Chapter Text
“I want to go racing someday. Like those girls in the nationals.” These were the first words that drew my attention away from my ice cream, and possibly the first time I’d ever started paying attention. I had myself my favorite vanilla ice cream, layered with whipped cream, rainbow sprinkles, strawberry syrup, and a cherry on top. Silva & Aurora had herself a plain cookies and cream ice cream. It came out of nowhere when we were returning home from playing in the playground all afternoon. I looked at her with my tongue mid-lick, making sure I wasn’t just hearing things.
And she knew that I must have not heard her right, because she corrected herself: “Racing, right? Lately, I’ve been watching the nationals with my mom. She said that it can be something I might want to pick up in the future. I didn’t know what it was, but she wanted me to watch it so bad. And…when I watched them…” She got lost in thought, blankly staring down at her ice cream as it melted past the cone. It was only when she noticed its icy touch that she snapped back to reality; she panicked and licked the ice cream off of her fingers, and then she continued. “I felt like they were so cool. They were all so fast, and their racewear were all so pretty, too. I got all excited and my mom told me, ‘Doesn’t that look thrilling?’ It made me think about wanting to race myself…” She stared off again, this time towards the sunset.
I asked her, “What did’ju say?”
“I said that I wanted to start racing myself.” She was so confident when she said it.
“Wow, just like that? …And what? Are you gonna start racing or something?”
“I want to, but my mom told me that those girls go through so much training before they can start racing like they do in the nationals. She said that if I want to race like them, then the best time to start is now.”
I had already monched my way through the whipped cream and down the base of my ice cream when a thought crossed my mind, and so I asked her—more to myself, really—“How can one race make you want to race so badly?”
And in a fit of her softest anger, she turned to me and went, “You don’t understand!” flailing her ice cream up and down like it didn't exist. “I mean, think about it: you’re racing with some of the best racers in the country, and only the best can compete. If you beat them all, you get to stand on top of the racing world and call yourself the best of the best! And then—”
“Doesn’t that mean you just want to race just so that you can win?”
When I said that, she froze in place in the middle of the street. I looked back to see that she blanked-eyed, knowing that she hadn’t realized her own intention until I said it. And after she’d processed and confirmed my suspicion, she looked back at me obliviously, giggled, and said, “Was it obvious?”
No, I said to myself, there’s even no need to tell her. In fact, it was very obvious. Silva & Aurora was a very competitive umamusume ever since we first met. The first time I saw her was at the very playground we were just coming home from. She’d turn every little thing into a competition. One day, she went up to a group of other umamusume playing a casual game of tag—I kept myself planted on top of the slide observing everything that happened since nobody was really using it—when Silva & Aurora came up to them and asked if she could join. The other girls said yeah, but she wouldn’t play without strict conditions. She proposed that the person who stays “it” the longest loses, and the person who outruns most of the taggers wins. There would be no quantifiable variables to determine winners or losers except for time, which no one was keeping track of, and the other girls knew that, too. Their enthusiastic faces turned puzzled when she came up with the condition; they looked at each other as if reconsidering allowing her to play, but she was so bright-eyed that they’d feel guilty to reject, and so they allowed her to join, albeit hesitantly.
Another day, she challenged some boys to some roughhousing, proposing that if she can keep them all on the floor, then she’d be the winner. None of them would take up the challenge, though; they flat-out said “No” to her. They all thought that they could easily break her, and they wouldn’t want to get in trouble for it. It probably didn’t help that she didn’t look all that strong herself—more feeble than muscular. She would always wear her favorite white one-piece dress, which only makes her look delicate. Her brown hair would also be lavishly done in long, shiny waves and shining against the sun’s reflection, making her look like some princess, and any physical harm to her would be like granting themselves a death sentence.
She would be shocked when they refused and demanded they let her play, but it never worked.
On the day I decided to talk to her for the first time, she was sitting on the bench alone one afternoon, looking a little sad; her ears were drooping down in a way I had never seen before. I was returning home from a shopping errand my dad sent me on when I noticed her there. Why was she sitting down all alone? Doesn’t she have anything better to do? Curiosity got the better of me, and so I approached and sat down next to her.
It didn’t seem like she noticed me. Either that, or she didn’t want to recognize my existence. She stayed still like a statue.
The first thing I thought of, and the first thing I did, was to take the spare melon bread from the shopping bag (I had secretly gotten two for myself using the leftover money my dad left me with), and held it out to her.
“Want one?”
She only had the energy to eye me, but she was still facing front. Her eyes locked onto the melon bread, and she still did nothing. At first, she seemed confused, twitching her eyes from me to the melon bread, and then finally, with a slow hand, she took it.
