American Tracen Academy.
Once again, it was Secretariat’s private training ground.
At that moment, Secretariat was watching Easy Goer run laps around the training ground, her brows faintly furrowed.
Easy Goer was running normally on the track…
But only normally.
There was none of the drive she had shown before the Preakness Stakes.
As expected, had that race hit her that hard…?
Watching Easy Goer on the track, going through the motions step by step without the slightest fighting spirit, Secretariat let out a soft sigh.
This silence after being struck down was far too familiar to her.
Or rather, most Umamusume who stepped onto the track would taste it sooner or later.
To give everything, pour out everything, believe one had finally touched the threshold of victory, only to be crushed at the last moment by a force more tyrannical and unreasonable.
That feeling of burning everything away only to receive a cold gap in return was enough to briefly freeze even the hottest heart.
Not every Umamusume was undefeated.
Most Umamusume encountered defeat when they ran on the track.
Even Secretariat herself, though praised as the GOAT of American Umamusume, had in fact tasted no small number of defeats.
So she knew that bitter taste of failure just as well.
Sigh.
Secretariat closed her eyes, and the faint yet increasingly clear discussions after the race seemed to echo beside her ears again.
Those voices carried incomprehension, regret, even blame—
“How did a monster like Sunday Silence end up in Japan?”
“If she’d stayed in America, stayed under Secretariat, then maybe by now…”
“What a pity… Japan picked up such a huge bargain for nothing.”
“How could Student Council President Secretariat let a talent like that go?”
After the Preakness Stakes, Sunday Silence had publicly promoted Nishikino Academy in front of everyone, and to her, as the student council president of Tracen Academy (American), those voices were like tiny needles. They were not sharp, but they pricked densely into the bottom of her heart.
She understood better than anyone that Sunday Silence’s belonging had never been something she could let go of or keep.
That child’s heart had been wounded far too deeply by the American circuit from the very beginning.
Sunday Silence’s place was not American Academy.
But… explanations were often the most powerless things.
Before results, every reason became an excuse.
Still, relying on a few words of talk therapy probably would not be enough to help Easy pull herself together.
The urgent thing now was to find a way to help her little sister recover her spirit…
She looked again at the blue-green figure on the field, and her gaze softened.
Secretariat shook her head, temporarily pressing down those noisy thoughts.
She needed to think of a more stimulating method…
Suddenly, inspiration flashed through her mind.
Secretariat had thought of something.
Perhaps now was not the time for special training. If Easy Goer kept training with this absentminded attitude, she was unlikely to produce any results even by the time the Belmont Stakes began.
The top priority now was to untie the knot in Easy’s heart.
And to untie a knot, one had to go to the person who tied it.
What Secretariat could not do, someone else naturally could.
“Easy.”
“…?”
Hearing Secretariat call her, Easy Goer came before her sister with a somewhat dejected expression on her face.
“Easy, we’re putting special training on hold for now.”
“…”
Easy Goer did not ask why Secretariat wanted to stop training. Her face was completely dazed.
Seeing her like this, Secretariat shook her head, then reached out and tapped her on the forehead.
“Don’t make that face. I’ll take you somewhere fun.”
“Where…?”
“Japan.”
…
Tokyo, Sakuraba’s foot-massage parlor.
The familiar herbal scent drifted through the shop, and soft background music flowed gently.
Sakuraba was leaning behind the counter, browsing recent race news, when the doorbell rang crisply.
He raised his head by reflex, a habitual business smile appearing on his face.
“Welcome—!”
Before he could finish speaking, the smile froze on his face.
Two figures stood at the entrance.
One was tall and elegant, with calm, sharp amber eyes. It was none other than Secretariat, the student council president of Tracen Academy (American).
The other had long blue-green hair and a dejected expression that could not hide her natural beauty. She was Easy Goer, who had just narrowly lost in the Preakness Stakes.
The corner of Sakuraba’s mouth twitched uncontrollably.
What the hell?
Wait!
American Umamusume… were still chasing him?!
They chased him all the way to Japan?!
Don’t tell me that because Sunday Silence beat Secretariat’s little sister, this president got so angry from embarrassment that she crossed the ocean from thousands of miles away to tie me up and sink me into the sea?
No, wait. I’m in Japan now…
Dumping me in Tokyo Bay would be easier than transporting me to the Gulf of Mexico.
Countless ridiculous yet reasonable guesses flashed through Sakuraba’s mind in an instant. His back faintly chilled, and even the smile on his face turned somewhat strained.
Just as he was debating whether to immediately call Tony Bianca for help, or first attempt to break through with a sliding tackle using the shop’s massage oil—
Secretariat stepped forward, gently clasped her hands together in front of her, and showed a gentle smile that carried a little apology, yet was extremely sincere.
“Mr. Sakuraba, pardon the intrusion.”
Her voice was as steady and elegant as ever, without the slightest trace of coming to denounce him.
“We came unannounced this time because I would like to ask for your help.”
She turned sideways, revealing Easy Goer behind her, her gaze gently falling on her younger sister’s lowered profile.
“After the Preakness Stakes, Easy’s condition has been somewhat… low.”
“Ordinary training and encouragement seem to have limited effect.”
Secretariat looked back at Sakuraba, her amber eyes carrying a clear request.
“So I wanted to bring her here to try a ‘different’ method.”
She inclined her head slightly, her tone solemn.
“Please give us the most luxurious package your shop offers.”
“I’m counting on you.”
“?”
Sakuraba slowly typed out a question mark.
Girls.
This is a foot-massage parlor.
Not a mental health clinic.
For difficult psychological problems, go see a therapist! What are you doing coming here for a foot massage??
My hands aren’t some universal cure-all!
Forcibly holding back the urge to retort in his heart, Sakuraba said, “Since you’ve come all the way to my humble shop, Student Council President Secretariat, of course I’ll arrange the best service for you…”
“But there’s no need to pay. Just take it as me doing you a small favor and helping you out.”
Although Sakuraba had no idea what basis Secretariat had for being so certain that Easy Goer’s mental state would improve after he massaged her feet a couple of times.
But to be honest, Sakuraba did kind of want to help Easy Goer recover her condition.
Sunny herself wanted a stronger opponent too.
So if he helped Easy Goer get back on her feet, Sunny would be able to run the final leg of the Triple Crown a little more to her heart’s content, wouldn’t she?
Though in the end, Sakuraba did not think his massage could have that much of an effect.
This was ridiculous. As if massage could treat psychological problems.
How could that possibly happen?
T/N: in before sunny kills easy goer during the race after finding out she got touched by sakuraba all over (24/25)
This is a fan translation of 亏钱赛马娘，什么叫你真的赢比赛了？ by 路边杂鱼 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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