After Oguri Cap offered her suggestion, Super Creek nodded almost immediately. The two Umamusume who’d been arguing stopped as well and turned to Yasui Makoto.
“I’m fine either way. And when I watched this year’s Kikuka Sho, I heard about you, Yasui-san.”
The small, silver-haired Umamusume flashed a wide grin, a little fang showing.
“Guiding a G1 Umamusume right after you debuted—honestly, I’ve gotta respect that.”
“Right? We’ve been at this academy for ages and we still haven’t produced anyone like that.”
The other petite Umamusume chimed in. “Ōi can’t compete with this place, sure, but even there you don’t see trainers with that kind of talent. Not even close.”
She looked him over with frank admiration.
“You’re amazing, Yasui-san.”
Yasui Makoto couldn’t help getting a little worked up.
The two praising him were Tamamo Cross and Inari One. The third was Super Creek.
Super Creek hadn’t said anything, but the approving look she sent his way made it clear she agreed with her friends.
These Umamusume’s strength and results spoke for themselves—so naturally, their standards were high.
Inari One especially.
She’d come up through Ōi Tracen Academy. It was technically a regional school, but it was still in Tokyo; it had far more resources than most local academies.
After retiring and continuing her studies, Inari One had taken a position at Ōi. There was no way she hadn’t seen plenty of trainers in her day.
For someone with that kind of perspective to call him “amazing” after weighing everything—she really was putting stock in him.
So Yasui didn’t hesitate for long. He stood up and took Oguri Cap’s place at the table.
Yasui Makoto wasn’t unfamiliar with Japanese mahjong.
Back home, whenever his father wasn’t training or racing, he loved gathering a few friends for a game—and he still did. Because of that, Yasui knew the rules and the fundamentals well enough.
He’d been watching from the side the whole time, and honestly? Even Super Creek—who’d just landed a Four Concealed Triplets, single wait, of all things—seemed like a pretty average player. That blowout last round had probably been luck.
Tamamo Cross and Inari One were about the same: solid enough to play, nothing more.
Which meant he didn’t have to worry about some massive skill gap making the whole thing awkward.
“Nice! Yasui, my man—straightforward, just like that!”
The moment Yasui sat down, Tamamo Cross switched to a friendlier form of address without missing a beat.
She rolled up her sleeves, fired up like she was about to take on a major match, and stared down the table.
“Alright! Let’s go at it for real! Fresh start!”
As Inari One reached to build the wall, she shot Tamamo Cross a sideways look and snorted.
“You just don’t want to admit you lost last round, do you…”
“C’mon, don’t say it out loud when you already know.” Tamamo Cross started stacking tiles, utterly shameless. “Besides, Creek didn’t even complain.”
Smiling, Super Creek nodded and looked at Yasui.
“So Yasui-san, just play however you like. We can chat while we do it, too.”
…
While Yasui’s table got their game going, the kitchen on the other side—in a spacious, bright kitchen, Kitasan Black wore a clean, neatly tied apron and focused completely on prepping ingredients.
Her fingers moved deftly between crisp vegetables and cuts of meat—pinching off yellowed leaves, trimming away excess sinew with patient care.
The intensity in her posture made it look like she was facing down a crucial race.
Oguri Cap came in wearing a chef’s hat and apron of her own. Seeing how locked-in Kitasan Black was, she didn’t interrupt.
She padded over, swept her gaze across the cutting board and the ingredients already sorted and cleaned, and gave a satisfied nod.
As she reached for the lined-up carrots, Kitasan Black finally noticed her and blinked in surprise.
“Ah—senpai? When did you get here?”
“Just now. You did well, Kita-chan.”
Oguri Cap smiled as she praised her. Then she glanced toward where Kitasan Black’s hand had been reaching and spoke softly.
“Next… it’s my turn.”
“Mm-hm! Then I’m counting on you, senpai!”
Kitasan Black nodded hard, obediently stepping aside as she watched Oguri Cap’s hands with open curiosity.
Oguri Cap set a washed carrot on the cutting board. With her other hand, she took a kitchen knife from the rack. She shot Kitasan Black a quick smile, then refocused on the carrot.
“I think I told you—if you’re making soup, it’s best to cut carrots into small, even pieces. Chunks, or short segments.”
“That way, when you simmer them, the broth soaks in better, and the carrots won’t fall apart.”
“As for exactly how big…”
“Some chefs measure. I go by feel.”
“So watch closely.”
As she spoke, she flipped the knife in her hand with practiced ease and began to demonstrate.
For a moment, the blade looked almost alive—rising and falling in a crisp rhythm, tak, tak, against the board.
In barely ten seconds, the intact carrot had become tidy segments, each one uniform, like they’d been stamped from a mold.
Oguri Cap didn’t immediately reach for the next carrot. She set the knife down, stepped back a few paces, and smiled at Kitasan Black.
“Alright. Your turn.”
During the demonstration, Kitasan Black had stared without blinking, nodding lightly now and then—just as serious as she was in class, and in training.
Now, hearing the instruction, she nodded with confidence. She stepped up to the board, replayed Oguri Cap’s movements in her head, picked up the knife, and started cutting with careful, deliberate precision.
Watching, Oguri Cap nodded to herself.
She hadn’t spent that much time with Kitasan Black—she’d mostly only seen a few of her races, so she didn’t really know what she was like day-to-day at the academy.
But over this stretch of teaching her to cook, Oguri Cap had come to feel something clearly: talent for running aside, this kouhai had a steadiness you didn’t often see.
Oguri Cap herself had never properly studied cooking. She’d simply felt like making food, so she did.
Being told again and again that it tasted great could be called a pleasant surprise—or maybe it was a talent she’d never realized she had.
Still, she’d seen the chefs at her own restaurant and elsewhere. She knew that for most people, learning to cook was unbearably tedious.
At her restaurant, for instance, unless a new hire came in with a big reputation, they started as kitchen help.
Picking vegetables. Cutting meat. Wiping tables. Washing dishes. Running endless little errands.
That was the stage where most people quit—no matter how good their résumé had been.
And if even professionals cracked there, people who came in just because it sounded fun quit even faster.
At first, Oguri Cap had assumed Kitasan Black was simply caught up in the moment—wanting to “try cooking for fun.”
But she hadn’t expected this kouhai to learn cooking with the same seriousness Tracen’s Umamusume brought to training.
Oguri Cap admired that. And, faintly, she understood why Kitasan Black could produce such outstanding results on the track.
A steady Umamusume isn’t necessarily exceptional.
But an exceptional Umamusume—without fail—has steady, down-to-earth training behind her.
—
T/N: crazy how oguri hasn’t eaten the ingredients
This is a fan translation of 赛马娘：从被撞飞十米开始 by 百升飞上天 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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