to spend your time is none of my responsibility, Pocket-kun. You are a mature Umamusume capable of making your own decisions and judgement calls, after all,” Tachyon wryly notes, the edges of her grin peeking above the top of the notebook covering her mouth. “Although, I will extend some gratitude on behalf of my roommate. You have no doubt made Digital-kun’s entire month with your pursuit of me.”

“Don’t try talking around me, Tachyon, I’ve put up with you too long for it to work!” And here’s the arm flailing. It truly is spectacular how her limbs blur through the air, almost making her look like an octopus to the naked eye. “You snuck off after the Arima Kinen, which is like, sure, yeah, gotta recover and focus on yourself and all that, but then you kept snubbing me for damn near four months you bastard!”

Sable starts tuning them out after that, as she always has whenever Jungle Pocket starts going at it with Tachyon. It’s not worth paying much attention beyond making sure that the former doesn’t actually start a fight for once instead of just throwing insults around.

She has plenty of food left, after all, and limited time in which to eat it all, not to mention even just let it settle in her stomach. So, with the first pair of sandwiches done, she grabs the first thing her hands find in the bag and digs into the apple, feeling a satisfying crunch under her teeth.

Of course, where there is one, another always follows, and someone else interrupts her.

“Hello. Is it alright if I sit down here?” Dantsu Flame asks, showing off a small smile.

Swallowing her latest bite, she gives a hesitant nod. “Sure. Just let me eat.”

“Of course! It’s important to keep yourself stocked up while training, after all,” she says, quietly and gently lowering herself onto the bench, some distance away from Sable and the bag of food. “Ah, just looking at all this is tempting… But I can’t. I am under doctor’s orders to rest, I’m afraid, and can’t afford to put on too much weight. It can really mess with your running, you know?”

Sable does, but only in the greater, theoretical sense of working out a trainee’s hypothetical maximum performance in a race. She will experience all of it personally now, in time, and just the thought makes her stomach feel like it’s been tickled.

The apple goes from sweet to sour as she works her way further in. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

A small, quick giggle. “You don’t have to say that, but thank you.” Dantsu Flame gives Jungle Pocket and Tachyon a longing look. Sable doesn’t understand it. “I have no one but myself to blame anyway. Doing your best doesn’t matter if you just end up hurting yourself because of it. Remember to take it easy when your body tells you to, unlike me.”

She gives a slow, measured nod. “... Accidents happen to everyone. You shouldn’t be too hard on yourself because of that.”

“You’re too kind. No, as I said, this is all on me. I kept my sight planted firmly ahead of me and forgot to look down,” she somewhat explains, her gaze straying to her feet for a moment, clad in basic outdoors shoes. 

Before Sable can muster a response or really comment on that, Jungle Pocket’s shouting gets too loud to ignore.

“-since when do you train other people!? I can barely get you to run a scrimmage with me on most days!” There is outrage in that voice, sounding almost childish, but a piece of her nonetheless sympathises with it. Tachyon, for all her shining moments and qualities, is undoubtedly a handful.

“A repeated misjudgement of my timetables, Pocket-kun. Your skill and impeccable sense thereof does not seem to carry over from your racing strategy into other aspects of life,” Tachyon muses, leaning forward to inspect Jungle Pocket like she might a particularly shiny concoction. “... Perhaps you would welcome a round of testing? Several methods by which one’s sense of time is improved already exist, naturally, but for an exceptional Umamusume, an exception must be made, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jungle Pocket, being a mostly sane individual, backs up in response to that. “No way. Nuh-uh! You aren’t getting me again with this!” She shakes her head, all but screaming the word ‘No’ with every forceful turn. And then it stops with just as much force, her hair bouncing through the air, eyes landing squarely on her. “Ah, hi! Dantsu got to you before me, heh, sorry about that. Got a little too worked up here!”

She hurries over to Sable, leaning forward so as to be eye-level with her. The smile on her face is too wide. “Hello! I’m Jungle Pocket, as you might have overheard, that idiot’s over there rival! Sorry for all the noise and happy to meet you!”

Jungle Pocket stares right at her and Sable stares right back, lips all but glued together, throat unwilling to make any noise. The taste of the apple is gone from her mouth, the sweet outside as well the sourness nearer to its core.

“Could you back up?” The words are harsher than she wants them to be, but that might just be the honesty.

“Right, sorry, sorry. Tachyon got me way too fired up,” she says while doing as asked, the smile on her face gaining an apologetic edge. “Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. Gotta admit, excitement got to me and curiosity got the better of me.”

Sable sighs, ears remaining alert regardless of her wishes, tail dragging itself across the bench. “... It’s fine. It happens.”

“Thanks for the ‘no hard feelings’, yeah? Anyway! Wonder who you are? Tachyon doesn’t just up and do - yeah, no, she does just do things most of the time, but she’s never decided to train anyone before.” Jungle Pocket pushes on without hesitation, slowly inching forward without realising it.

She swallows. Her throat feels strangely dry. “My name is Sable. I’ve just enrolled, actually. Tachyon is helping me catch up.” 

