When it came to Tamamo Cross, she too was an old acquaintance of Kitahara Sota.
Like most Uma Musume Kitahara had crossed paths with, Tamamo was a child from the countryside. Just like Oguri Cap, she had been promoted from a regional Tracen to the main campus through special exception.
Only, unlike Oguri Cap, Kitahara didn’t share a deep bond with Tamamo.
They had met briefly, he had helped her once, and then they went their separate ways. Altogether they had only spent a few days in each other’s company. No contact afterward—just a passing acquaintance.
Even so, Kitahara remembered Tamamo far more vividly than most.
The reason was simple: Tamamo Cross’s family was crushingly poor.
The countryside was never affluent, but even among the poor, Tamamo’s family stood out as destitute.
How poor?
When Kitahara went to help them, he didn’t even take the three carrots hanging on the doorframe. On the contrary, he left behind a portion of food he’d collected while helping other families.
But poverty wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was that within such poverty was born Tamamo Cross—an Uma Musume with exceptional talent.
On the surface it sounded like fortune. With such talent, she could change her family’s fate. After all, one win at a top race could award enough prize money to lift her household out of poverty overnight.
But that depended on her being able to grow strong enough to reach that stage.
As Kitahara had said to Grass Wonder two weeks ago, being an Uma Musume was an exorbitantly expensive pursuit.
Training equipment, nutrition, clothing, shoes, horseshoes, racewear—everything cost money.
The greater the talent, the higher the demands: better facilities, richer diets, proper footwear and attire, even custom-tailored decisive outfits.
But Tamamo’s family couldn’t even guarantee daily meals.
When Kitahara first stepped into their home, he immediately understood: their greatest problem was simply poverty. But he himself had no solution—he was already struggling to cover Eclipse’s meals, much less feed another family.
All he could do was solve the immediate issue they’d asked for help with, leave them some food, and move on.
So, despite her natural brilliance and sheer effort, Tamamo only managed to gain admission to a regional Tracen.
And yet, compared to her household, the regional Tracen was heaven. Conditions there, though inferior to the main campus, at least gave her room to grow.
She fought her way upward, eventually earning a place at the main Tracen Academy.
But there was a problem. She and Oguri Cap were in the same year, both awaiting their debut races in the coming semester. No competitions yet meant no income.
And even if prize money came later, the scars of her poverty were still etched into her body.
“Too small an appetite compared to the average Uma Musume. Growth delayed from years of poor nutrition. Lingering issues from training in bad shoes and with subpar equipment…”
Komata Hajime, being less experienced than Kitahara and only recently assigned to Tamamo, hadn’t yet spotted these things. She only felt Tamamo’s condition seemed “off.” So she reached out to Kitahara—the “wish-granting machine” who had once known Tamamo—to take a look.
Kitahara, with his past knowledge and current sharp eye, needed only a glance at the training Tamamo was doing to identify her problems.
But that wasn’t all.
According to Hajime, Tamamo’s mental state had been faltering too.
Her family had taken on debt to support her racing dream.
Thanks to the Three Goddesses’ cultural reverence, her village hadn’t forced them into high-interest loans. The debt was just from neighbors, with no pressure and no interest, only good faith: Pay us back once Tamamo makes it big. Just treat us to a feast or two someday.
But Tamamo’s parents were honest, simple folk. Even without collectors breathing down their necks, owing money gnawed at their conscience.
And though they never complained to Tamamo, she was no fool. Growing up poor had made her prematurely mature. She knew.
The thought that her training meant more expense on her parents weighed on her heart, to the point of dampening her training spirit.
“I tried what I could,” Hajime said, “I applied for poverty aid from the Chairwoman on her behalf. But Kitahara-san, you know as well as I do… for an Uma Musume with top-tier talent, the resources she needs can’t possibly be covered by a mere stipend.”
If she could, Hajime would’ve poured her own money into Tamamo, buying her the gear and food she needed, and just waiting for Tamamo’s winnings later to pay her back.
But Hajime herself only earned base pay in earlier years as an assistant trainer. Her current tantou was just a mid-tier runner with modest winnings, most of which went home. She couldn’t bankroll Tamamo.
She wasn’t telling Kitahara this to ask him for money—she was just venting to a trusted friend about a difficult case.
But Kitahara fell into deep thought.
Truth be told, he had always liked Tamamo. Before joining Tracen officially, he’d even considered her as a possible tantou.
Because she was safe.
Not the kind of “safe” that meant silly or easygoing like Special Week or Oguri Cap. No—her safety could be summarized in one phrase:
She was normal.
In fact, almost too normal.
She’d complain about why the cafeteria was still self-serve when they had gluttons like Oguri Cap and Special Week eating them bare.
She’d mutter that Tracen Academy felt more like a matchmaking agency than a school.
She even once ribbed Symboli Rudolf for her bad habit of making awful puns.
If not for the worry that Tamamo’s presence might draw Super Creek’s suffocating motherly love into his team, Kitahara would have seriously considered recruiting her.
And beyond being “normal,” Tamamo’s personality was exactly his type.
Despite hardship, she never once blamed her birth. She stayed cheerful, optimistic, grounded.
Because of her upbringing, she was mature, considerate, capable of handling housework, looking after others, understanding feelings.
Compared with the little tyrants he’d had to wrangle, Tamamo made Kitahara feel like crying in relief.
So after a brief pause, he resolved he couldn’t just leave her be.