“You look sad… What happened?”
…
She rested her hands with the weight of the melon bread and her troubles in her lap. I knew she heard me; maybe she just isn’t in the mood to talk. And so I, whether knowing it was the right thing to do or not, began chowing away at the bread.
“Ish pree’y good.” I said with a full mouth.
And it seemed to have worked. She slowly started opening the wrapper and held the bread mid-way towards her mouth like she’s stuck choosing whether to trust me. And after her hands were probably tired from keeping them mid-air for so long, she finally took her first bite. We then chowed away for the duration of our snack.
When we finished, I took the wrappers and hid them in my pockets and didn’t bother leaving the bench. She still hasn’t spoken a word.
I asked again, “Why are you sad?”
…
Again, she wouldn’t answer.
This wasn’t doing me any good—I’m on a time crunch, and I wouldn’t want to let my dad worry why I was talking so long, so, after a few more seconds of waiting to see if she would move her lips (she didn’t), I got up, grabbed the bag, and started walking away.
“Do you… think I’m weird?” she finally said, twiddling away at her fingers when I turned around.
“Weird? …No?” I tilted my head—“Is that why you’re so sad?”—and sat back down next to her.
“Everyone at school thinks so,” she rebutted.
“Why?”
She regretted telling me that, because her lips twitched as if out of fear. At length, she still told me, “Everyone avoids me. They all look at me weird whenever I try to talk to them. Nobody wants to play with me.” Her voice quivered from then on, almost like she’s on the point of breaking down when she finishes off with, “Nobody wants to be my friend.”
And then, tears began to stream down her face, but she tried her hardest to suppress them by gripping her dress as hard as she could.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say I felt indifferent to all of it. I could pretty much guess why she feels so isolated. But I can admit that it was sort of my fault for basically forcing her to spill her beans. It’s wrong to leave her like this—I’d be ditching someone who needs help. Yet, my face had no interest in this whatsoever. It’s a good thing she didn’t look up. I had to do something, at least something to make her stop crying. My fists clenched out of instinct, I took a deep breath, and said the first words that I could come up with.
“I’ll be your friend,” I said in a flat tone.
My heart pounded like mad, cursing me for doing something I didn’t want to do. It scolded with things like I didn’t need any friends, and I’d only be risking all of my alone time just for the sake of making her feel better. But in the back of my mind, there was ease. I know this is the right thing to do. I couldn’t even take those words back anymore, but it’s not like I intended to lie.
She wiped her eyes with both hands, sniffling, and her voice sounded more hopeful than depressed as her ears started perking up when she replied to me, “…Thank you.”
She started calming down, and it was a gigantic relief for me, too. After wiping her eyes clean, she finally picked her head back up and said again, “Thank you…It means a lot.” Her eyes were still red, but her expression rejuvenated a little.
But there was still more I was curious about. Debating whether to tell her, lest I risk making her cry again, I mustered up the courage and asked her, “Why do you always make everything about winning in the first place?” while tucking in my legs.
She jolted at first, even looked to the side as if she was cooking up some convenient lie, but her face turned solemn. She wanted to tell the truth.
“I…just want to show everyone that I’m not what they think I am. Everyone treats me like I’m special, and they don’t expect anything from me. I don’t want that. I want to do stuff, too. I want them to look at me like I’m capable, too.”
The rest of the pieces fall into place from the little she told me. She picked up this obsession with winning competitions as a way to show others that she’s not this delicate being that is just supposed to exist. She can be worth something; she can be a fighter. It’s probably because of that that people ended up taking it the wrong way. To see someone who looks like her wanting to test her skills by doing the complete opposite of what people expected of her, which was nothing, they thought that there was something wrong with her, which is why they started avoiding her.
“Sounds rough.”
She nodded— “It’s been really hard, but… thank you for listening. It means a lot,”—and faced me again. Then, her eyes sparkled a speck like she remembered something. “Do you mean it? Do you want to be my friend?”
“Well, I can’t really take those words back, can I?” I replied in a joking manner.
And she chuckled in response, along with her ears now perking back up to normal. Somehow, something is working.
“I’ve seen you before,” she said. “You were always alone here, weren’t you?”
“Yep. You figured me out.” And knowing that she was up in good spirits again, I got up and grabbed my bag. “Welp, see ya. It was nice talking to ya.” It was already really late, and my dad wouldn’t like that one bit. I hurried my steps back onto the street…when I heard footsteps that didn’t belong to me.
I turned back, and sure enough, she was following me, all giddy with her tail swaying. She soon caught up with me, acting so casual like she wasn’t just sobbing a few moments ago.