“Glad to get to know you, Sable, and good luck with your career! Your debut race may be a ways off, but the time will come and go in the blink of an eye. Don’t waste a moment of it,” she says, a thumbs-up accompanying her statement.

“What a coincidentally relevant sentiment to express!” Tachyon puts her hands on Jungle Pocket’s shoulders, dragging her away from Sable. “My cute junior here only has so much time allotted for breaks in her training regimen, so I will ask the both of you on her behalf to wrap this up in a prompt fashion. Sable has the potential to become a top-grade Umamusume, if not even more, should she correctly apply herself, so it would be a terrible shame to see her obstructed. Unless you have something of substance to add, that is?”

Sable’s cheeks turn rosy from Tachyon’s words.

A laugh from beside her. “No, I think we don’t. Thank you for your time. Both of you.”

“Maaan, it’s a shame, but yeah, if we have to go, we’ll go,” Jungle Pocket whines for a moment. “But don’t think you can just slip away again Tachyon, you hear me!? I’ll get that race out of you if it’s the last thing I do!”

Dantsu Flame steps between her friend and Tachyon, holding up her hands. “Pokke, let’s leave them alone, alright? You know where Tachyon will be now, so you can agree on a race later. And we’re going to buy you some new cleats this weekend, remember?”

Tachyon’s ears perk up. “Did I hear correctly? You are planning a shopping excursion this weekend?”

“Um, yeah? What’s it to you?” Jungle Pocket gives Tachyon a dubious look.

“To me? Nothing, as always. But Cafe-kun has decided to take my Guinea-pig here shopping, to fill out her wardrobe and obtain certain essentials she is missing. Would it be possible for you to combine your efforts? I will not be accompanying her - too many experiments to run, you see - and establishing ties with other highly capable runners is only to her benefit,” she explains, giving Sable a glance as she goes.

“Well, I guess not?” Jungle Pocket and Dantsu Flame share a look. “Yeah, I think we can make it work. Yo, Sable, what do you say? Yes or nah?”

She swallows down her first response. No, she would like to just spend the day alone with Cafe, but Tachyon is probably right. Sable does need to expand her horizons a little, even if this feels like it’s too early - though, then again, these are Tachyon’s friends, right?

If they weren’t and Tachyon felt that she could not trust them, she would not have brought the idea up. No, she saw an opportunity and did not hesitate for a second to take it. All for Sable’s good.

“I’m fine with it,” she answers after a moment, forcing her mouth to smile.

“Great! Now we just have to tell Cafe and we’ll have ourselves a girl’s day out!” Jungle Pocket cheers.

That odd feeling in her stomach reappears.

… Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Tracen Academy lies on an outright idyllic slice of Tokyo, surrounded by its own training turfs and racetracks, surprisingly well insulated from the hustle and bustle of the metropolis. Not to say that it doesn’t have enough excitement of its own, but on some days, it gets easy to forget that it's right in the middle of a metropolis.

And to be honest? Sable likes it that way just fine. 

She didn’t have the best of times when she first came to Tracen Academy, let alone Tokyo. The former is something she managed to grow accustomed to and turned her attitude around on, but the latter has been forever tainted by that first bitter experience.

… The fact that she couldn’t avoid Tracen while it was very much possible for her to not step a toe outside its gates and onto Tokyo’s soil probably didn’t help. Not literally, but unless she absolutely had to go and help Tachyon with something, she was never in a hurry.

“Come on, come on! We’re almost there!” Jungle Pocket shouts over the surrounding crowd and urban cacophony, waving a hand through the air that miraculously does not strike a random passerby.

Sable herself is trying to keep her tail from doing the same, its constant swaying, swishing and flicking a public safety hazard. No stroke of misfortune yet, thankfully, but she’s not counting on her luck holding out. 

Cutting through the crowds, she keeps Jungle Pocket in her sight, Dantus Flame’s pink ear covers somewhere in her periphery while Cafe sticks close to her, a hand ready to reach out and clasp hers but denied. She’s not a child, she can make her way through a crowded street.

Well. Maybe calling it just a ‘crowded street’ is underselling the vastness of the horde they find themselves in the middle of.

There are so many people out and about on the streets that moving through them looks and feels like trying to swim through a school of fish, the pavement under their feet hidden beneath the sheer mass of bodies. It’s hard to so much take a breath without smelling someone else or the car smoke coming from the equally congested road nearby. Both manage to be unpleasant in wholly unique ways.

Yeah.

Big cities suck.

Still, avoiding an oncoming Uma, be they running or just walking, is a fairly basic expression of one’s self-preservation instinct, so it isn’t as bad as it could be, the crowd around them subtly shifting and adjusting itself Jungle Pocket’s wake, giving them an ever so slightly less claustrophobic opening.

Sable wants to sigh a breath of relief when they finally get away from it but, well…

Modi Shibuya isn’t really known for being a secret hideaway from the rigours of Tokyo’s streets, now is it?

