Chapter 5: Unstable Speed in Training
Though the contract hadn't been officially signed yet, Kitasan Black had already started referring to him as her trainer. The tall stack of folders and VHS tapes she was hugging to her chest—those were the materials she had mentioned.
They were exactly what Makoto had asked Tokai Teio to help him get earlier that afternoon.
Unlike most schools, Tracen Academy's student council president wielded enormous authority. Teio didn't need to consult the board of directors or the chairman to act on behalf of the academy.
That included full access to the school's internal archives—many of which the outside world would never see.
Makoto, still a rookie, had no access rights himself… but with Tokai Teio's approval, that problem was solved.
"Thanks, Kitasan."
He opened the door, turned casually into the living room, and gestured toward the floor.
"Just drop it anywhere. I'll go get you something to drink."
"O-Okay… But there's no need, Trainer. The president already treated me to lots of honey drinks. I'm not thirsty."
"Alright then. Sit wherever you like… Have you eaten yet?"
"Not yet..."
Kitasan Black shook her head, then perked up with newfound energy.
"I also told the president that I'd be taking care of you for the next few days! So if you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask!"
"There's nothing in particular. Just make yourself at home."
As he pulled out his phone, Makoto asked, "Want me to order takeout?"
"You eat takeout all the time, Trainer?"
Kitasan Black blinked, then glanced around the room with interest.
The entryway had only a few pairs of shoes. The living room, however, was packed—shelves filled with books and VHS tapes related to racehorse girls and trainers. Stacks of handwritten notes and folders were neatly arranged. A laptop sat open on the coffee table.
Despite the clutter, everything was organized. The only real mess was the trash bin, stuffed full of crumpled paper and takeout containers labeled "Grey Cottage."
"Cooking's too much of a hassle. Besides, there's a place down the street from the academy that's really good and fast. I've gotten used to it."
Makoto set his phone down on the sofa and plopped down, casually flipping through the documents Kitasan had brought.
"If you don't like takeout, I guess there's no way to invite you to dinner."
"Huh? N-No, it's totally fine!"
Kitasan waved her hands quickly, then pulled out her own phone.
"I'll order, then! You meant 'Grey Cottage,' right?
"That place is super popular among students at the academy! If they're not eating in the cafeteria, they're usually getting food from there."
"Oh! And it's run by a few of our senpais. I wonder if you've ever met them before, Trainer—hm?"
She paused mid-sentence when she noticed Makoto had powered on the laptop, turned on the TV, and was now feeding a VHS tape into the deck in the corner of the room.
Kitasan tilted her head curiously.
"Trainer, what are you doing?"
"Just reviewing some races at the Tokyo racetrack, and comparing them to your data."
He picked a specific tape, slid it into the machine, then returned to the sofa and laid the stack of files beside the laptop.
"You don't have training footage available, so this is the best I can do for now."
He explained casually as the screen flickered to life:
"These tapes are from the school's archive, multi-angle footage you can't find online. Plus, each race includes detailed data on every participant."
"It's much easier to assess your situation with this kind of material. Of course, once we sign the contract, I'll want to see your running firsthand."
As he spoke, Makoto noticed how Kitasan's eyes had locked onto the screen, completely absorbed in the race unfolding before her.
He nodded to himself quietly.
Running wasn't just a skill for racehorse girls.
It was instinct.
It was longing.
Even though they shared the same instincts and aspirations, not all horse girls were the same.
For instance, the horse girls he'd encountered back home didn't seem all that enthusiastic about racing. At least, not to the level of Kitasan Black, who became laser-focused whenever a race was involved.
From that alone, it was clear this horse girl already had a solid foundation when it came to competitive drive.
What was playing on screen now was a pre-race interview. Watching it didn't really matter, so while admiring her quietly, Makoto glanced at the phone in Kitasan Black's hands, then grabbed his own from the sofa and casually ordered two sets of takeout.
After that, he turned his attention back to the race footage and data, inputting everything into the computer.
When it came to racing, the most direct metric was speed. The most important speed-related values were gate reaction speed, cruising speed, and final sprint speed.
Gate reaction speed referred to the time between the gate opening and the horse girl's physical reaction. Theoretically, the fastest possible reaction was 0.1 seconds, while the average was around 0.25 seconds.
That gap often played a key role in securing position at the start and could influence which tactics were used later on.
Cruising speed covered the longest duration—it was the speed maintained between the early contest for position and the final push.
In most races, this speed ranged between 15 and 17 meters per second. The exact value depended on things like track length, competition level, and course condition.
Final sprint speed—also called maximum speed—was used in the last 600 meters to clinch the race.
This distance could vary by about 200 meters depending on the race, tactics, and current situation, with the corresponding speeds adjusting accordingly.
Compared to the speed data shown in the footage, Kitasan Black's official profile didn't look particularly impressive—both her peak and average speeds were noticeably lower.
But Makoto wasn't surprised. The former was race data from official events, while the latter came from training logs—unofficial, and before her debut.
What he was really focused on was the fluctuation range of the numbers—the variance.
The smaller the variance, the more consistent the performance. The larger the variance, the more inconsistent.
After cross-checking and recalculating a dozen times, the result was clear: Kitasan Black's current training data had a high variance. Her speed wasn't stable.
That kind of instability could be explained by a lack of control over her strength—but that explanation alone didn't cover it.
Speed was just the surface. Strength control was only one of many contributing factors. Others included oxygen intake, fat ratio, gait characteristics, and running posture—each of which could affect both training and actual race performance.
Makoto switched over to a different formula and input set. Before long, he had a hypothesis—something other than just strength control might be at play.
"Hey, Kitasan. Have you ever done any focused training for race-specific 'strike stepping'?"
"Let's go! Let's go! You can do it—huh?"
She was still fired up watching the race, cheering loudly at the screen like she was really there in person, when Makoto suddenly asked the question.
"Strike stepping...? We did cover it in class, but…"
She scratched her head awkwardly. "I've never had a personal trainer before. And none of the senpais back home ever taught me."
Makoto fell into thought.
He remembered something and had just double-checked her profile. Kitasan Black came from a large family of horse girls.
But none of them had stood out much, so it wasn't surprising that nobody had pointed this out to her before.
"If I haven't mastered strike stepping yet, then in my upcoming races—"
Knock knock knock
A sudden knock at the door interrupted her. At the same time, Makoto's phone started ringing.