“Why are you following me?”
“Hm? My house is this way. I thought we could go together. As friends.”
“I mean…we don’t have to do this every time, y’know. You can leave me alone.”
“But that’s not what friends are for!” She pouted herself as bright and big as a dumpling.
“Is that right?” I couldn’t tell. “Sigh…Fine. Do what you want.”
“Yay.”
From then on, we spoke a lot more, hung out a lot more, and inevitably ended up dragging me to join her in competitions. She would always win. From ramen-eating, to running—which was not fair, by the way—to climbing, to almost anything. I didn’t mind losing, though. Seeing her smile was more than enough for me. She’s a good girl at heart, and honestly, I’m glad I chose to become her friend.
Long story short, her obsession with winning competitions comes from a desire to prove that she can be a fighter herself.
She caught up with me, and we continued walking towards home.
“But, you get what I mean, right?” she said. “I definitely have a lot of time to race and get some practice in if I want to race in the nationals. Oh! And there was another thing: my mom told me that those girls attend an academy called “Tracen”, where they are specially trained by their trainers, people who are in charge of them to make sure they are in top form, kind of like a team. So…I was thinking…” She stared off in the other direction.
Surely, she didn’t mean what I thought she was trying to imply, so I asked just to make sure. “I know you’re not telling me to act as you’re tra—”
“That’s precisely what I’m getting at.” She looked at me, oblivious, again, this time with an innocent smile.
Cut short in my answer, and short-fused from a response, too. I racked my brain for anything I could say, but it’s all just too much brainpower for me. My first breath came out as a sigh, and then I told her: “How about this: Give me time to think about it, and I’ll give you an answer as soon as possible.”
And her face lit up. “Ah! You don’t know how happy this makes me!” She went in for a hug with her ice cream still in hand, which she hadn’t even taken a lick of yet! When she let go, she further said, “I can’t wait to hear your response, but you better say yes, okay?” Then she teasingly said, “I’m not going to take no for an answer, got that?”
…
“Sure…whatever you say.”
At the 5th intersection, we waved each other good night, and she skipped her way back to her home. I went in the opposite direction.
Finally getting home, I went straight before the door to my dad’s study. It’s the only door that exists in our hallway. I took a deep breath, rehearsed my lines, even played out how different scenarios in my head are going to play out, and slammed the door open for surprise effect.
“Yo, pops!”
Without hesitation, he said, “What did I say about calling me that?”
“Okay, then. Dad!” I stepped inside and walked towards his desk. His study was always dark, but the looming presence of a library’s worth of bookshelves on both walls always made it like I’m stepping into a wizard’s hobbit. He was reading through a binder of which I guessed was notes.
“Again…” He looked up at me with stern eyes. He’s not mad; that’s just how he looks.
“Ugh, fine… Father…”
“What is it you need, my boy?” and he looked back at his binder.
I reached my arms over his desk and told him, “You’re a trainer, right? What’s it like?”
One second…two…then three. That was how much it took him to realize what I said. He flicked his head up, looking stupefied, then flicked his head at me with the same face.
“Why do you ask?” he said.
“I dunno. Just thinking about picking it up.”
He blinked a few times, then, recollecting himself, slowly closed the binder and set it to the side, and he leaned forward like a super-villain-evil-mastermind. “It is not a simple task. As a trainer, you hold responsibility for your trainee’s success. Anything you put forth them will be reflected in their worth, so learning how to tackle every problem unique to every trainee is paramount.” He then gets up from his seat and moves towards the windows behind him with his hands behind his back, all at a slow pace.
Yes, this is my dad.
“I have seen a great many trainers fail even the most fundamental of skills needed to accommodate every one of their trainees’ needs. Because of that, every single one of them, no matter how hard they push them, how hard they motivate, how much they try…and how much they scold, as it pains me so to say, failed. Being a trainer does not only encompass technical skill and only looking towards the best methods for achieving goals. It is about working as a team. Of course, technical skills are but a must. You are given the role of trainer to know the knowledge your trainee might know not. Every umamusume’s aspirations, dreams, and hopes hang on the very muster of your shoulders, and if you are to come ill-prepared, you cannot possibly call yourself a well-worthy trainer.”
His voice dipped at that last sentence, like he was reminiscing about a memory that made him say it. There’s no telling how he felt about it; I couldn’t even see his face.
“Wow…that’s crazy. …I ain’t ask for allat. I guess what I was trying to get at was, ‘Is it fun?’”