The indeterminable mix of human noises and roaring car engines disappeared the moment they stepped inside, yet its place is also instantly taken by a deluge of chatter, laughter and pop music - the symphony of modern activity and young life, an exuberance that sounds like the clinking of metal coins - that makes her ears scrounge up in an effort to shut it out.

“Didn’t plan on coming here at first, you know? Bit above the usual price range, even for top notch racing gear, but when we asked Cafe about us four going together, she explained a little and… yeah. We’ve made the executive decision to do something a little extra and a lot nice for you!” Jungle Pocket calls out, arms wide and a toothy grin on her face.

“... Only that you’ve been stuck in the infirmary for long and need to buy your own clothes,” Cafe whispers while leaning in, reassuring her. 

Caught by surprise, all Sable can do is blink and stare at the people she is with, the chill in her cheeks bleeding away as the mall’s warm interior creeps in. 

She - did not have many expectations for this day, actually. Her life has done precious little to prepare her for this or build a base of experience she could work her way up from, but…

… Sable did not expect this.

“Thank you, really, but you don’t have to do anything like, um, this,” she falters, unaware of what ‘this’ actually is. 

“Psssh, nah,” Jungle Pocket disagrees, rolling her eyes. “Cut it with this crap - I’ve barely known you for a day and I’m getting sick of it already. You got something better in you, right? Or you wouldn’t have come to Tracen, so bear it with a little pride! … Just a little though, I still want to spoil a kouhai!”

Her eyebrows twitch at the moniker and it takes all her willpower not to outright glare, no matter how accurate or not it may be. She is older than the excitable Umamusume in front of her, though she feels that bringing that up wouldn’t achieve anything other than embarrassing her.

“Ah, ha, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’re kind of blocking the hall a little?” Dantsu Flame sheepishly interjects. “Let’s not be impolite and move a bit over there, maybe?”

Jungle Pocket rubs the back of her head with a laugh, the tips of her ears bending down for a moment, tail giving a tiny flick. “Sounds like a great idea. Hey, Cafe, you gotta go to the, uh, second floor? Let’s talk on the way up there.”

“Sure,” Cafe easily agrees.

“Sweet,” Jungle Pocket says, adjusts the strap of the bag she has slung over her shoulder, and promptly starts going.

Sable lags behind the group for a moment, mind coming to a halt again after hearing Jungle Pocket’s words, but she hurries to catch up soon. It’s just a few quick steps anyway.

She still has to resist an annoyed sigh as her tail goes wide behind her. As it moves, it brushes against the edges of the tailhole in her jeans, eliciting pin pricks of irritation at its base. Just as Cafe had said, wearing Tachyon’s clothes was coming now to bite her, even if she hasn’t worn them much, alternating between the Tracen Academy school uniform and tracksuit for the past week, though primarily the latter, both out of necessity and preference.

Oh, and just thinking about her training makes her aware of the soreness that encompasses every inch of muscle in her body, toes stretching and flexing in her shoes to push out the pain in her feet. 

And of course, now that she has reminded herself of the fruits of her labour, they might as well have become impossible to push into the back of her awareness where they had been seconds prior. Her first instinct is to slow down the pace of her steps and mind her footing, eyes flicking across the interior of the mall for something to rest on, but she does not indulge. These knots of pain don’t care whether she is moving or not, persistent in their effort to make her regret being awake, so she won’t care about them either and go about her day unimpeded instead.

But where Sable can bear one problem, another shows.

Modi Shibuya’s ground floor is all but littered with various cafe’s, confectioneries, restaurants and tea houses, their combined efforts creating an almost dizzying but incredibly enticing aroma. The conversation of her group starts going in one ear and out the other the moment she smells the freshest, richest loaf of bread of her entire life, neck twisting in the direction of the bakery, eyes locked on the trays and trays of baked goodies brought to refill the emptied displays.

Not even a full week of training in, and her appetite is already starting to mount and grow, exactly as Tachyon had predicted. The double-sized lunch she had struggled with at the start of the week went down much more smoothly yesterday, though she has to admit that being dead exhausted following her morning training played a part.

Yet, here she is, as well rested as can be and still ready to scarf down anything put in front of her at the first sign of appealing food.

… Oh, how she hopes that they can get their shopping done quickly. Jungle Pocket shouldn’t take too long to buy her cleats and Cafe should get her business finished fast too, right? Sable herself will just buy a ten of everything - shirts, pants, socks, underwear, all that - so the majority of her share of time will be spent at a cash register instead of shopping.

So, as they head up to the second floor, Sable silently bids the wonderful food she had smelt a hopefully short goodbye.

“The ninth floor is all restaurants,” Cafe notes from above her on the escalator, an amused glint in her yellow eyes. “... But we can make a stop down there. I saw some decent coffee too.”

“And I a great parfait place!” Jungle Pocket adds. “Guess we know where we’ll be rooting around for snacks!”

Being read so easily brings redness to her cheeks and energy to her tail, though she did not exactly try to hide anything. The bemused smile Dantsu Flame directs her way in lieu of any words somehow feels more embarrassing than anything she could say.

