Some time later, at an izakaya outside the academy.
Kitahara Sota sat across from Komata Hajime, whose face was flushed red.
But not from shyness. From anger.
Even though she’d been at Tracen for years, Komata rarely went out.
Part of it was work. The other part—her looks.
Imagine this: every time you try to step out and clear your head, people swarm you one after another.
“Little girl, are you lost? Where’s your family’s number?” Some even called the police. Who would want to go out like that?
Places like izakaya were disaster zones.
The moment she entered, waitstaff would rush up: “We don’t serve minors.” Always trying to send her away.
And this time was no different.
Though this place was popular among local trainers, and Komata had come before, that had always been in groups.
Today, they had a stubborn newbie server. Seeing Kitahara walk in with her, he nearly thought Kitahara was some perverted trainer with a fetish—almost called the cops.
It took Komata producing a pile of ID cards—proving she was of age, proving she was his senpai—before the man backed off. She even paid for two bottles of sake as apology.
Kitahara didn’t drink, so he passed his to her.
Komata, who normally touched no alcohol, took it.
Partly to look mature before him. Partly because her mood was foul.
She cracked one open, pouring into her cup.
Kitahara didn’t stop her.
She was older than him, a proper adult. And sake wasn’t that strong. In rural JP, low-proof sake was practically a soft drink. A little wouldn’t kill her.
When the food arrived, Kitahara spoke first.
“Senpai, earlier you said you had something important to discuss. What is it?”
“Ah, that…”
At this, Komata’s expression soured further. After hesitating, she muttered:
“Let me ask you a question first. Recently, during training… have you ever felt someone watching you?”
“I have.”
Kitahara nodded easily.
“I noticed her long ago. Scared me the first time, too.”
Komata blinked, her eyes dimming.
“…I see.”
She gathered courage.
“Then… how do you see her?”
“Well…”
Kitahara looked troubled.
“To be honest, she hasn’t said it, but I can probably guess her feelings. But I’m in a bind. Because, Senpai, you—”
“…I don’t mind.”
Komata forced the words out. She drank, lifted her head, and looked him straight on.
“Don’t worry about me, Kitahara. I know your ability is greater than mine. I trust your character. If Tamamo were under you, she’d bring out her talent even better—”
Her voice grew softer.
Not because she wavered. But because Kitahara’s expression had turned… strange.
“Um… Kitahara, what’s wrong?”
He was silent for a moment.
Then he asked, slowly:
“Senpai, just now—everything you said. You were talking about… Tamamo Cross?”
“…Yes.”
Komata nodded, then twitched.
“Wait. Kitahara, then… who were you—”
“Mejiro Ardan.”
The name froze her.
Mejiro Ardan, nicknamed “China’s Bride,” a scion of the mighty Mejiro family.
Famous. But not for the usual reasons.
Ardan was not strange. She was gentle, a refined young lady. Polite, graceful.
If not for the Mejiro name, Kitahara would’ve counted her among the safe.
So why was she known?
Because she was frail.
So frail that, compared to her, Tachyon looked like a model of health.
And not from bad habits. From birth.
Even with Mejiro’s wealth thrown at doctors, she remained fragile as glass.
Her legs especially. Softer than Teio’s. Declared by doctors: unfit to race.
Even training, she could only manage the weakest intensity. And still, she was constantly injured, hospitalized. Nearly failed to enter Tracen at all.
Just after Tachyon’s race, Kitahara had noticed her hovering nearby, watching him. But never approaching.
So when Komata had asked about “someone watching,” he thought of her first.
“…What I meant to say, Senpai, was—Mejiro’s a giant family. If I tried to fix her legs and failed, it could be a disaster.”
Kitahara wasn’t surprised she sought him out.
By now, his reputation outside had become absurd—“Wish-granting machine for Uma Musume.”
If even Mejiro doctors were helpless, of course she’d come to him.
But that wasn’t tonight’s issue.
“Wait. Senpai—what you meant just now, that was about Tamamo?”
He put the pieces together.
Komata, though, had no such composure.
She realized her courage, her words, had all been wasted on the wrong person.
Humiliation swallowed her whole.
Her face reddened like a boiled shrimp. She downed her sake desperately to hide it.
A whole bottle later, flushed and dizzy, she steadied herself again.
And then, just as she prepared to speak, Kitahara spoke first.
“Senpai—I understand. You want Tamamo transferred to my team, don’t you?”
Silence. Then a nod.
“…Yes.”
Kitahara’s face hardened slightly.
“Did you two fight?”
“…No.”
“Any reason you can’t look after her?”
“…No.”
“Did you even ask her what she wants?”
“…No.”
His voice turned sharp.
“Then may I ask—why bring this to me at all?”
Silence.
Komata lowered her head, lips trembling.
“I…”
“Don’t say it’s because my skill is higher. If that were the standard, the academy might as well assign girls by rank, and scrap the nomination system.”
“Don’t say it’s because of my character. That would be an insult to yourself.”
“If you’re passing her to me, there are only two reasons: one, you’re irresponsible and just want to dump her. Two, you’re too responsible—willing to sacrifice yourself for her future.”
