"Man, I shot up fast," I said, sighing.
"Thanks to that, I can't sleep without meds. And all my clothes don't fit anymore—total disaster," I grumbled.
"But you got new ones, right?" Ryan pointed out.
"Feels like I'm just piling on more debts," I muttered, exasperated.
I pulled a small case from my pocket, shook it, and a stick popped out. I put it in my mouth, attached a small device, and pressed a button. Detaching it, I took a deep breath, exhaling a white mist. In this season, it clearly wasn't winter breath.
"Looks like you're smoking," Ryan teased.
"It's one of those things. Tell it to the medical board if you've got complaints," I shot back, half-singing.
Dressed in gym clothes, I stared at the course ahead, irritation simmering. Today was my Tressen Academy entrance exam. Ryan's presence drew eyes, but I ignored them, puffing out more mist. A woman approached, holding a file—a trainer scouting the exam.
"Sorry, is that a herbal cigar? Could you not smoke here? There's a smoking area over there," she said.
"I'm declining for mental health reasons. And this isn't a cigar—it's medicine," I replied coolly.
Herbal cigars are used by Uma Musume to calm nerves before or after races, scented to soothe. Mine was based on that, but it was a prescription.
"She's telling the truth. It's a stabilizer," Ryan vouched.
"If Mejiro Ryan says so, I'll take her word for it," the trainer said, eyeing me skeptically.
I kept puffing, unfazed. My mind wasn't a child's—it was fully adult. This was just medication, and I could stand by that. It was medicine.
"Never liked the smell of tobacco anyway," I added.
Finishing, I stubbed the stick into a portable ashtray and looked skyward, exhaling a long plume of mist before freezing in place.
"Haaaa..." I sighed heavily.
"Hey, you okay?" the trainer asked, concerned.
"She's fine. She's always like this after her meds," Ryan explained.
The reason was simple: my mind was a mix. Sometimes, Rampage's memories surfaced in dreams, throwing my mental balance off and affecting my health. The Mejiro family's psychiatrist prescribed this to stabilize my mood and sense of self. It worked like a charm.
"Finally settled," I said. "Enough moping. Time to run. See ya later, Ryan."
"Good luck!" she called, waving.
The trainer turned to Ryan. "What's with her? Talking to her feels like dealing with a full-grown adult."
"Ran's just mature for her age," Ryan said with a smile.
Mature? I was an adult, so no surprise there. Ryan grinned inwardly, her excitement building for my race.
"Look at number 4," a voice whispered.
The exam was part of Tressen's regular selection race, drawing trainers eager to scout new talent or check on returning candidates. I stood at the starting line, already turning heads.
"She's tall," someone said.
"And built like a tank," another added.
"Next to those slender girls, she looks even bigger."
Thanks to my full awakening, I was now 175 cm—only Hishi Akebono, a famously massive racehorse, topped that among Uma Musume. Add the Mejiro family's nutrition plan and Ryan's muscle-training sessions, and my physique was downright impressive.
"Number 4's the transfer candidate, right?" a trainer asked.
"Yeah, she's in the mix. Wonder how she'll run."
"Name's Rampage. No prior data—a total wildcard."
"Let's see how far I can go," I muttered, half to myself.
I'd trained on the Mejiro estate's course with Ryan, who assured me I'd be fine. But honestly? I had no idea. Today would be the test.
"She's huge," an Uma Musume nearby whispered.
"Like, three heads taller," another said.
"And those curves... ugh!" one groaned, envious.
I ignored their chatter, focusing on strategy. Ryan's words echoed in my mind.
"I'm no trainer, so I can't get technical about running, but just go with what feels right for you, Ran!"
"That's how you do it too?"
"Yup. You've got a style that's you. Build on that."
I'd never trained properly, thanks to my circumstances—just long-distance runs at best. And with my human soul dominating, I had no clue what my Uma Musume instincts favored. So...
"Guess I'll just wing it," I said, a cocky grin spreading across my face.
The other Uma Musume frowned at "wing it." They were here to impress trainers, running with everything they had. To them, my casual attitude seemed like I was mocking the race. But they were missing something.
"And now, the selection race—1400-meter turf—begins! Runners, to your positions!"
"Wing it" didn't mean half-hearted or sloppy. It meant finding the right fit, the perfect balance, the ideal approach.
"Ready... Start!"
I exploded off the line, kicking the ground with force.
"No way!"
I surged ahead, timing perfect, faster than anyone. Some thought I'd fouled, but no one stopped me—it was clean. The others scrambled to catch up. My long strides and blistering pace pulled me ahead, leaving them in my dust.
"No way I'm letting her get away!" one shouted.
"I'm not losing!" another yelled.
They charged, closing the gap with fierce determination. Soon, they were neck-and-neck.
(Crap, this pace is too much!) I thought.
(Gotta stick to my pace!) another girl muttered.
Realizing they couldn't sustain it, they slowed to conserve energy, confident they could overtake me anytime. But then I accelerated again.
"Take this!" one shouted.
"She's slowing—now's our chance!" another called.
"No you don't!" they cried, matching my speed.
They caught up, then passed me as we hit the final corner.
"Alright—time to go!" I growled.
I kicked the ground hard, surging forward. The lead Uma Musume, determined not to lose, tried to speed up, but something was off. Their legs wouldn't respond.
"Why...?" one gasped.
"My legs... they're not moving!" another cried.
They hadn't noticed how much my pace had drained them. Their usual top speed was down to 70%, their bodies refusing to push further. Frustrated, they tried to force it—then stumbled, knees buckling from exhaustion. As they scrambled to avoid falling, their speed plummeted, and I closed in. Trainers shouted, "Watch out!" expecting a collision.
But I didn't slow. In a flash, I weaved through them, my body twisting and gliding past like they weren't even there.
"...What?!" the fallen girls gasped.
"No way!" the ones behind echoed.
It was unreal. The two who'd stumbled froze, the pair trailing me gaped, and nearly everyone watching was speechless. Only Ryan understood what she'd seen.
"That's Ran for you," she said, grinning.
I crossed the finish line in first, victorious. Stopping, I looked skyward.
"Feels damn good... Could get used to this," I said, a bold grin spreading.
Catching Ryan's gaze, I raised a fist in a triumphant gesture. She beamed back.
"Man, that was some wild running," a trainer said.
"Intriguing. I'd love to talk to her," another added.
"That's the one the matriarch mentioned," a third noted.
Eyes were on me now—seasoned Uma Musume, trainers, all of them. My run had sent ripples through the crowd. Word would spread, not just among Uma Musume, but to those who'd shape my future.