Sable glances over the edge of the railing and considers throwing herself over. It would hurt, but the Umamusume she has become is tough enough to take it on the chin, even as spindly as her body still is.

And then the escalator reaches the top, forcing her to step off and abandon any foolhardy plans of escape.

“Sable, follow me,” Cafe says, turning toward her.

“What for? Do you need me for something?” She asks, honestly confused. Is there something she needs from her last minute?

Cafe looks - no, considers her, eyes shining with reflected light as she deliberates. “... Yes,” she simply settles for, in the end.

“We will look around while you do that, alright?” Dantsu Flame pipes in. “We’re just on the second floor, but I’ve noticed a lot of good displays already. Shibuya is the real thing.”

“That it is, and this is just one shopping mall! A big one, sure, but still just one,” Jungle Pocket adds. “So you go do whatever you want to do, you hear me? You might have taken the lead, Cafe, but me and Dantsu’ll catch up!”

A small smirk. “You can try.”

The byplay flies so far over Sable’s head it gets lodged in the ceiling like a dart with its legs sticking out, leaving her even more confused, which means that when their group breaks up she blindly follows after Cafe without really thinking about it.

Moving around is a little easier here, the crowd having thinned just a little, though from what she can observe that does not matter half as much as the fact that the crowd has split up into two distinct groups: those going further up and those milling about on the second floor. It creates something of a traffic flow that can be navigated, one side of the hall filled up with people hurrying to stairs, escalators and elevators while the other can take its time looking around.

Though Cafe seems to have a destination in mind, passing through the mall without so much as a single glance at any of the shops or people around them.

Sable wishes she could get herself into the right headspace for that kind of single-minded determination. It sure would make blocking out all the noise easier, and having something else for her brain to focus on aside from the cringing of her joints would be nice too. 

She does not have to wish for much longer however, as they come to a stop at the end of the hall.

They stand before a - Sable wants to say ‘a shop’, but really, the glass windows show more of a venue than anything else, with a receptionist behind a desk and everything. ‘Happy Cleat Saloon' is spelled out in big, fancy and colourful letters above the entrance.

“It looks fancier than it actually is. The staff is pretty friendly too,” Cafe comments, staring right at her.

“... Are you getting a haircut?” She has to ask, because this just does not make sense otherwise. No, actually, it doesn’t make sense anyway. Why bring Sable along?

Cafe keeps staring at her, mouth flattening a little.

The silence between them - well, as silent as anything can be in a shopping mall - persists for several seconds, more than long enough for Sable to reconsider her words. She said something stupid, didn’t she? Or is it rude to ask a girl about-

Cafe’s quiet sigh somehow cuts its way through the air and lands right inside her ears. “No,” is all she says before suddenly taking Sable by her hands. “You are.”

“W-wait,” she stutters, caught by surprise. That seems to be happening a lot today. “Why? I don’t need one, my hair’s fine. It’s getting a bit long, I guess, but it’s not in the way yet so it doesn’t matter.” And she’s been using the shampoo Cafe lent her, which is an entire thing more than she had ever done for it before. If anything, she’s taking great care of it!

Cafe shakes her head. “Your hair’s a small mess, and you need to take better care of your tail. Brushing it just keeps it from matting more than it already has. You need to get it groomed every once in a while.” She tugs her hands. “Come on. It won’t be anything too much, just a normal rinse.”

Sable can not help but gulp, feeling a pit form in her stomach. “... Okay.”

“Don’t worry. It really won’t take long,” Cafe reassures her before heading inside.

She does not just hear the difference when the doors behind them close, but feels it as a slight sting pushing into her eardrums, punctuated by every cheery beat of the music playing inside.

“Good day! We are happy to welcome you to our establishment. Do you have an appointment, or is this a spontaneous visit?” The receptionist wastes no time in greeting them.

Cafe steps forward. “The latter. Sable needs a haircut and a tail wash. Just a quick one.”

A nod. “Then please, take the door to my right. A member of our staff should be free and capable of providing you your service.”

“Thank you,” Cafe says before walking off, still holding one of Sable’s hands.

What waits on the other side of that door is not what Sable had been expecting. The room is too large, she feels, though maybe saloons like this one just are big. She does not have the experience to know. 

One half is more or less normal - mirrors, chairs, shelves and whatnot filled with various items meant to cut and help with cutting hair. All the normal things a hairdresser needs to do their job, as well as a section filled with couches and an arm chair currently in use by several Umamusume, some with towels wrapped around their heads. Several turn Sable and Cafe’s way.

She rips her hand out of Cafe’s hold and refuses to look her in the eye, the evergrowing pit in her stomach sucking the heat out of her body.

“Hi hi!” An energetic voice intercedes, a pink haired Umamusume stepping into her vision. “My name is Glitter Glimmer! Are you our latest customers?”

“Just her,” Cafe says, pointing a finger at Sable. “A haircut and a rinse, please.”

“Something quick?” A nod from Cafe. “Perfect. I can get her sorted in under thirty minutes. Now, please come with me, Miss…?”

She swallows the thing lodged in her throat. “Sable.”

