Because both Agnes Digital and Tokai Teio’s races were scheduled for late August, once Kitahara Sota had finished “disciplining” Agnes Tachyon, he quickly slipped back into a calm, ordinary routine.
As for the Winner’s Stage afterward—that too passed without incident.
Thanks to all that hands-on care in the past weeks, Kitahara already understood Tachyon’s physical limits very well.
His methods were stimulating, sure, but he timed everything carefully. By the time of the Winner’s Stage she had at least regained basic movement—her legs were weak, strength unreliable, but…
For bouncing and hopping onstage, that was good enough.
So nothing unexpected happened. The whole thing passed smoothly.
Not long after Tachyon’s race, Manhattan Café submitted a formal request to join his team.
Kitahara had long expected this.
Ever since she realized he could see—and even touch—her “friend,” Café had been sticking closer and closer.
And in this time, she had gotten along well with the girls already under him.
Shy, well-mannered, obedient—she was welcomed warmly. Outside of sleeping at night, she was basically with them all day.
And since her current trainer was trainer in name only—just a placeholder—it was only natural she’d want to transfer to Kitahara’s team.
And of course, Kitahara’s answer was yes.
There was no way he would kick Manhattan Café out. Not when she’d finally found friends, her smile growing brighter each day. Not to return her to solitude, even stripped of the only “weirdo” friend she had.
So, the moment she applied, he accepted. Within a day he handled the transfer papers. And after that…
Café joined the camp.
On paper, nothing unusual.
This “camp” had already turned into a kids’ sleepover, just noisy fun. Café had been tagging along daily anyway, getting along fine. Officially joining only seemed natural.
But the problem wasn’t Café.
It was Sunday Silence, who came with her.
Kitahara’s girls had learned to accept and adapt to Sunday’s presence.
But until now, they’d only seen her in daylight.
Now—imagining closing their eyes at night while a ghost wandered in circles around them—their nerves spiked.
For the heavyweights—Agnes Digital, Tachyon, Grass Wonder—it was manageable. Oguri Cap, lost in wondering what ghosts tasted like, was fine.
But the others…
Special Week and Teio managed, too. Teio had been a latecomer, but seeing her afraid, Grass Wonder even swapped spots with her—letting Teio curl up with Spe-chan by Eclipse’s side, shivering together.
But Nice Nature… couldn’t.
Though her condition had improved with Kitahara’s care, her control over it still wasn’t full. If she tried squeezing into a pile of bodies to sleep, the consequences might be worse than the ghost itself.
But she was also one of the ones most afraid of ghosts.
By day she could handle it. At night, with that chilling aura brushing her skin—forget sleep, she couldn’t even close her eyes.
So, half from fear and half from something harder to name, Nice Nature sat up in bed. She looked down at the man lying on a futon on the floor beside her.
Because of Sunday’s existence, she had already slipped into Kitahara’s little room under the excuse of being afraid of ghosts.
Even then, they hadn’t shared the bed. He gave it to her, choosing the floor.
When he first offered, she’d wanted to refuse.
But remembering it was his bed, carrying his scent—something inside her stirred. She couldn’t bring herself to turn down such a tempting offer.
And now, with Sunday Silence drifting in the room, that fear swelled again.
And with it, a bold new thought floated to the surface.
“Kitahara-san.”
Her voice was soft, trembling.
“What is it?”
He looked at her, puzzled.
She went quiet, face reddening in the dark, her tail beginning to sway.
“Um… could I… sleep with you?”
Her voice was tiny, shrinking further with every word. But in the stillness of night, it was loud enough.
Silence.
Awkwardness.
As time passed, panic grew in her chest. She tried again.
“Um, Kitahara-san, I don’t mean anything else… I’m just scared. I can’t sleep.”
“…Come down.”
Kitahara sighed, helpless.
“Need me to move your blankets for you?”
Nice Nature blinked, then shook her head stiffly. Her voice was a mosquito’s buzz.
“No… I’ll bring them myself…”
And before her brain could stop her, her body moved. She slid from the bed, carried her futon beside him, and lay down, rigid.
So close, her fear dulled, filled by something else.
Yet oddly—though the fear receded, the sense of chill only grew stronger.
She lay there, eyes closed at last, but the aura and the new presence at her side only made sleep harder.
Then Kitahara’s voice came again.
“If you’re really that scared… come closer.”
Her body stiffened, then obediently leaned against him.
Even through blankets, the reliable warmth, the familiar scent soothed her.
The dread ebbed, replaced by another emotion entirely.
Does this… count as sleeping together?
The thought made her burn.
She edged closer, pressing against the presence she had dreamed of through countless nights. Her face softened.
But Kitahara… only grew more troubled.
Not by Nature—by what was happening on his other side.
Sunday Silence.
She had slipped in before Nature ever sat up. Had plopped herself right on top of him, expression saying loud as words: Tonight I’m sleeping here.
