Slacking Professionally at Tracen [122]

After falling asleep in Eclipse’s arms, in the haze of dreams, Kitahara Sota began to dream.

In the dream, he returned to the day he first met Eclipse.

Dreamers often don’t realize they are dreaming. Kitahara was no different.

He only saw his reflection in a roadside puddle suddenly grow small, then lifted his eyes to that familiar little figure not far away. After a brief moment of confusion, surprise welled up in his gaze.

Wait—did this mean he had been reborn?

And once that thought struck, looking at that familiar, small silhouette before him, his expression slowly collapsed, his eyes filling with despair.

Normally, rebirth should be something good.

On one hand, you carried all your knowledge back with you, patching over regrets.

On the other, you could wield ten years, decades of future information, reshaping what lay ahead at will.

But the problem was—Kitahara Sota was already satisfied with his future. He had no wish to rewrite it.

And the other problem stood right there in front of him.

When talking with Tokai Teio before, he’d said Eclipse had been troublesome.

What he hadn’t said was that her level of “troublesome” might have outweighed all his little ancestors put together.

That wasn’t exaggeration. It was fact.

Even if the little ancestors brooded and despaired every day, at worst they would just drag him into depression.

And since he had dealt with so many of them, he had long developed a toolkit of ways to handle their antics.

If he had to face more, it would still be trouble, yes, but manageable.

But to go through Eclipse again from the beginning…

To be honest, he didn’t have the confidence.

And it wasn’t even about building the kind of relationship they had later. It was about whether he could even survive under her watch the second time around.

Not that she was violent or insane. Quite the opposite. She almost never showed any expression other than calm. Most of the time, she acted rationally.

The problem was—she was too rational.

Take one example.

During a Uma Musume hunting incident, a few little girls had been kidnapped. Their nerves were frayed, so at the slightest noise they bolted in every direction. Escorting them became near impossible, some even getting hurt in the chaos.

And Eclipse offered her solution:

“Break their legs. I’ll drag them with a rope.”

At the time, Kitahara had understood. In a certain sense, her plan did have logic.

They were deep in the mountains. The hunters were still loose, not all dealt with.

If the girls kept scattering, they could get bitten by snakes, poisoned by insects, or stumble into the hunters. Death was a real risk.

Breaking their legs, though painful, would at least stop them running, keep them safe in sight, and save much effort.

But—

“I’ll stay with them. I won’t let them run again.”

Kitahara had sighed, refused her suggestion, refused the rope she handed him, and handled the escort his own way. In the end, none of the girls escaped.

Though when leaving, those same little Uma Musume clung to him so tightly they wouldn’t let go. Only when their parents came did they peel them away, one by one, with great effort.

And honestly, her “break their legs” proposal wasn’t even the worst she’d ever made. It was middle-tier, even relatively normal.

She wasn’t malicious, not someone who enjoyed torment. It was pure coldness.

And not even selfish coldness.

Like in that very rescue—she was the first to discover the captives, the first to act. Kitahara only followed after.

Strange, wasn’t it?

Call her cold, yet she rushed to save them. Say she wasn’t cold, but then over a few panicked escapes she suggested breaking their legs.

And it wasn’t from anger either.

Even back then, Kitahara could see clearly she wasn’t angry with the runaways. At most, she was puzzled. She suggested it because she thought it best.

That strange coldness, that way of acting on her own logic, was already hard enough. But worse—she had more problems.

Soon after meeting her, Kitahara realized she carried something deadlier than coldness.

She seemed to recoil from things most people saw as beautiful.

Friends laughing together. Classmates helping one another. Families reunited. Lovers leaning on each other.

Whenever she saw such scenes, disgust—even loathing—leaked from her eyes, no matter how she tried to suppress it. At one point Kitahara even wondered if she was born with antisocial disorder.

And aside from those two main issues, Eclipse had a scatter of lesser ones—small in her, but each enough to make a “little ancestor” in someone else.

She disliked talking. Disliked communication. Disliked expressing her feelings.

Normally fine, but when provoked, she showed a brutal, dangerous side.