Glitter Glimmer’s smile widens. “We’ll clean your tail first, alright? That’s always what takes the most time - speaking of which, any particular requests? A style you have in mind or any products you prefer over others? Maybe a feel you’re going for?”

“Um,” is all the noise she can make, mouth and tongue feeling numb as her mind completely blanks out on every question. “I, uh, just clean it up?”

The pink-haired Umamusume hums, looking her and Cafe over. Her eyes widen. “Ah, I see! A minimalist look could work well for you with your looks. Your older sister has the classic elegant look down pat, so it’s a great contrast!”

“We’re not sisters,” Sable bites out, saliva replaced by acid. “We just happen to look alike. A coincidence, that’s all.” And she’s the one who is older!

Glitter Glimmer smoothly adopts an apologetic look, giving a small, courteous bow. “My apologies. I guess I should go back to travelling again sometime, remind myself of how large the world is. Oh! If either of you ever goes into an acting career, the other could make a pretty penny as a stunt actress or body double!”

“... Can we just get on with this?” The eyes staring at her are - uncomfortable. 

“Of course!” Glitter Glimmer claps her hands together. “You came at a great time, actually. The booths should be finished drying after we cleaned them, so come on.”

Cafe takes a step towards the couches, phone already in her hands. “I’ll wait there.”

Glitter Glimmer then leads Sable to the other half of the room. It’s lowered by a few centimetres - or maybe the regular one is elevated, who knows - with the kind of tiled floor she’d expect from one of Tracen’s locker room showers, with drains and everything. And propped against the wall are, well, booths, as the Uma hairdresser had said, though they look more like bathroom stalls than anything.

And it’s all clean and colourful and faintly smells of soap and everything, but it’s so easy to imagine the off-brown and yellow grime in the in-between white lines of the tiled floor that she has to blink and take it all in again. Somehow, the idea that there’s some hidden speck of dirt gets her heart to slow down its agitated beats. Makes her feel a little less like an out of place freak.

Stepping inside one of the booths reveals a high stool at the end, one wall lined with shelves filled with various implements and bottles while the other one has what seems to be a shower head.

Glitter Glimmer hands her a towel. She almost drops it. “Cover your legs from the back with this, okay? I’m only going to use a weak jet, but, you know, water likes to splash and neither of us wants your pants to get wet. Oh, and you don’t need to undress - just pull your pants down enough to give me free access to your tail, and remember to roll up your shirt too!”

Sable blinks. Her ears twitch. Tail swishes.

What? “Excuse me?”

That earns her a look barely a tenth as flabbergasted as her own. “Ah, is this your first time? Don’t worry, this is nothing untoward - we’re all Umamusume here! If it helps, think of this like a public bathhouse, okay?” Glitter Glimmer explains with a kind smile that sets her teeth on edge. “I’m going to give you some privacy now, alright?”

And just like that, she walks out, closing the door behind her and leaving Sable to… well. Come to a decision.

Which isn’t much of a decision in the end, all things considered. Glitter Glimmer said it herself, didn’t she? They are all Umamusume here, Sable included.

So she’ll bear with it. It’s part of her life now, and while she hates having it sprung on her like this, she should feel thankful that she can get it out of the way quickly. If Cafe had warned her in advance then she would have stressed a lot more about this, so treating this situation the same as ripping off a bandaid is for the best, right? Even if she wants to punch something right now.

With a heavy sigh, she looks at the towel in her hands and throws it over the stool. She’ll adjust it later, after she’s done with squirming her tail through her jeans and underwear, which is an entire task since she still doesn’t know how to get it to listen to her.

But getting it out is simpler than getting it in, so it doesn’t take her the same ten minutes as it did this morning - oh, right, she’ll have to get it back inside too, great, she hates this more with every minute…

Eventually, she works up the courage to pull her pants down to just above her thighs and sits herself down on the stool, the towel pushed forward so that enough of it hangs over the edge to cover the back of her legs, as Glitter Glimmer had said. 

It’s - it feels embarrassing. Downright humiliating, even, but she let her chance to say ‘no’ pass her by… Well. Months ago, really, and now Sable is reaping what she has sown for herself.

A knock. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she forces herself to say.

Glitter Glimmer enters, steps soft as she walks up to Sable. “I’ll start by rinsing your tail. And don’t worry about splashing me by accident, I put on my raincoat!”

The wisdom in that decision is proven the moment the cold water hits her, sending her tail on a reflexive upward arc. Her face burns red.

When she could walk again, she thought that that was the end of the indignity. How foolish of her.

Unwilling to bear the embarrassment any more than needed, she lets herself space out, Glitter Glimmer’s commentary of the tail grooming process barely reaching her ears. 

First a rinse, then the actual cutting and cleaning. Apparently her tail’s already matted on the inside, which explains the knots she always feels when running her hands through it.

As she works through that, scissors clipping away whenever her tail stays still, the topic of what she wants done with her hair comes up. Glitter Glimmer suggests a bob cut, and she just agrees, having nothing in mind herself. Besides, those are short, right? That should be easy to take care of.

