After finishing with the Uma Musume hunter incident, Kitahara Sota returned to the academy.
His original thought was: hand the captured hunters to Tracen, let Kudou Kazuya chase down the buyers behind them. None of that had anything more to do with him. Which meant he could finally spend the rest of his break slacking off in peace.
But reality turned out differently.
Even though those matters played out just as he expected, bringing him no further trouble—in other places he had not anticipated at all, some subtle… changes began.
The first to act was Oguri Cap.
Because of Kitahara Sota’s long absence, plus the stimulus of Nice Nature’s sneaky advance move, in this period of time Oguri’s strange hunger had built up to an unprecedented level.
So, driven by that bizarre hunger, once the hunter incident ended—she chose a moment when everyone else besides Eclipse happened to be busy, leaving Kitahara alone, and brought a mountain of food with her straight to his dorm room.
And when Kitahara saw it was Oguri at the door, he opened up without hesitation.
If it had been Agnes Tachyon or Super Creek showing up like this, he probably would’ve thought twice before unlocking.
But Oguri was different.
Obedient. Quiet. Sensible…
Tachyon, Creek, Teio—those heavyweights didn’t need mentioning. Even Spe-chan, sometimes, begged him for rubs.
And Nice Nature—yes, she cooperated with him well, took care of him in her own way. But that caretaking sometimes went too far.
Plus, Kitahara always felt uneasy being looked after like that by a horse girl. He constantly had to think of ways to repay her, just to ease his conscience.
But Oguri—maybe she wasn’t the one who contributed the most to him in training, but she was definitely the one who let him worry the least.
She was simple to understand. In training or in life, whatever he said, she would almost always just do it, without complaint, without asking why.
If something was wrong, she would come tell him directly.
She was so worry-free, so sensible, that Kitahara sometimes almost sighed out loud, “The Oguri faction,” and couldn’t help thinking—if only all his girls were like her.
…Well, except the appetite. Put a dozen Oguris together, and forget him—even Tracen itself might collapse into a financial crisis.
Once Oguri came inside, she made her purpose clear right away: she was here to play with him.
Kitahara wasn’t surprised. She was low-maintenance, yes, but in small details he’d noticed she was fond of him.
And lately—because he had been loafing, then busy with the hunter mess—he hadn’t gone to the training ground, hadn’t even eaten with her much.
On top of that, Oguri was too sensible. Before Nice Nature arrived and after, she never once came to bother him.
So now that she came of her own accord, of course he wouldn’t turn her away.
And when she entered, Kitahara noticed—her body seemed thinner than before break.
That sharpened his worry. He asked if something was wrong, if she hadn’t been eating well.
“…No. My appetite just hasn’t been good lately.”
Oguri’s reply was calm, eyes as clear as always.
Kitahara checked her over briefly, confirmed nothing was wrong—then the two of them played together.
Nothing special: a few rounds of Monopoly, flight chess, sharing snacks Oguri had brought.
But halfway through, Oguri nearly ate through all of her pile of snacks, and her gaze drifted, fixed on what was left on his side.
Seeing that, Kitahara offered his snacks without a second thought.
But Oguri shook her head. Those were Kitahara’s. She couldn’t take them.
They’re yours—you brought them!
Kitahara grumbled inwardly, though at the same time he felt a little moved. She was learning to share.
Yet, despite rejecting, Oguri’s eyes kept drifting toward the food. She couldn’t focus on the game, and faint glimmers started pooling at the corner of her lips.
Of course Kitahara noticed.
But since she had refused, he was at a loss how to fix it.
Until, after watching her half-starved stare and that thinner frame, he sighed, picked up a snack, and held it to her lips.
“Come on. Open up—ah~”
This time, though she hesitated, Oguri soon obeyed, eating the piece he offered.
And after swallowing, her eyes looked at him again, faint expectation in them. The gloom she’d carried when she came had already lightened.
From this, Kitahara realized: she really liked being fed by him.
He didn’t doubt the behavior—on the contrary, it made him feel she was safer.
Because in his wandering years, he’d seen so many little horse girls who refused to eat properly.
The only way was to coax them, feed them.
And not just horse girls—plenty of human kids had the same issue.
To Kitahara, Oguri was just a kid. A slightly airheaded, innocent child.
Her liking to be fed wasn’t strange at all. Children did that.
So the games went on, Kitahara feeding her piece by piece.