Especially since she combined all this with frightening, unstable power.

Together, these forged Eclipse into something far beyond a little ancestor.

Not a brat, but a monster.

A little ancestor might cry and drag you into despair, but with rest you could bounce back.

With Eclipse—make one wrong move and you might actually be torn apart.

But even that wasn’t the worst.

Because despite her coldness, her alien logic, her revulsion at the “beautiful”—

if you spoke little, yielded often, avoided stirring her—you could get along.

And for the same reason, she didn’t care who came or went.

Even if you openly expressed hatred for her, unless you shoved it in her face, she wouldn’t react.

So how had Kitahara lived with her back then?

By doing the exact opposite of all that.

As he’d said before, he was someone who yielded to gentleness but never to force.

Eclipse had been hard, yes—but Kitahara had been no softer.

He didn’t pester, didn’t pry into what she wouldn’t say.

But if communication was needed, he spoke anyway, even if she looked annoyed. He asked questions, even if unanswered.

And if he thought she was wrong—no matter how close she was to losing control—he didn’t budge.

As for her aversion to “beautiful things”—he hadn’t known how to fix it. So he used the dumbest method.

He played friend, classmate, even family. Tried to make her understand others’ feelings.

At first, her reactions were violent. Kitahara was injured more than once, even brushed with death.

But over time—partly because she grew tired of resisting, partly because she found many of his counterarguments valid—her reactions dulled.

And then came her question:

Why did Kitahara insist on staying by her side? Why risk so much to oppose her, why keep making trouble?

At the time, his trainer’s gift hadn’t shown yet. Even without it, with his stubbornness, he wouldn’t starve. He didn’t need to stay with such a strange, dangerous burden.

When she asked, he stayed silent for a long time. Then sighed.

“How should I put it… I guess I just can’t leave you be.”

Can’t leave her be?

Eclipse couldn’t understand.

Because back then, their survival meant foraging in the mountains, bartering for grain, sneaking the occasional bit of meat.

Given their unequal strength, she did most of the work. He was just a tagalong.

And she had another option. When the three fools dumped her there, they’d arranged a place for her. She could have lived in comfort anytime.

She stayed in the wild only to drive him away, to regain her solitude.

But now he said he stayed for her.

She couldn’t understand.

But Kitahara’s thoughts were simple.

Partly, he worried her strange character would warp further without guidance.

Partly—she just looked so unbearably sad.

Strange, wasn’t it?

She always looked calm, rational. She seemed unlike the little ancestors, drowning in self-pity.

But that was the problem.

The little ancestors magnified their pain until it showed.

Eclipse couldn’t even feel her sadness.

If Kitahara was dulled to sweetness, raised in honey—then Eclipse was the opposite.

She was born defective, destined never to taste sweetness.

Worse than Tachyon’s drug. From birth she had tasted nothing but bitterness. That dulled her perception, twisted her character.

Though she helped others, her odd manner meant she earned not praise but fear, suspicion, misunderstanding.

She acted as if she didn’t care, as if she felt no sadness.

But even Kitahara, then not yet dulled by honey, could smell the heavy bitterness pouring off her. Only she herself didn’t know.

Loneliness. Confusion. Pain.

She was born stripped of sweetness. What else could she taste but these? To her, it was normal. She was used to it.

But Kitahara wasn’t used to it. Couldn’t be.

He knew it was reckless. He knew it was courting death. He knew his efforts might fail.

But he couldn’t leave her like that.

Children her age should have been in their parents’ arms, basking in carefree days.

She was alone. No family, no friends. Bitter to the point of overflowing. Yet still helping others in silence.

Like standing in the rain, shoving umbrella after umbrella into strangers’ hands, yet never opening even one to shelter herself.

And because of her oddness, she was never thanked. Sometimes she even scared people off.

So no matter how cold she seemed, how willful, how strong—to him, she was just a silly child who only gave umbrellas, soaking in rain without even realizing it.

She had never asked him for anything.

But he thought—such a child shouldn’t be left that way.

Maybe he couldn’t give her much. But at least he could hand her an umbrella, shield her a little from storms, ease the bitterness.