Once her tail hair is all cut and adjusted, ending in a short, blunt finish that Glitter Glimmer brought up as the first option, it goes through a proper wash before the hair dryer gets brought in, a shampoo and conditioner combo that leaves her smelling faintly of blueberries. 

Something like relief knocks on the inside of her glass-like pane of perception when she finally steps down onto the wet ground. Glitter Glimmer had left at some point, leaving her alone to struggle with her tail.

Sable forces it through its intended holes without much deliberation or gentleness, in the end. It hurts and scratches, but she feels too exhausted to care. It twitches with discomfort as she steps out of the booth, not caring about the wet hair sticking to the soles of her shoes.

Following after Glitter Glimmer, she sits herself down on a chair and tries to look everywhere but at the mirror in front of her, reserving the reflection it offers only the very least of her attention. 

Getting a haircut is a much quicker affair than her tail, though her restless ears make it take a little longer than it should. Glitter Glimmer had to put these tie-like things around their base to get them to stop their constant twitching. They were uncomfortable and coarse against every movement, but she bore with the treatment.

And then, she left, Cafe in tow. Someone paid for the saloon’s services, though she is not sure which of the two of them exactly.

The mall’s sound - talking, music, laughing, walking, beeping, running, whirring, clicking - crashes into her the moment the doors open, slamming against the inside of her ears like a sudden rise in altitude, striking at her eardrums until they feel too large for their little ear holes. 

It should not feel as overwhelming as it does, some small part of her notes. The cheering crowds that accompany even the least of the graded races manage decibels much greater than the cacophony that is making her cringe right now.

… Maybe her training has exhausted her more than expected, the malaise digging deeper and differently than just aching muscles.

It’s a nice, neat explanation.

She welcomes it with open arms, even if its embrace feels cold.

Cafe drags her along behind her, meeting up with Jungle Pocket and Dantsu Flame. They all say all the appropriate things; the greetings, the compliments, the choice of which shop to go to first and why.

Dantsu Flame hands her something - ear covers attached to a headband much like her own, but in a simple, soft black instead of her pink. ‘I think they’d look great on you!’ She thinks is said, the words half lost in the shuffling crowds around them and the accompanying smile blurry in her unfocused vision.

She looks at the headband loosely held in her left hand.

It seems to be just the right size for her head and ears, picked out by a truly discerning pair of eyes. The shade of black would stand out against her hair, but maybe not in a bad way. It’s a little blueish, almost, when placed under the light. Trying it on wouldn’t hurt, at least.

Her ears droop from recent discomfort.

… Some other time. She doesn’t want anything on her ears right now.

Sable says as much, to the disappointment of both Dantsu Flame and Jungle Pocket, but they do not push her. 

They do drag her off to one of the shops on the second floor immediately after, though.

She doesn’t mind it as much as she thinks she should, finding it easy to lean into the storm of ideas and fantasies about which outfit and set of clothes will suit her best and which they have guessed she might like.

And of course, when she finally comes face-to-face with said assortments, she can not find even a third of the excitement that everyone else seems to show and feel. Even Cafe’s subdued demeanour by far outshines her lacking reactions.

Shirts that come in styles Sable didn’t even know existed until now and a half-a-dozen skirts she is entirely unfamiliar with get passed into her numb arms in what feels like the blink of an eye, with socks of varying lengths, jackets, pants, jeans, blouses, dresses and every other article of clothing following soon after.

The pile grows large enough to reach her chin by the time she is shuffled off to a stall to try it all on.

She almost drops it after the curtain is drawn. A thin sheet of fabric is all that keeps her hidden from the outside world, providing more of a veneer of privacy than any true measure of it, yet she finds herself breathing easier nonetheless. 

Finally she has a moment to herself away from it all, even if she can not point a finger at what that ‘all’ actually is.

There’s a low shelf on one side of the stall, wide and long enough to take the pile of clothes from her arms. Getting to look at the whole of it instead of just the top reveals that it’s even more of a mismatched mess than she thought.

… But no matter how dismissive she might want to be, she can not take her eyes off of it. A streak from a purple shirt catches her attention, the edge of a sleeve adorned with a simple, embroidered pattern. The white hem of a skirt right under it attracts another look, seeming so soft her fingers want to touch it.

Sable wants to touch it and feel it on her own body.

It’s not that different from the Tracen student uniform she has worn already. Nothing to be excited over.

But this is - this is supposed to hers, right? Her own choice to wear it, not the result of an annoying dresscode. Just Sable, alone in this stall. No Tachyon looking over her shoulder and no strangers whose gazes she might be forced to withstand. Nothing and no one to dictate what she should and should not do, should not be.

That’s everything she has ever wanted. This freedom.

… It feels scary.

But that’s hardly anything new for her in life.

So, gingerly, she pulls the skirt out of the pile, straightening it out once it's out. Then, she turns towards the mirror she has been ignoring so far, holding it up to her waist, the hem resting somewhere above her ankles.

Seeing in the reflection is the last splash of cold water she needs to let the world come into full focus again. 

