If Special Week had been replaced by someone else—say, Tokai Teio or Agnes Tachyon—and they’d acted and spoken this way to him, Kitahara Sota would probably already be plotting his escape.
But Special Week was different.
For one thing, she was just an airheaded dummy. For another, there was their shared past.
Unlike with Oguri Cap, Kitahara had first met Special Week in the countryside, even earlier than he’d met Oguri, right when his reputation had just started spreading.
Back then, he and Eclipse had just finished cleaning out one town’s granaries, and seeing the dwindling supplies, decided it was time to find another place to “raid.” That was how they’d arrived at Special Week’s village.
Though the place didn’t even have a local Tracen Academy or a proper Uma Musume training facility, there was still a surprising number of Uma Musume living there. With vast farmland, abundant produce, and low prices, not to mention no transportation costs, it quickly caught Kitahara’s interest. He prepared to stock up thoroughly and spread word of his presence.
That was when he’d met Special Week.
Actually, their first meeting had been a misunderstanding.
Special Week’s adoptive mother had come down with a high fever, and Special Week, worried sick, heard from someone in the village that hanging three carrots by the door could summon a certain helpful person. She’d done exactly that, and ended up staring blankly at the confused Kitahara when he showed up at their doorstep.
“Are you the one who’s sick?”
“No, it’s my mom.”
“Is your mom an Uma Musume?”
“No, she’s human.”
Then why the heck are you asking me? Call a doctor!
Despite grumbling internally, since he was already there, he gave her a small amount of a stamina potion, disguised as a fever remedy, and had Special Week give it to her adoptive mother.
As for payment, since it was just a mild fever that would naturally subside anyway, and noticing the family didn’t seem very wealthy, Kitahara didn’t ask for anything. He hurriedly left for the next house to continue his grain collection.
What he didn’t expect was for Special Week’s adoptive mother, upon hearing about it, to find him the next day after recovering. Initially, she’d just wanted to thank him, but upon seeing him, she realized something wasn’t quite right.
“Where are your parents?”
“Dead, long ago.”
“You live alone?”
“I have a younger sister staying at her school. She’s an Uma Musume.”
“…You support her?”
“Yeah. Is that a problem?”
Kitahara thought it was just casual small talk, quickly forgetting about it.
Yet, early the next morning, his door was knocked upon, and there stood Special Week’s adoptive mother, carrying a neatly packed lunch box. She insisted it was payment for the medicine, though it was obvious she just wanted an excuse to help him out.
Kitahara didn’t refuse—he wasn’t against saving effort, and Special Week’s adoptive mother was an excellent cook.
Later, since her mother had to work, Special Week took over the task of delivering meals, as their house was conveniently on her way to school.
Thus, over time, she naturally became his friend.
In fact, his only friend.
Why?
Special Week was too airheaded, and the other young Uma Musume felt embarrassed around her. Though they never outright bullied her, they mostly avoided her. Meanwhile, human kids rarely played with Uma Musume due to their fragile bodies, making interactions even rarer. Even her teachers weren’t particularly fond of her, as her hopelessness at academics wasn’t something new—it was innate.
Therefore, after befriending Kitahara, she spent nearly all her free time with him. Even if he was busy, she’d trail behind him like a little shadow, following him persistently unless explicitly told to leave—sometimes even skipping class just to stay close.
Had the story ended here, it would’ve been a simple, warm tale of friendship between two lonely youngsters.
But life was rarely so gentle. Into this peaceful story came a splash of crimson blood: an incident known as an “Uma Musume Hunt.”
Just as it sounded, these were criminals who hunted Uma Musume as if they were wild animals.
True, many loved Uma Musume, and countless laws and protections shielded them. With their innate strength and blessings from the Three Goddesses, accidents involving Uma Musume were rare, let alone kidnappings.
But it was exactly their rarity that made them valuable.
Thus, the profession of Uma Musume hunter emerged.
Cities were off-limits—filled with surveillance and vigilant citizens who’d gladly give hunters a beating before police even arrived. Larger towns were also out, thanks to Uma Musume patrols, whose senses and tracking abilities meant capture, or worse, death.
This left villages as prime targets.
To avoid powerful, fully grown Uma Musume, hunters specifically targeted young, innocent children.
At that time, Special Week fit all their criteria perfectly.
And so, naturally, she vanished.
Strangely enough, at the same moment she disappeared, the young trainer named Kitahara Sota vanished too.
Some villagers theorized Kitahara had run off with Special Week, but those he’d helped before insisted it was impossible. Special Week’s adoptive mother was especially adamant about this.
Half a month later, when everyone had lost hope, Kitahara emerged from the forest carrying Special Week, both looking a bit battered.
“We were attacked by hunters, but managed to escape,” Kitahara explained, and Special Week agreed. No one questioned their story.