At the very least, he’d lend her whatever support he could. Maybe it would even soothe the wounds left on his soul by all those “little ancestors” he’d been saddled with.
But unlike Manhattan Cafe, Tamamo already had a trainer.
She’d already promised Hajime she’d sign with her officially after her debut. Kitahara couldn’t just snatch her away. He needed Hajime’s consent to get involved at all.
So he looked at her seriously.
“Hajime-senpai, if you don’t mind… could I help out a little as well?”
Sen… senpai…
If Hajime were an Uma Musume, her tail would’ve been wagging furiously.
The truth was, the reason she got along so well with Kitahara and visited him so often wasn’t only to dodge Super Creek or trade trainer knowledge—it was also because of how he treated her.
Because of her childlike appearance, everywhere she went, people treated her like a kid.
Tracen’s work culture was relaxed, more friends than hierarchy, except for legends like Kudou Kazuya.
But for Hajime, this stripped her of all authority.
She was a senior, experienced and competent, and yet… her appearance screamed middle schooler.
Even newcomers had trouble respecting her. Often they treated her as a peer—or worse, a child.
She didn’t hate them for it—she knew they meant no harm. She’d long grown used to it.
But as an adult woman nearly thirty, she too had needs. She wanted respect. Trust.
And then came Kitahara Sota.
Even after seeing her with his own eyes, he earnestly, sincerely called her senpai.
Especially when he’d entrusted his team to her temporarily—every “Hajime-senpai” from his lips was steeped in respect and trust. It had nearly moved her to tears.
For years, because of her face, not even Uma Musume treated her like a real trainer. She was a mascot, at best.
But Kitahara was different. He didn’t care about appearances. His voice when he called her senpai was real, and he’d relied on her genuinely.
This—this was the junior she’d always dreamed of.
So Hajime cherished Kitahara’s respect deeply, never hesitating to support him. She wanted him to lean on her more, to let her look after him, so she could savor the feeling of being treated like an adult—of hearing “senpai” again and again.
So this time, even though Kitahara was asking to step into her case—sensitive, since Tamamo hadn’t debuted or signed yet—Hajime agreed instantly.
Why?
He called me senpai!
What better reason could there be?
Tantou could be replaced. But a junior who respected and trusted her this sincerely? Tracen had only one.
Besides, Hajime wasn’t entirely confident she could raise Tamamo alone. Kitahara had already produced two supernovae, kept Agnes Digital on his team, and his feats spoke for themselves.
If Tamamo chose to follow him one day, Hajime wouldn’t be able to object.
Kitahara, however, had no such designs.
He simply thought Tamamo was a good kid worth helping, and he owed Hajime favors.
Besides, his team was already packed. Eight Uma Musume now, possibly ten soon if Cafe and Sunday Silence were included. That was enough.
He wouldn’t accept more, even if Tamamo asked.
And Eclipse herself seemed less enthusiastic about new teammates lately. Without her subtle encouragement, Kitahara had no fear of sudden additions.
So with that decided, Kitahara asked Hajime to stop Tamamo’s training and bring her over.
“It’s been a while, Tamamo Cross-san,” Kitahara greeted warmly.
Though truthfully, he’d noticed her many times since Oguri joined—always hovering nearby, never stepping closer.
Now, face to face—
“Ah, um, Kitahara-sensei… hello…”
To Kitahara’s surprise, the usually brash and optimistic Tamamo looked nervous. Her expression stiff, her eyes darting, her words halting.
Strange… I never experimented on her, and we only spent a few days together… Why is she acting like Nice Nature after a treatment session?
He wasn’t wrong. Tamamo’s tail was trembling behind her.
And the reason…
Once, after Kitahara’s reputation spread, some began to regard him as the Three Goddesses’ emissary. Some even set up offerings to him. One town had nearly enshrined him in a temple before he personally stopped it.
That town wasn’t far from Tamamo’s home.
And while the public display had been halted, private devotion had only grown stronger.
Her entire region quietly revered him as a divine envoy. Many secretly set up small household shrines to him.
Tamamo’s family was no exception.
And Tamamo herself, after hearing the unbelievable stories about him, had come to believe he was indeed the representative of the Goddesses.
She’d even whispered little prayers after exams, asking “Lord Kitahara” to bless her rank.
But what made her truly uneasy was…
During those hardest times, when her family was strapped for money, they had secretly sold off some of the food and items Kitahara had left them.
They had turned his kindness into cash.
Tamamo didn’t know his temperament well, and feared he might resent them. Even if he didn’t, she herself felt it shameful.
He had given freely, and her family had sold it off.
So though she’d longed to thank him when she heard he’d joined Tracen, her guilt kept her frozen. She prayed silently that the Goddesses would forgive them.
She had hoped to repay him later, after she debuted and earned money, by bringing gifts and apologies.
But before she could, Kitahara had come to her.
Though she knew from his reputation he likely didn’t care, her nerves surged.
Did he come to demand an explanation?
Yet after his explanation, her eyes widened.
“You mean… you were asked by Trainer to help me?”
“Mm, more or less.”
Kitahara paused, then added lightly,
“But really, it’s not like she asked me. Hajime-senpai has looked after me many times. As her junior, I can’t just keep taking—I should do something to repay her.”
He shifted all credit onto Hajime.
So any gratitude Tamamo felt would flow to her, not him.
Had he seen Hajime’s face at that moment—beaming, radiant—he might have wondered what on earth she was thinking.
—
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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