Her black hair, cut short to just above her jawline, hangs off her head with the usual fresh-after-a-haircut awkwardness, needing just a few millimetres of length more to look right. The ears that stand above it, the hair on them trimmed just so, appear the cleanest they have in their short existence. 

And her now yellow eyes, so delightful that she imagines them in shades of gold, stare back at her from her reflection half-lidded.

Sable opens them fully, lifting those lazy eyelids of hers. It makes her look stupid, she thinks, to be so wide-eyed, almost like a deer about to be run over at a minimum of eighty kilometres an hour. 

Or maybe it’s that looking like someone who is alive instead of a corpse ready for its burial just feels unfamiliar.

A small, hopeful smile comes to life on her face, her tail wagging behind her.

“... Sable. Can I come in?” Cafe’s voice makes it to her ears.

She watches the smile slip right off.

Closing her eyes, she lets out a harsh breath. Then, “Sure.”

One barely muttered ‘excuse me’ later, Cafe stands behind her, right by the curtain and to the right of Sable herself, their reflections standing perfectly side by side. Like this, it’s painfully easy to see why someone might mistake them for siblings - no matter how much she hates admitting that - and impossible to miss all that makes them different.

Cafe, as Glitter Glimmer had said, carries in her looks a simple elegance, the frilled shirt and polished shoes giving off a cute but not overly so air, her checkered skirt held up by a belt lending a mature tone, the cascade of her long hair disappearing behind her shoulders.

Sable, on the other hand, wears the most bland outfit she could have put together, not to mention that it is borrowed from someone else. Where Cafe stands with her back straight, she reflexively slumps, drawing her shoulders inwards to hide herself. 

The taste of bile tickles the back of her tongue, wholly imagined but so much more potent for it. “What do you want?” She asks without turning around, keeping her eyes on the reflections in the mirror.

Cafe shuffles her feet, tail swishing behind her, pushing against the curtain. “Is today… too much?”

Her throat tightens, but she stubbornly keeps her silence.

“... When Pokke and Dantsu asked me if it was alright to come along, I, well… I wanted something more. For you, yes, but also myself,” she explains with clear hesitation. “Being alone is something I’m fine with. But I still want to spend more time with them… Sorry. I should have understood that you would be uncomfortable.”

“Tachyon suggested it, and I agreed.” What she lets go unsaid is that the only reason she agreed is because it was Tachyon who brought the idea up. If it had been Jungle Pocket, Dantsu Flame or even Cafe herself, she would have said no without regrets. But the words won’t come out as kindly from her mouth - the part of her that’s the oldest wants its pound of flesh, ready to spit venom at the first opportunity given, as always. Turning her back on others comes naturally, almost as easy as breathing. So she leaves it all unsaid.

She looks into the eyes of Cafe’s reflection.

Sable will not do that to her. Never.

“Tachyon,” Cafe begins with a measured tone, “can be an idiot. Even when - no, especially when she has good intentions.”

She resists a grimace at those words. Tachyon didn’t fail; Sable has. She should be making connections with powerful and skilled racers, not moping over a skirt she wants to wear. 

“But coming to Modi was my idea, so… Yeah. We can leave right now, if you want. I’ll explain it to my friends,” she extends an offer.

Sable shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. I do need new clothes. Might as well get them now. And,” she struggles to find the words for what she wants to say, searching for a method that won’t have her voice coming out poisoned. “And, you… shouldn’t feel sorry. You wanted to do something nice for me and I - I’m a downer, you know? Jungle Pocket caught onto that pretty fast.” 

“I don’t think that’s true,” Cafe immediately disagrees. “You’re a nice person, Sable. With how much you have helped Tachyon and how much you care about each other, you can’t be anything else.”

… She can not keep looking into Cafe’s eyes after that, reflection or not. Her head and ears droop, a vulnerable feeling nesting itself inside her exposed back and along the ridge of her spine. But there’s nowhere to safely run away.

“Aha, I guess my training’s been exhausting me more than I thought!” The screech of a car coming to a halt from top speed would be less conspicuous than what she just tried. “I’m not all that sharp right now. Sorry that I am the way that I am but. Yeah. I need that training to catch up,” her voice hitches at the end, going up in pitch entirely against her will, the excuse she so hurriedly made up striking a much more tender cord then the one she wanted to protect.

“That’s not right,” Cafe does not buy it for a second. “You don’t have to lie to me. If you’re uncomfortable, then it’s fine if we leave. Nobody wants to force you to be here. And if you really are that tired, then calling things early would be for the better too.”

Her fingers clench around the skirt still in her hands. No. “No, I have to be here. You said it yourself, right? That there would be a lot for me to deal with?” Sable sucks in a breath, sharp enough to cover the desperation. “Well? This is some of that. Taking care of my tail, buying clothes that fit me… Fine, I’ll be honest! I’m nervous! I really didn’t like it at the saloon! But it all has to happen at some point, right!? And I also don’t want to keep abusing Tachyon’s generosity, so I have to suck it up and adjust!”