The routine followed—authorities were alerted, the mountains searched. They did indeed find the hunters Kitahara described.
But only pieces.
They’d apparently suffered some kind of horrific accident, torn apart by wild animals.
After returning, Special Week, traumatized by the ordeal, clung to Kitahara constantly for half a month. She couldn’t even sleep unless he was nearby.
Counting the days spent lost in the forest—mostly due to Kitahara’s terrible sense of direction, as his awful system didn’t even have a mini-map—Special Week had spent nearly a month sleeping in his arms. Rubbing her hair had just been something he’d done out of boredom.
Later, as he’d done many times before, Kitahara abruptly vanished, leaving no trace behind.
Admittedly, it was rude of him—he should have at least said goodbye, especially after receiving so much kindness. But he’d genuinely been in trouble at the time, forced to flee hurriedly without a proper farewell. Later, embarrassed, he’d simply allowed it to become another lost connection.
And now, here they were again.
Looking down at Special Week, gazing up at him from his lap with wide, puppy-dog eyes practically begging for cuddles, Kitahara twitched slightly.
Given her usual obliviousness, and considering how long ago those events were, he’d expected her to have forgotten most of it by now. She usually forgot yesterday’s homework overnight, and even heavy criticism rarely stuck with her—sometimes he genuinely wondered if she had a goldfish’s memory.
Yet, despite this, Special Week apparently remembered him clearly, treating him exactly as she had back then.
Maybe she’d simply been waiting for an opportunity to act spoiled again.
If it had been any other Uma Musume, his heart rate would’ve easily surpassed 120 by now.
But this was Special Week—the dummy whose head was filled only with carrot juice, known famously as JP’s chief airhead.
Kitahara felt no panic, just mild helplessness and nostalgia.
Sighing, he reached out and firmly lifted Special Week from his lap, setting her upright again.
“As you said—that was then, this is now.”
“…Is there a difference?” Special Week tilted her head, puzzled.
“Of course,” Kitahara replied seriously.
“You’re a big girl now. You can’t act like that anymore.”
She definitely was a big girl.
Though airheaded, Special Week’s appetite had given her a remarkably well-developed figure, soft and slightly plump, almost “juicy,” one could say.
And due to her sheltered upbringing, Special Week was clueless about certain boundaries, accidentally placing herself rather carelessly.
Physical reactions were inevitable.
He noticed her slight disappointment, but between hardening his heart and dealing with another awkward “hardening,” Kitahara decisively chose the former, quickly pushing her back onto the sofa.
Thankfully, she didn’t resist.
Even though Special Week was among the strongest Uma Musume physically, as she’d once told him, she trusted Kitahara implicitly, willing to follow any command he gave without question.
Noticing this obedience, he was sure her feelings toward him were purely innocent trust, not mixed with ulterior motives, which was precisely why he felt safe with her.
A childlike personality, airheadedness, a foodie, obedient, and the heroine of the infamous “Tracen Photo Album”—surrounded by romantic entanglements…
The number of “buffs” she had was genuinely astounding—far beyond even Oguri Cap—making it virtually impossible for anything to go wrong.
Though she’d briefly rattled him, looking at Special Week’s earnest, innocent gaze made it impossible to feel wary.
Still, maintaining a safe distance was essential. Basic professionalism.
Seeing her hug a pillow pitifully on the sofa, Kitahara repeatedly reminded himself not to follow in Mitsuo Taishi’s overly soft-hearted footsteps, deliberately looking at his phone instead.
Yet…
“Uuu…”
Special Week let out a sad, puppy-like whimper.
Kitahara was silent for a moment, then sighed.
“Alright, fine. I’ll play with you—but no more pouncing. You’re a big girl now, got it?”
Special Week’s eyes instantly sparkled, her tail shooting straight up.
“Got it!”
Kitahara sighed again and moved to sit opposite her, preparing to ask what she wanted to play. But as he looked up, he noticed something strange.
Weird… Has her hair gotten a bit longer just now?
“…Sato-san? Is there something on my face?”
“No, nothing,” Kitahara shook his head. “Your hair just seems to have grown a bit quickly.”
“Ah, that.”
Special Week touched her hair curiously.
“Actually, Suzuka measured it for me. Somehow it’s grown nearly a centimeter in four days…”
“Did you eat anything strange lately? Or is Tachyon messing with you?”
“No… nothing strange, and Tachyon-san hasn’t given me anything…”
They chatted briefly, dismissing it quickly after Kitahara’s checks confirmed nothing suspicious.
Probably just typical teenage growth spurts, given how much she eats.
Putting that minor mystery aside, Kitahara began earnestly entertaining Special Week with a game, gently smiling as her excitement grew.
—
This is a fan translation of 人在特雷森，专职摆烂 by 多功能复读机 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
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