Slacking Professionally at Tracen [53]

Kitahara Sota straightforwardly refused Agnes Digital’s request to become his disciple.

It wasn’t because he thought she was dangerous or wanted to avoid trouble; he simply believed he couldn’t teach her effectively.

Even veteran trainers struggled to keep up whenever he explained his methods. If he ever got serious, it might even drive them insane. Agnes Digital, an Uma Musume who hadn’t received any formal trainer education, would definitely struggle even more. Instead of coming to him, she’d be better off studying basics from more traditional trainers.

However, since Agnes Digital had promised to keep his secret, Kitahara felt he owed her a favor in return.

“There’s no need to rush. You’re still an active Uma Musume with two years left in your career. Finish that first, and there’ll be plenty of time to train later. You could even start after graduation.”

“If you insist on preparing now, I can offer you advice occasionally—but formal discipleship is unnecessary. Think of it as academic exchange.”

“Also, not to discourage you, but the path from Uma Musume—especially a professional racer—to trainer is extremely difficult. You should prepare yourself mentally for the challenges ahead.”

This advice might sound strange. After all, former racers should theoretically understand Uma Musume better than anyone, and given their physical strength, they’d be safer than humans as trainers.

Unfortunately, reality was crueler.

If things were that simple, most trainers at Tracen would be Uma Musume. Yet, in reality, there were fewer than five Uma Musume trainers in the entire Tracen Academy—and none of them had ever raced professionally. Instead, they had trained exclusively as coaches from an early age, and even then, their journeys were far tougher than those of their human peers. No legendary trainer had ever emerged from among Uma Musume.

URA had never offered a clear explanation. When questioned, they’d simply say the matter was under investigation, providing no further clarity.

Kitahara himself had speculations about why, but he couldn’t confirm them. Even if his suspicions were correct, he understood why URA kept quiet, and thus refrained from mentioning it explicitly, choosing instead to gently caution Digital.

After listening carefully, Digital accepted his reasoning. She didn’t insist further on becoming his disciple, deciding instead to stay close through caring for Agnes Tachyon, observing and learning as much as she could.

The two chatted a bit more. Eventually, Kitahara casually asked about Digital’s racing record, realizing he’d never actually checked her stats.

Digital tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“I don’t remember exactly how many Open-class races I’ve won, but for graded stakes… I’ve won one G2 and one G1.”

Kitahara: “…”

Then why the hell do you want to become a trainer?! Isn’t being a professional Uma Musume racer good enough?

A G2 and a G1 win might not sound like much. But in truth, for most Uma Musume, winning even a single graded stakes—just a G3—was already a major achievement. G1 victories, even within the elite ranks of Tracen Academy, were lifetime dreams. Earning just one was enough to brag about for the rest of one’s life.

Yet Digital had already won a G1 within a year, all without a dedicated trainer.

Though her situation differed slightly from Tokai Teio—Digital regularly received informal coaching by moving freely between teams—this approach allowed her to absorb techniques from various trainers, effectively gathering the best from everyone. In a way, it might’ve been even more effective than having a dedicated trainer.

Still, that achievement was absurdly impressive.

Digital modestly explained she’d carefully researched beforehand and entered that particular G1 race because stronger rivals had been drawn elsewhere, allowing her to pick an easier field.

But even “easy” G1 races weren’t actually easy.

And frankly, given her strength, maybe it hadn’t been easy at all—maybe she’d just overwhelmed her competitors effortlessly, making it seem easy.

What’s more, Digital’s reasons for participating in that G1 were unconventional.

Other Uma Musume competed for pride and victory; she’d raced primarily for prize money. True to their name, graded stakes races offered substantial financial rewards, often huge sums unimaginable to ordinary people.

Digital candidly explained she’d been short on cash for Uma Musume merch and figured winning a big payout in one go would give her plenty of free time to enjoy chasing her favorite Uma Musume.

After winning, she’d immediately spent her prize money on merchandise for the very Uma Musume she’d just defeated. She even ran around before the victory ceremony, eagerly collecting their autographs.

Had anyone else attempted such antics, it would’ve been considered a blatant insult—potentially causing public outrage, even disciplinary actions. But with Agnes Digital, everyone had expected it. Some of the losing racers had even practiced their signatures in advance, hoping to leave a good impression.

Kitahara could only silently marvel: Truly, Agnes Digital was on another level.

