Slacking Professionally at Tracen [49]

Happy times always flew by swiftly, and soon it was afternoon.

After handling Mitsuo Taishi’s situation, Silence Suzuka returned to Kitahara Sota’s dormitory, a touch of worry lingering in her eyes.

Though she’d entrusted Special Week to him in the morning, she honestly had little confidence in Kitahara’s ability to care for her—if anything, she was deeply skeptical.

Two reasons shaped her doubt.

The first was Special Week herself. Despite her usual friendly demeanor, she hailed from the countryside with rather traditional values. She wasn’t accustomed to interacting closely with men, often feeling uneasy or even having slight overreactions.

The second reason was her less-than-positive impression of Kitahara himself—in fact, it was downright negative.

Silence Suzuka wasn’t officially part of Kitahara’s team, and though she’d often visited lately to care for Special Week, she wasn’t familiar with his team’s inner workings or training methods. She could only judge him from an outsider’s perspective.

And from that perspective…

Frivolous, lazy, and irresponsible.

He never seemed to actively guide his tantou, treated his job as nothing more than clocking in and clocking out, and always left the moment the workday ended.

Having debuted a year earlier, and accustomed to Tracen Academy’s fiercely competitive environment, Suzuka naturally found it hard to accept someone as out-of-place as Kitahara. It wasn’t just her—most Uma Musume familiar with his situation felt similarly confused, if not outright disapproving.

Not only that, but Special Week’s recent intense training reminded her of trainers who pushed their tantou to the brink for the sake of glory or profit, disregarding their health and wishes entirely.

Hence, Suzuka’s opinion of Kitahara was genuinely poor—bordering on terrible.

Entrusting Special Week to him in the morning had been an emergency measure, so as soon as she finished dealing with Taishi’s problem, Suzuka had hurried back, ready to bring Special Week home.

Knock, Knock.

She knocked lightly on Kitahara’s door.

“The door’s unlocked,” Kitahara called from inside.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. When she clearly saw the scene in the room, her eyelids twitched involuntarily.

…What’s going on here?

Before her eyes was a scene she’d never imagined.

Kitahara sat across from Special Week, a handful of paper slips plastered casually on his face, his lips curled into a triumphant grin.

Opposite him sat Special Week, whose entire face was practically hidden beneath countless paper slips, eyes reddened and brimming with tears, looking seconds away from crying.

Here’s what had happened…

Initially, Kitahara had taken out a Monopoly board, hoping to entertain Special Week for a couple of rounds.

But with the legendary good fortune unique to airheads, Special Week annihilated him three times in a row.

Not convinced, Kitahara insisted on another three matches—only to lose again.

Had it stopped there, Kitahara would merely have sulked briefly.

But after winning six consecutive games, Special Week grew arrogant. She began suggesting tangible stakes, like making Kitahara treat her to meals, instead of the harmless paper-strip punishments they’d been using.

Recognizing the dangerous glint of gambling addiction in her eyes, Kitahara swiftly decided not to indulge her.

He cheerfully agreed to her proposal, but insisted on switching the game. He promised to treat her if he lost, but if she lost, she’d simply keep sticking notes to her face.

Faced with such generous terms, Special Week’s tail practically stood upright with excitement as she agreed immediately.

Then Kitahara pulled out a chessboard.

Thirty-seven merciless victories later, Special Week’s burgeoning gambling instincts were thoroughly crushed. If Suzuka had arrived a bit later, he might’ve achieved a clean forty-win streak.

What a horrible person.

Suzuka, unaware of Kitahara’s intentions, only saw a sore loser bullying an airheaded dummy. After hearing Special Week’s pitiful account, she silently condemned him as utterly villainous.

Though her impression of Kitahara was decidedly poor, Suzuka still politely thanked him for caring for Special Week. She quickly took Special Week away, softly comforting her as they left.

Yet Special Week’s gloom didn’t last long.

Just as Kitahara once described her, she had the memory of a goldfish.

Though she’d left looking like the picture of injustice, her mood instantly brightened after buying a bottle of carrot juice.

Seeing her cheerful once again, Suzuka let out a relieved breath.

After walking a little further, observing Special Week’s relaxed smile, Suzuka hesitated. Reflecting on recent events, she decided she couldn’t ignore her worries—she had to at least remind Special Week.

“Hey, Spe-chan.”

“Hm?” Special Week sipped her carrot juice blissfully.

Suzuka chose her words carefully.

“Don’t you feel… Trainer Kitahara is a bit too… well… lazy sometimes?”

“Ah, Sato-san’s always been like that,” Special Week waved dismissively. “My mom always called him lazy too. He never denied it, sometimes even cheerfully admitted it, then went right back to slacking whenever possible.”

Huh? Special Week’s mom knows him too?

Suzuka blinked in surprise. “You knew each other before? Why haven’t you ever mentioned it?”

“It was years ago. Later, he vanished suddenly without telling me or Mom. I thought I’d never see him again, so I didn’t bother bringing it up.”

“Oh, I see…”

Suzuka nodded slowly, conflict evident on her face.

She didn’t have a good impression of Kitahara, but Special Week seemed to trust him completely. Moreover, she’d only interacted with him a handful of times herself. If her judgment was correct, that’d be fine—but if she was wrong…

Suzuka wasn’t adept at handling such complicated matters. Even bringing it up had required considerable effort. Now, discovering that Special Week had known Kitahara from before, she became even more uncertain about what to say.

Just as Suzuka struggled internally, Special Week suddenly spoke up, softly and slowly.

“Suzuka-chan.”

“…Yes?”

“Were you trying to imply that Sato-san might not be as good as I think, and that I should be careful and keep my distance from him?”

Special Week turned her head slightly, her hair obscuring her expression, voice oddly different from her usual cheerful tone.

“I understand your good intentions. But please don’t ever do that again… or else I’ll really get angry.”

“Spe-chan…”

For a fleeting instant, Suzuka felt as if she didn’t recognize Special Week. An unsettling aura radiated from her, making Suzuka instinctively step back in discomfort.

But in the very next second, Special Week’s aura vanished completely, returning to her usual bubbly self. She glanced curiously at Suzuka, now standing a step away, puzzled.

“Suzuka-chan? What’s wrong?”

Suzuka stared blankly for a moment.

Was that just… my imagination?

Shaking off the unease, she returned to Special Week’s side, sighing helplessly.

“Maybe it’s because of everything with my trainer today. My perception of Uma Musume might be getting messed up lately…”

She dismissed the brief feeling as residual stress from the morning’s chaos.

Spending extended time on the “heavy track” occasionally caused her to see brief illusions around other Uma Musume, and this wasn’t the first time—besides, this was Special Week of all people. She let the matter pass without further thought.

“Oh, speaking of that, Suzuka-chan, what exactly happened to your trainer?”

“…Nothing serious. He’s just injured.”

Suzuka had no intention of letting trivial scandals taint Special Week’s pure mind, so she concealed the truth. Noticing Special Week seemed ready to probe further, Suzuka quickly changed topics.

“Anyway, Spe-chan, did your hair grow again?”

“Ah, Sato-san said the same thing earlier. Is it really growing too fast lately?”

Instantly distracted, Special Week began enthusiastically discussing her hair growth. As they talked, Suzuka’s gaze slowly became puzzled again, drawn to the tips of Special Week’s hair.

Strange… why does it look like Spe-chan’s hair just grew a little more right now?

Must be my imagination…

—

T/N: oh no… SHES A HIDDEN BOSS!!!

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!