Some instinct or reflex fortunately keeps her volume down, even as emotions bubble towards the surface in an unstoppable ascent and conscious control slips away from her. She wants to break something, feel it crumble into splinters in her palms and hear it shatter against the ground and echo into the aches in her bones. 

The soft fabric gives nothing for her budding rage as fuel.

“And I, I want to do all this! Because this is the life I have always wanted! I don’t want to waste any more time than I already have by not living it!” So many butterflies flutter through her stomach that she feels sick, gut churning and twisting until the bile at the back of her throat becomes very real.

It recedes as fast as it came, but she does not dare open her mouth again. Her heart beats so loudly in her ears she wouldn’t be surprised if Cafe could hear it anyway.

Silence holds in the wake of her outburst. 

Sable shuts her eyes and focuses on breathing and nothing else in that interim moment.

“... I also said I wanted to help you, Sable,” Cafe says in a voice so soft it can not be said to have broken the silence. “Even if I don’t know what exactly that entails or understand it… That hasn’t changed. But I don’t want to see you hurt, and not just because you and Tachyon are both hell bent on flying down the track without a care for the consequences.” The shuffling of feet. “... You deserve this chance. I believe it. And you deserve to enjoy it too.”

“I want that too,” she mutters, feeling horribly unsteady. “I just can’t do it if, if…!”

She feels the faint trace of an embrace across her shoulders, less the sensation of being touched and more a faint breeze. She hates it, but doesn’t protest against it.

“It’s alright, Sable,” Cafe tries to comfort her. “Before Tachyon made that potion… I can’t imagine what it must have been like, to know your dreams are impossible. So I guess I understand why you want to hurry, even if just a little… You know you have to pace yourself in every race, right? Trying to go as fast as you can all the time doesn’t work, since you just exhaust yourself way before the finish line. Well, I basically marked you and forced you today… Sorry. It’s still true. You probably feel like you can’t enjoy this until you pass that finish line, but trying to take it all when it’s making you uncomfortable won’t work out. Just setting a pace for yourself, no matter how fast or slow, isn’t enough - you have to adjust it on the fly. So, yeah…” Cafe lets out an audible sigh, tinged with its own sort of discomfort and awkwardness wholly separate from her own. “Do you want to go? You don’t have to force yourself to stay out of any obligation, to us or yourself.”

‘Yes’ is the word Sable hopes would jump off of her tongue. A quick and painless way to squirm out of this ordeal, an escape route away from her own stupid decisions and dumber emotions she can’t handle. She wants to run away, feet beating against the ground with all the might her maligned muscles can muster.

Nothing spills from her lips. Silence envelops her.

… She has argued against it at first, and Cafe isn’t wrong.

She does want to make it to that nebulous ‘finish line’ as soon as she can. But she can’t even see it in the first place because, again, Cafe isn’t wrong. She both knew that there would be bumps on this wondrous road and that they would come at her from nowhere. Rough terrain is something she is quite acquainted with, after all, as are risks.

She shouldn’t be rattled.

Yet she is.

And everything said only casts more and more light on those cracks she thought she could ignore, growing so bright that it washes all colours into such a star white even her covered vision stings from it.

That imaginary sting sparks very real irritation, a momentary flash of bored memories. White walls, white sheets, white light.

Sable opens her eyes again.

Yellow eyes and black hair are the first things she sees. 

Her yellow eyes and black hair.

Just a girl holding up a skirt to her waist to see how it will look.

“That’s not right,” Sable whispers, turning her face towards Cafe. The Umamusume still stands right by the curtain, having not moved an inch save for the nervous tick of moving her feet around. “I’m not forcing anything. Maybe - maybe I rushed things today a little, but that’s because I didn’t expect it at all.” A small grin tugs at her lips. She can’t tell if it’s fake or not. “... Give me a warning next time.”

Cafe nods. She still looks uncertain.

She does not feel lighter or better in the wake of her admission, the swirl of emotions still going strong enough to wash over the physical pains in her body. But she managed to get her head above the waters, and sometimes, that has to be enough, even if only in just the moment.

“Calling it quits over this would be,” she almost says ‘stupid’, but manages to change direction at the last second, instead saying, “a shame, wouldn’t it? I do want to enjoy this, since you’ve given me the opportunity.”

“... Then,” Cafe begins, voice regaining a modicum of the confidence she presented moments ago. “What do you want to do?”

The grin trembles. Fake after all. “I want a few minutes, first,” Sable says just loudly and clearly enough for the words not to be a whisper.

“Sure,” Cafe nods again, ready to step out.

“I’ll need help with all that,” she hurriedly adds, gesturing in the direction of the clothes pile. “And I think I want to go back down after this. Get something to snack on, you know?”

A small, understanding smile. “Sounds good.”

The curtain gives a light rustle as Cafe leaves, giving Sable her desired moment of privacy. 

A part of her wants to scream, force the tension out of her nerves in the only way she has ever known, but she keeps a lid on it, forcing herself to relax little by little, the soft fabric of the skirt in her hands the perfect thing to focus on.