After finishing their conversation, they quickly returned to the training grounds.

When the others saw them return together, nobody questioned or worried.

Had it been another Uma Musume—even a random one—concerns might’ve arisen. But this was Agnes Digital, after all. She inspired such trust that even Kitahara himself had once briefly considered making her his tantou. Her impeccable reputation as the academy’s only fully unrestricted transfer candidate practically spoke for itself.

—At least, until lunch rolled around, when the others overheard Digital’s new form of address for Kitahara:

“Kitahara-senpai, do you have any recommended books on trainer fundamentals?”

Though unsuccessful in becoming his disciple, Digital believed simply calling him “Trainer Kitahara” felt disrespectful, considering his willingness to advise her. After some consideration, she settled on “Kitahara-senpai.”

In her mind, as a prospective trainer herself, calling him “senpai” felt both respectful and entirely natural.

Kitahara himself wasn’t particularly sensitive about honorifics. Although being called “senpai” by Digital felt strange, she’d insisted strongly enough that after a couple of failed attempts at correction, he gave in.

It was just a form of address, after all.

But clearly, others didn’t agree.

The moment they heard Digital’s new nickname, reactions around the table varied:

Eclipse’s expression remained unchanged; she simply continued eating.

Tokai Teio momentarily paused, eyes narrowing subtly. Agnes Tachyon’s crimson eyes glittered thoughtfully.

Oguri Cap began eating slightly faster. Special Week’s hair inexplicably grew another centimeter.

Grass Wonder, preoccupied by gloomy thoughts, paid little attention, staring at Special Week and Silence Suzuka laughing together across from her, the light in her eyes gradually dimming.

A peculiar atmosphere began spreading through the cafeteria. Other Uma Musume nearby, sensing something was off, cautiously moved away.

Even Kitahara eventually picked up on the strange mood, his expression gradually changing.

Wait… He suddenly recalled Digital mentioning that she had abundant practical experience but lacked systematic theoretical knowledge. Yet in his team, there was precisely someone with the opposite situation—perfect theory but disastrous practical skills.

If he could somehow combine these two, wouldn’t it essentially create an extremely capable assistant trainer?

Given Tachyon’s personality, she’d jump at the chance to openly study other Uma Musume and gather data.

He was confident his own plans would allow his tantou to achieve solid results—but plans were static, while people were dynamic. No matter how perfect a plan was, there’d always be unforeseen issues needing on-the-fly adjustments.

Usually, trainers actively monitored practice and adjusted plans accordingly. But Kitahara couldn’t operate that way—not merely because he preferred slacking off, but for another, more crucial reason:

He simply couldn’t bear watching their practice closely.

It felt to him like an Italian seeing pineapple pizza, a Japanese person encountering macaroni sushi, or a Chinese diner faced with strawberry mapo tofu—pure torture.

It wasn’t that they weren’t serious or hardworking. In fact, they executed his training programs flawlessly, far surpassing most others. But his observational skills were too sharp—he could see every tiny flaw and imperfection clearly, things even legendary trainers couldn’t perceive.

For Kitahara, watching their training sessions felt like nails scraping against glass. It wasn’t obsessive-compulsive disorder; otherwise, he’d have gone insane long ago.

If he fixed every imperfection he saw, combined with his plans, his Uma Musume would become unbeatable—drawing catastrophic attention from the influential families and jealous rivals.

Thus, he deliberately avoided closely watching practice, fearing he’d lose control and try to perfect everything.

But avoiding monitoring meant occasional mistakes or accidents were inevitable.

Now, if Agnes Digital and Agnes Tachyon collaborated as assistant trainers, they could handle minor problems, reducing his workload further. If his team eventually achieved extraordinary success, he could even publicly credit their assistance instead, deflecting unwanted attention.

He’d benefit from decreased workload, reduced attention, and lower chances of accidentally raising affection points. Digital, meanwhile, would gain valuable experience and reputation. A perfect plan—one stone, multiple birds.

Would it raise Digital’s affection toward him? Probably. He wasn’t stupid; of course he’d noticed. But this was Agnes Digital.

Derailment? Not a chance. She was practically immune to such outcomes!

Thinking this through, Kitahara smiled confidently, eyes shining as he gazed at Digital. No—he wasn’t merely looking at her. He was seeing his own bright future, beckoning him onward.

Blissfully unaware of the gathering storm around him.

—

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!