He stopped for a few seconds, then he turned his head halfway to eye me from his peripheral and said, “…Yes. Quite,” while returning to his seat. “Many of the girls I’m training are quite the characters. It is always a good time to see them in high spirits. That is but one of the reasons why training is beyond technical skill. Before long, you find yourself forming inseparable bonds with them, and many of their accomplishments, their smiles, their burdens, and even their tears, will become yours. A high responsibility it is to become a trainer. Why do you ask? It is strange you want to talk to me about this now of all times.”
I didn’t know how to come about the fact that I was asked to act as a trainer for Silva. The best I thought up was, “So, suppose that I wanted to start picking it up now. That I could start training somebody like you do, what would you say?”
He replied, “I assume that you and your little friend have thought up of this, to which case, there would be no harm in doing so. After all, it is your choice at the end of the day. Do as you please, and if you’d like, I can help you with your studies. And who knows, maybe you might end up even better than me when you grow up. I also want to assume that your friend is aiming for Tracen, correct?”
“Sounds like it. She said she wanted to run in the nationals.”
“Then that means that she is aiming for Tracen. Umamusume racing in them are all from the prestigious academy, and I so happen to train there too. I really hope you will consider this path. Maybe we might get to see each other as rival trainers someday in the future.” It was the first time I remember seeing so happy before.
And it may have rubbed off on me, too. Awing at the vision of my dad and I standing pillar to pillar in a grand battle of wit and our trainees standing against each other like pawns on a chessboard had my heart scream out of excitement, and enough to bring me hopping in joy. “True! Alright, thanks, dad!” I ran out of his study and out the house again, hauling it to Silva’s house to bring her the great news. It was already getting dark.
I arrived at her house, wasted no time in ringing her doorbell, and still ended up hopping to contain all this stored energy. Her lights are still on; someone has to be there.
A silhouette came down from the stairs—not Silva, judging by the height—and opened the door.
“Oh, it’s you, Luca. What brings you here so late?”
“I want to talk to Silva! Is she there?”
She chuckled to herself. “Yes, Aurora is still awake. I believe I know why. She was very happy when she talked to me about her proposal to you.”
I stepped inside and took my shoes off at the entrance— “Well she’s going to be extra happy when I tell her about this,”—and rushed my way upstairs to her door.
I then palmed her door. “Silva! You there!?”
“Ahh—! L-Luca!? Is that you!?” Her voice sounded clear, even through the door. “Y-Yes. Please hold on a minute.”
Taking her words literally, I stood guard in front of her door as she shuffled some things around on the other side.
Then, truly after about a minute, she slowly opened her door and peeked through the gap. “…You may come in now.”
She opens her door all the way, revealing herself already in her white sleep gown, her hair and tail were a little damp.
I stepped inside. “I bring you great news—oh…my…gosh…”
It was my first time going inside her room, and the first thing I saw—the only thing I saw—was white! White walls, white ceiling, white lamp, white bed, white counter, white wardrobe, everything! It was like looking at the sun that rendered me blind; I could still see the whiteness even with my eyes closed.
“What is it?” Silva went by and sat on her bed.
“Yeah…About that.” It took me a while to adjust my vision to the brightness. I beckoned my eyes to open, but they could only open when they felt like it was ready. When they were, I told her, “I have come back with an answer.”
“That fast!? I can’t believe it. I was expecting an answer, by minimum, tomorrow.”
“Hehe, what can I say? I get stuff done,” I said.
“So? Will you do it?” Her tail wagged a little.
And before I said anything, I gave her a big smile; it was already too much to keep inside. “Totally! From now on, I will be your trainer! I’m going to work extra hard to see you at the top!”
And upon my response, her ears perked straight up, her tail wagged furiously, and she jumped up to wrap me in a hug again and said, “Thank you so much, Luca! You’re the best!”
Despite how feeble she looks, she was surprisingly very strong. Her passion and sincerity began to choke me in the chest and threatened to break me. Any more and she would’ve cracked my back like a twig.
But she lets go of me in time, and said, “Starting tomorrow, we’ll work towards the nationals, okay?”
“Yeah…got it.”
“Let’s make it a promise,” and she holds out her pinky to me.
One thing’s for sure: taking this journey is going to be a long one, and we may not be seeing results for years to come, but taking on this journey might not hurt in the long run. If we do make it to the nationals and win, that could be one hell of a story. The ultimate duo. My first motivation was to make it to Tracen so I could be there with my dad, but on second thought, maybe if we both made it to Tracen, then that wouldn’t be so bad either. She’s my friend, possibly my only one, and all the time spent together hasn’t been boring at all, so this new path might end up being worth it for us. Maybe I might like being a trainer.
With my resolution set, I take her pinky in mine, and we both lock our grip with determination in our eyes. “Promise!”