So he went to her. Again and again, offering umbrellas. And again and again, she refused.

It was torment. Painful. Sometimes life-threatening.

But he kept offering, kept expressing kindness, without the slightest hesitation or retreat.

Again. Again.

Failure. Then failure again.

Umbrellas broke by the dozens. He soaked in rain countless times.

But after nearly three years, finally—her little hand compromised. For the first time, she accepted his umbrella.

Once a dam cracks, collapse follows quickly.

That single compromise opened the floodgates.

He gave the umbrella. Then held her hand. Then drew her into his arms.

Even now, he didn’t know her origins. Didn’t know her thoughts.

But he thought—hold even a stone long enough, it will grow warm.

After that, their story slowly became what others now knew.

He didn’t know when she changed. He only remembered—the first time he hugged her, she was stiff, repelled by touch.

Later, after more embraces, she relaxed. Even awkwardly tried hugging back, burying her face in his chest.

Later still, she burrowed in on her own, wrapped arms around him, whispered at night asking if he wanted to Uma Pyoi…

Her temper stayed odd. Her thoughts stayed unreadable.

But at least—her bitterness faded, little by little, under his company and his arms.

And at Tracen, as her friends grew—while he himself was run ragged—he could see it. Eclipse really was brighter. The bitterness had thinned further.

But now—looking at the small hand, the familiar scene, the little back not far ahead—Kitahara wanted to cry.

So why the hell was he reborn?!

For others, rebirth meant second chances, fixing regrets, reaching peaks with future knowledge.

For him, it meant enduring Eclipse all over again.

And then walking the same road once more.

Facing little ancestors. Throwing himself into chaos. Risking death. And maybe failing this time.

[Then why not turn your back?]

A voice spoke. A woman’s voice, faintly familiar, like one he’d heard before in dreams.

[You have a second chance. Just turn and walk away. With your ability now, you could easily live the life you want. And also… hey, I haven’t finished yet!]

The voice had barely begun when Kitahara was already moving, striding straight toward that small figure.

But after only a few steps, white fog swallowed everything.

When it cleared, he was back where he started. The voice again:

[No, at least hear me out—]

This time he was faster, stepping forward before the voice could waste words.

Fog again. The voice edged into pleading.

[Aniki—please, big brother, at least try the peaceful life you want first, then decide if you want the torment again, okay?]

When the fog cleared, he was in an ordinary office. He knew at once: he was a nine-to-five desk-worker, a slacking civil servant.

Before the voice could speak again, he stood, resigned, and quit. Didn’t even pack. Just walked out, hailed a taxi, and told the driver to take him back to that place.

Before the driver could reply, the fog returned.

Again. Again.

Each time fog swallowed him, each time he reappeared in some other role, some other life.

But always the same—without hesitation, he left. Always heading to that meeting place.

Maybe she wouldn’t be there. It didn’t matter. He would find her himself.

The voice shifted—from serious, to pleading, to begging, to anger, and at last to resignation.

[Fine. You win.]

After who knew how many times, the fog cleared to the original place.

But this time, the reflection in the puddle was not a child, but nearly grown Kitahara Sota.

He didn’t care. He strode forward, walked up behind that small figure.

[Sorry, Eclipse-chan. I just can’t stop myself…]

That voice muttered something faintly into Eclipse’s ear, then vanished.

Then, hearing the footsteps from behind, that small back turned, lifting her head to look at him.

He stopped in his tracks, calmly meeting her gaze.

A long silence.

Eclipse lowered her head.

“I just wanted to know… if you hadn’t met me, would your life have been better?”

“There are no ifs.”

Kitahara Sota’s voice was steady.

“No matter how many times I start over. No matter how long I have to grit it out with you. As long as I can still move, even if I have to crawl, I’ll crawl over. So there are no ifs.”

Silence.

Eclipse would not ask questions like ‘Why?’ or ‘Don’t you think it’s not worth it?’

Because she didn’t need to ask. She already knew what his answer would be.

Because she was here. Because she was worth it.