“I don’t believe you’re the first.”
“And don’t say it was her idea. You already admitted you never asked her.”
“And above all—don’t say it’s ‘for her own good.’ I’ve heard enough of that excuse from a certain idiot who never learns. It only makes me angry.”
Silence.
Long silence.
Finally, a small, pitiful voice:
“…But… you and Tamamo really do get along…”
“That’s true.”
Kitahara nodded simply.
“And?”
She blinked.
“Then… wouldn’t she be better off with you…?”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
His finger rapped the table.
“Senpai. Look at me.”
Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes.
“…What is it, Kitahara?”
His gaze was steady.
“Tell me. What is our profession?”
“…Trainer.”
“And a trainer’s duty?”
“…To guide Uma Musume. To help them pursue victory and dreams.”
“Then what does ‘getting along’ have to do with it?”
Her mouth opened—then froze.
Kitahara pressed on.
“As a friend, yes, I get along with Tamamo. We talk well.”
“But as a trainer—I may not be better than you. I know I’m softhearted. I get dragged around by those little ones all the time.”
“You might not be strict either. But at least in management, you’re stronger than me.”
“To be honest—I don’t manage them at all. The only reason things haven’t blown up is because they’re good kids, who restrain themselves.”
“No one’s perfect. I may know more technical theory than you. But in dealing with Uma Musume, in team management, in understanding Tracen—you’re ahead of me. I still learn from you.”
“If a weak or untrustworthy trainer begged me, I’d agree at once. I wouldn’t let Tamamo waste her talent.”
“But you? You’re competent. You’re trustworthy. You’re a trainer I respect.”
“So if you say you’re unfit for her—then what does that make me? I’d be even less qualified.”
His words ended. He looked at her steadily.
Komata nearly fainted.
Maybe the alcohol. Maybe his words. Both.
Her face burned brighter. Her mind spun with his voice, light as air.
“…Kitahara…”
Her lips murmured. Her eyes went hazy. Her hand rose, wanting to touch his face—
And froze.
“Besides,” Kitahara said, “this isn’t just between us. The one concerned should be here too.”
He turned to another table.
“To be honest, next time you lot stalk me, try sending fewer than ten. Super Creek especially—you’re way too big to blend in.”
The girls—Komata’s and Kitahara’s both—hesitated, then slunk over.
Tamamo Cross at the front.
Komata stiffened, brain blank.
“Um, Tamamo, just now… you heard all that…”
Tamamo looked embarrassed.
“Yeah… I didn’t know what you meant to say, but when everyone came along, I came too. We didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”
Komata’s mind went white.
It’s over. Totally over. I’ll never face her again…
And then—she was hugged.
Tamamo’s familiar voice, usually bright even when scolding, sounded heavy.
“You’re an idiot, Trainer.”
“I admit I like chatting with Kitahara-san. And yes, I’ve spent a lot of time with him lately.”
“But, but…”
Her arms tightened. Her voice trembled.
“I never said I didn’t like you. Otherwise, why would I have agreed to be your tantou…?”
“When I heard you wanted to hand me off, I thought… maybe I’d annoyed you too much. That you were sick of me…”
Komata froze.
Her eyes drifted toward Kitahara.
He met them calmly, gave a tiny nod.
After hesitation, Komata carefully hugged Tamamo back.
“I’m sorry, Tamamo. I shouldn’t have said that. I should’ve talked to you first…”
But then, a voice cut through.
“…But Tamamo-chan, don’t you also want to join Kitahara’s team?”
All eyes turned—to Super Creek.
Calm, unruffled, propping her chin with one hand.
“Don’t misunderstand. I’m not pushing her. I think her trainer is excellent too.”
In every sense.
“But clearly, Tamamo gets along well with Kitahara-san. Of course she’d want more time with him.”
“And Kitahara himself just said—he’s strong in knowledge, but weaker in management.”
“And right now, his team’s grown large, yet he’s still handling it alone…”
By then, Kitahara’s face had darkened.
Her gaze was fixed squarely on him.
If he didn’t understand what she was leading toward, he might as well go smash his head against tofu.
But before he could counter, Tokai Teio spoke.
“Super Creek—don’t tell me you mean…”
“Yes.”
Creek smiled, eyes sweeping the room.
“You’ve all heard of team mergers, haven’t you?”
The room chilled.
“And not just Tamamo. I think Kitahara-san is an outstanding trainer. He and her trainer complement each other’s weaknesses. He gets along with all of you. So… why not consider it?”
When her words fell…
A new voice rang.
But not from an Uma Musume.
“I want to merge with Kitahara!”
Everyone stared.
Komata, drunk, squirming in Tamamo’s arms, trying to crawl toward Kitahara.
Seeing she couldn’t break free, she threw a fit like a child.
“I don’t care, I want to be on Kitahara’s team!”
“Kitahara, nod right now—or else I won’t like you anymore!”
“Uuugh, Kitahara, look—they’re bullying me—”
Her voice cut off.
Super Creek, still smiling, stuffed her head into her chest and held her down, muffling her cries.
“Let’s… continue this back at the academy, shall we?”
“…Fine.”
—
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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