Sunday was always bold. Ever since Eclipse had introduced her, she’d never hidden her desire for Kitahara. She had even grabbed his hand once, trying to shove it to her chest.
And as time went on, her eyes only grew hotter.
Kitahara had tried to study her situation.
Busy days and uncertainty about how to even study a ghost kept him from progress, but he’d run a few tests.
And the most crucial result was—strange.
His flesh could touch her. Nothing else.
Anything not part of his body—clothes, objects, even another person’s skin pressed against his—passed through her.
Further testing showed: anything smeared directly on his skin might also count as “his body,” letting her touch it.
And strangest of all: substances from his body—saliva, blood—remained touchable to her for a short time after leaving him. Sometimes even vanishing into her, becoming part of her.
When he confirmed that, Sunday Silence’s gaze turned heated in an entirely new way.
Other Uma Musume, even if single at Tracen, could still graduate, enter society, and find happiness.
But Sunday?
She was a ghost.
Before Kitahara, no one else could see her. Certainly no one else could touch her.
Her entire list of choices had one name: Kitahara Sota.
It had taken her over ten years to stumble into someone who could perceive her. She might never find another, even in decades.
And besides—she liked what she saw.
The more time passed, the more.
Looks. Personality. Ability.
At first she couldn’t see why such a man always fell into danger.
But after living beside him, she admitted it—he was attractive. Practically matatabi for Uma Musume.
And though her feelings weren’t yet overwhelming, they were enough. Enough to decide on something unusual.
To board the train first, and buy the ticket later.
And to test her theory about “bodily fluid exchange.”
If it worked, she wouldn’t mind binding her entire eternity to him.
Love could grow later. But if she missed this chance, there would be no second train.
And this train… was good. Maybe even the best.
So Sunday didn’t hesitate.
“Don’t worry. I don’t mind if you have other women. I know I’m a ghost—I won’t compete with them. You can have several, I won’t complain.
“Besides, you’ve been troubled about ‘that problem’ recently, haven’t you? If it turns out this is possible, I can handle it for you from now on.
“And Café likes you too. I don’t mind if you get involved with her—in fact, that’d be ideal. If you need, I can tell you her preferences, even help you pursue her.
“And if you don’t want anyone to know, I’ll keep it from Café. It can just be our secret… the two of us… fufu~”
Kitahara’s refusal was blunt.
“No.”
He understood her situation. He could even guess why she was so forward.
She had only him. Only he could see and touch her.
Given her bold personality, her action wasn’t incomprehensible.
But understanding didn’t mean agreeing.
“I can’t accept that. But I will do everything I can to find a way for you to connect with others before Café graduates…”
“And if you can’t?”
Sunday’s eyes were serious.
“I know it’s unfair. You have choices. I don’t. I won’t ask for much. Just the bare minimum, no responsibility on your end—”
“Stop.”
Sweat slid down Kitahara’s temple. He let her rambling trail into silence, then said firmly:
“I said—I’ll keep searching until graduation. And even if we never find a way, I’ll stay your friend. But as for that other thing—”
“Not urgent.”
She cut him off cheerfully.
“If you can’t accept it now, that’s fine. Feelings can grow. For now, just let things be. But if you ever need…
“After all, no one else can see. You can come to me anytime.”
She leaned closer, sly.
And once again, grabbed his hand, pressing it toward her chest.
He pulled free easily—the strength of a ghost wasn’t much—and flicked her forehead.
She quieted, maybe from the flick, maybe from something else.
And though she’d said outrageous things, her behavior afterward was almost normal.
Until that night, when Café had joined the camp.
Kitahara was about to sleep when Sunday simply slipped through the wall and lay down beside him, grinning.
He tried to shoo her off.
No use. She clung tighter, arms wrapped around his, eyes shouting: I’m not moving.
And so, when Nature rose in fear and asked to sleep beside him, Kitahara could only glance sidelong at Sunday.
She beamed.
Sure, she wanted to guard him. But she wasn’t about to let him slip away.
And compared to the others, Nice Nature was the least threatening rival. Sunday could afford to give her a crumb. Maybe even draw her over as an ally.
She was a ghost, after all. She never expected to win him entirely. A sip of soup was enough.
So now—
Kitahara, unable to explain Sunday’s existence to anyone else, let her cling.
He gave her a look: Behave.
She nodded. Closed her eyes, still hugging his arm.
He sighed. Let himself drift into half-sleep.
Sleeping in a ghost’s arms was new, but not the idea of sharing space with Uma Musume. He fell under quickly.
And then—
On his other side, something warm, soft brushed his free hand.
A small palm, tentative. Fingers touched his, then flinched back.
Had he been fully awake, he might have acted differently.
But half-asleep, he mistook it for the familiar.
So when the hand withdrew, wavering—his reached out, caught it, and squeezed gently.
The owner froze—then squeezed back.
And as the moon rose high, the breathing of two girls and one ghost smoothed into quiet rhythm.
Until the sun rose.
—
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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