But the problem was—just as Kitahara could never understand what she was thinking, she often could not understand him either.

Especially his persistence toward her. From long ago, it had lingered in her heart, unanswered even now.

Back then, it had only been because she’d accidentally prepared too much food, worried it would spoil.

And by chance, he had happened to pass by with an empty stomach. She had shared some. And after that…

It became like this.

But just one meal—was that worth him insisting to such a degree?

“Of course it wasn’t just one meal.”

Perhaps because this was a dream, or perhaps for some other reason, Kitahara saw straight through her doubts.

He walked over, drew her into his arms, sat down, and began rubbing the little black rice-ball in his lap with practiced hands, speaking slowly.

“Maybe you think it was always me giving in, always me taking care of you. But from my perspective, it was the opposite. I was the one being taken care of more.”

“Think about it. How many times did I act recklessly over these years? How many messes did I stick my nose into? Without you backing me up, how many times would I have gotten myself killed?”

“And you know it too—I never cared much about myself. If it weren’t for your care, I might have rotted away somewhere a long time ago.”

“And even in those days when we tormented each other, though you always looked annoyed, you never stopped looking after me. Sometimes you’d even give up part of your meal to feed me. Don’t think I forgot that.”

“So no, one meal wasn’t enough to deserve this much from me. But after that one meal, I owed you too much help to even count.”

“And I also know—rather than saying you pushed me away because you hated me, it was more that you didn’t want me dragged into your mess. You wanted me clear of the troubles and dangers I didn’t have to face.”

“But the more you did that, the less I could leave you. The more I couldn’t stop worrying.”

“Because you never cared for yourself at all. Like an idiot. Standing in the rain without an umbrella, soaked through and thinking it was normal. Without me, I worried one day you’d catch a cold.”

“I admit—those early days with you were painful. If I could avoid it, I would never want to go through them twice.”

“But if this is the only way I can meet you again—then no matter how many times I’m reborn, I’ll come here again. And make the same choice.”

“Because, even now, I believe that the day I walked toward you was the single most correct choice of my life.”

“And there is no second.”

His words were sincere. Even an ordinary person could hear the weight of feeling in them.

If it had been anyone else—any normal Uma Musume—perhaps even the firmest will would have cracked under such treatment. If not falling immediately, then at least their affection would have risen greatly.

But Eclipse showed nothing. Her expression unchanged, her heart barely stirred.

Not because she failed to recognize Kitahara Sota’s devotion—but because every surge of emotion, upon reaching her chest, leaked away through the great hollow where her heart should have been.

From the moment of her birth, with that phantom heart shattered, she had lost both the ability to love and to be loved.

That was why her thoughts strayed from the common path. Why she seemed cold, unable to understand others. Why she recoiled from the warmth others found beautiful.

That was why she hoped someone else could love him in her place—to repay the debt she could never make up.

But these were things she could not tell Kitahara Sota. Not only to spare him worry, but for reasons deeper still.

For now, telling him would bring no benefit, only burdens. So she chose silence.

Besides—this dreamscape was unstable, spun up partly on impulse, partly to ensure his safety. Once he woke, his memories of this place would scatter quickly.

But she would remember.

That felt unfair. So she decided she should take some action to balance it.

Yet in the dream, she did nothing—only sat obediently in his arms, letting him knead her as he pleased.

Time passed. Night spread across the sky. Even the crescent moon had already climbed a short distance upward.

And only then did the real Kitahara Sota open his eyes.

Seeing the scene before him, confusion filled his gaze.

What the hell? He remembered it had been afternoon. How had a short nap turned to night?

And he had the faint feeling he’d just had a dream. But what was it…?

He tried to recall.

But only seconds into remembering, the warmth on his lips broke his thought.

A long moment.

When they finally parted, realization hit. Looking at that familiar face before him, he blurted out:

“Eclipse, you—”

But before he could finish, that warmth pressed back onto his lips, sealing the words away.

And it didn’t release. Not for a long, long time.

Until the night deepened, and the crescent moon hung high.

—

T/N: KITAHARAAAAAAAAAA YOURE SO COOOOOOOL

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!