As for the licking, sucking at his fingers, their distance closing inch by inch—Kitahara didn’t pay it too much mind.
Once, he might’ve worried. Corrected her.
But Oguri had long since acclimated him to this.
He had tried correcting her before. It never worked.
And since she behaved so well in all other areas, Kitahara sighed and simply tolerated this one little flaw.
So, as the feeding went on, time slid by.
The snacks dwindled. Without noticing, Oguri slid from across him to beside him. Closer, closer.
By the time only a few pieces were left, the hand he used to feed her was coated entirely in Oguri’s taste.
And then, driven by that hunger still unsated, Oguri acted again.
“Trainer Kitahara… back in class, I saw them playing a game that looked really fun. But… for some reason, no one played it with me…”
Kitahara blinked, puzzled.
He hadn’t visited Oguri’s class, but he’d heard: because of her nature, she was treated like a mascot. The others liked her. She shouldn’t have been excluded.
But when she named the game, he immediately understood.
The pocky game.
Each player bites one end of a pocky stick—a thin chocolate-covered biscuit—and they eat toward the center.
Faces draw closer, lips nearly touch.
The pressure mounts until someone gives up. Whoever lets go first loses.
For her classmates, it was a challenge.
For Oguri, Kitahara had no doubt—she was only after the pocky.
Whether she felt that “pressure” at all was doubtful.
And now—
“Trainer Kitahara, will you play it with me?”
Oguri’s eyes shone with expectation, hope written plain across her face.
If it were anyone else, Kitahara would’ve refused on the spot.
Because yes, it’s “just a game,” but it carried danger. One wrong move, and lips would meet.
But Oguri…
Looking at her—pure, expectant—Kitahara hesitated.
He didn’t suspect her of any bad intentions. She was sensible, harmless.
But the game itself… was it really right?
After some thought, he decided to refuse, explaining carefully why it wasn’t appropriate for them to play.
Oguri listened quietly, then her mood sank. Her ears drooped weakly.
Kitahara’s heart ached, but what could he do? He tried feeding her again. It didn’t help.
And as time dragged, her gloom only deepened.
Am I… being hated?
Though she spoke no words, Kitahara could read that doubt written clear on her face. His chest knotted.
At last, under the weight of the silence, he sighed and pinched her cheeks.
“I don’t hate you. It’s just… this game isn’t really suitable between us.”
“But… if you truly want it, then I’ll play with you.”
The gloom shattered. Her mood bounced back visibly. Confirming he wasn’t rejecting her, Oguri nodded eagerly.
Kitahara agreed—but without worry.
After all, it was easy to “lose” early. Let her experience it, then back out before it went too far.
That way she’d be happy, and safe. Probably she only wanted to try once anyway, since her friends hadn’t let her.
So he drew a pocky stick.
And then, in the next instant, he felt weight settle into his lap.
He looked up—Oguri had climbed into his arms.
“…Oguri. What are you doing?”
She blinked innocently.
“Didn’t you say we’re playing the pocky game?”
“I mean—why are you in my lap?”
“I saw them play like this.”
…Fine.
Kitahara sighed. He just wanted this over with.
“I’ll set a ten-second timer. When the alarm rings, we start. Whoever lets go first loses.”
He held the pocky between his lips.
Oguri nodded, leaned close, bit the other end.
Kitahara started the countdown.
The numbers ticked down. The alarm rang.
And with that, the game was over.
Yes—over, not begun.
Because he’d forgotten to explain the rules.
Not really his fault. Oguri had said she’d seen others play, so he assumed she knew.
But whether she hadn’t listened, or simply hadn’t paid attention—she didn’t know.
So when the bell rang, just as Kitahara prepared to nibble carefully, something soft pressed against his lips.
And then—without withdrawing—that softness pried his mouth open, trying to steal the remaining pocky inside.
Finding it troublesome, Oguri wrapped her arms around his neck, pinning herself steady.
The sudden motion tipped them both. They fell together onto the sofa, bodies pressed close.
Kitahara reacted instantly, tried to speak—but with his mouth blocked, only his tongue moved. Which only provoked Oguri further. Her probing grew bolder, as if she meant to search every corner of his mouth for crumbs.
Softness slid, sweetness spread.
And just then—as Kitahara braced to push her away, to tell her this wasn’t how the game worked—footsteps shuffled outside the door.
And in his despairing gaze, came the sound of a key turning in the lock.
The door opened.
—
T/N: OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
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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