Slacking Professionally at Tracen [36]

The word “actor” typically refers to someone performing a role. But in the world of Uma Musume, this term has a rather unique meaning.

In the Uma Musume game, before the actual race begins, the system assesses your Uma Musume’s attributes and skills compared to her opponents and predicts the outcome.

Sometimes, your Uma Musume might have overwhelming stats, the perfect skill set, and the system even declares her a “top favorite.” In other words, it’s a situation where defeat is basically inconceivable.

Then you get “Perfect Condition,” “Most Popular,” and… “18th Place.”

Translated into human terms:

She had the highest popularity, the best pre-race condition, and practically everyone believed she’d win.

And then, she finishes dead last.

An Uma Musume like that is called an “actor,” and the absolute cream of the crop among actors earns the title “Oscar Winner.”

Agnes Tachyon was exactly that kind of Uma Musume.

It might sound impossible—Agnes Tachyon had only just joined Kitahara Sota’s team, hadn’t even competed yet, hadn’t had a chance to sabotage him. So how could he possibly tell she was an actor?

The answer lay in the details.

“I admit, your data on paper is outstanding. Honestly, saying you’re merely among the top-tier is being modest. You definitely have the ability to compete with, or even surpass, the other elite Uma Musume.”

“But that’s only your paper stats.”

“I can tell you’ve maintained your body well, even without official races. You’ve been training consistently and have probably taught yourself quite a bit about trainer methods. Given your understanding of your body, you must have developed a specialized training plan, which seems to be working quite well.”

“But—you’ve relied too heavily on surface-level data and overlooked many other crucial factors.”

Kitahara Sota sighed helplessly after finishing his explanation.

Agnes Tachyon’s strength was unquestionable. As a mad scientist type, her learning ability was top-notch, and creating her own training plans posed no problem. In terms of theory alone, she might even surpass experienced trainers.

But that was theory.

For trainers, practical experience was far more important than textbook knowledge. Not just slightly more important—far more important.

Because every Uma Musume was unique.

Family background, personality, eating habits, instincts, even small daily quirks—each contributed to significant differences. Textbook theories offered general guidelines that fit most cases, but there were always exceptions. That was when experience became critical.

Agnes Tachyon was overly reliant on theoretical knowledge, which ended up becoming chains restricting her.

Her visible stats were excellent, her running showed no issues, and she was particularly impressive in mid-distance races. Skills based on intelligence, such as race tactics and timing, were certainly solid. On paper, her strength was formidable.

But Kitahara Sota was absolutely certain: the moment she stepped onto the track against peers, she’d lose so badly even her mother wouldn’t recognize her.

Because she had too many hidden issues.

The most dangerous of all was her physical condition.

Although she exercised regularly and showed no visible problems during routine tests, the toll of irregular sleep schedules and unhealthy eating habits from spending prolonged periods in the lab had silently accumulated within her body.

None of this damage was visible on the outside yet. But once she began racing at her absolute limits, these hidden issues would become ticking bombs. Any single one could explode, instantly sinking her.

And that was only her most severe issue. Besides that, there were numerous smaller problems—not critical individually, not visible on the surface, but absurdly numerous.

As an analogy, Agnes Tachyon might have 100 points of strength, but she carried over a hundred minor debuffs, each with around a 1% chance of activating.

One debuff activating would limit her maximum performance to about 80 points; two would doom her entirely.

Though her stats were impressive and other aspects excellent, truly unleashing her full potential required miraculous luck—something nearly impossible in reality.

This was why Kitahara called her an actor.

Initially, Agnes Tachyon had been smiling as Kitahara spoke. But as he elaborated further, her smile gradually faded, her head slowly lowering, lost in thought.

“In summary, these are the 174 issues I’ve currently identified. Although all Uma Musume have some problems, you’re the first I’ve ever seen with this many.”

Kitahara sighed inwardly. After wandering all these years and seeing countless Uma Musume, he’d thought nothing could surprise him anymore. Yet Agnes Tachyon had truly broadened his horizons.

He hadn’t spotted her issues earlier partly because she’d not officially joined him then, so he hadn’t scrutinized her seriously. Another reason was that Agnes Tachyon herself had handled the most obvious problems due to her high theoretical knowledge.

The remaining subtle issues were incredibly difficult to detect. Even seasoned trainers might only realize them after races, baffled at how good an “actor” she was.

After a long silence, Agnes Tachyon lifted her head and seriously asked:

“Is there a way to fix this?”

“There is, but it’ll be troublesome and requires a huge amount of time and energy,” Kitahara sighed. “Also, don’t count on solving this with potions. From my analysis, many of your problems came from excessive potion use. What seemed convenient at the time has left lasting hidden dangers.”

It might not seem severe; after all, these were minor issues that could be managed over time.

The problem was precisely that—Agnes Tachyon didn’t have much time left.

Unlike Special Week or Oguri Cap, she wasn’t early in her “debut” period. In fact, she was already well into it, relatively late compared to other Uma Musume.

Uma Musume races had career-length limitations—not just to protect rookies, but also to preserve the dignity of past champions.

Three years marked the prime “debut period.” Afterward began the decline.

Although gradual, in races where every second counted, even slight deterioration could cost victory.

Year one was about adapting under a trainer’s guidance.
Year two was about gaining experience, starting minor races, and slowly stepping into Grade races (G1, G2, G3).
Year three was peak physical condition, where legends were born, participating in intense and numerous high-level races.

Year four, after the prime period, was considered decline, yet many legends reached new heights by relying more on technical skill and less on raw power. Races became a refined balance of strength and technique, often surpassing third-year performances.

But by year five, deterioration became stark, both physically and mentally.

Uma Musume who once tasted glory would suffer seeing their abilities fade. Talent, victories, and hope gradually slipped away, no matter how hard they struggled.

Yet, even when everything else faded, trainers remained.

Now you know why Tracen trainers have such notoriously high turnover rates, right?

Applying this back to Agnes Tachyon, the seriousness became clear. Her prime was nearly over, yet she’d just chosen a trainer. Racing now was feasible, but taking the time to solve all her issues would push her past optimal racing age.

She could race and resolve issues simultaneously, but losing races repeatedly would severely damage her mentality—far worse than her existing problems.

Agnes Tachyon knew all this very well from theory alone.

After prolonged silence, she suddenly chuckled softly, her usual smile returning to her face.

“No need to worry. My primary job is research anyway. Racing is just for funding. At worst, I’ll just lose my first year. I don’t really mind—”

Thwack!

Kitahara lightly tapped her head with his clipboard, interrupting her.

“If you truly didn’t care, you wouldn’t have chosen to debut at this time.”

He withdrew his clipboard, not bothering to glance at her again, sighing wearily.

“In short, it’s troublesome, but I’ll help find a solution since I’ve agreed to become your trainer.”

“However, I have one condition. From now on, you must listen to everything I say—not just during training, but even what you eat and wear in daily life.”

Agnes Tachyon froze briefly, her smile faltering for an instant before returning, now tinged with an odd hint of meaning.

“Ara… You mean I have to obey everything you say? Guinea Pig-kun, you wouldn’t be plotting something inappropriate, would you?”

Bonk!

The clipboard landed harder this time. Agnes Tachyon watched it come but didn’t block or dodge, simply smiling as it struck her.

“Stop causing trouble,” Kitahara said, rolling his eyes.

He turned away, looking toward Special Week, who was staggering around with a confused expression.

“I’ve still got plenty to handle.”

Agnes Tachyon blinked innocently. “Do you need my help, Guinea Pig-kun?”

He gave her a pointed glare.

“Not causing trouble is the best help you can give me right now.”

—

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!