The first light of dawn hadn't even fully broken over the horizon, yet the crisp, cool air of early morning wrapped around the quiet streets.
Unfortunately for McQueen and Special Week, it wasn't quiet for long.
"Uuugh…" McQueen stifled a yawn behind a gloved hand, her refined composure slipping just enough to betray how groggy she was. Special Week trudged beside her, rubbing at her eyes.
"McQueen-san… do you know why we're here at five in the morning?" Special asked, her voice heavy with sleep.
McQueen gave a dainty shrug, suppressing another yawn. "No idea… probably another one of Akuma-san's sudden 'brilliant' ideas."
Before either could say more—
SPLASH!
Both Uma Musume squealed in unison as a cold shock drenched their heads and shoulders. McQueen's carefully tied hair clung wetly to her face, while Special blinked rapidly, her expression shifting from sleepy confusion to flat disbelief.
Akuma stood before them, empty bucket in hand, droplets running down his jogging jacket and hair. He shook his head briskly, spraying them with a few more flecks of water.
"What on earth are you doing?!" McQueen demanded, trying to maintain her usual grace but coming across as a shivering, mildly furious mess.
Special simply gave him a deadpan stare, unimpressed.
"Training, of course," Akuma grinned, slinging the bucket aside and adjusting the zipper on his jacket. He was dressed in full jogging gear, his sneakers already damp from the splash.
"You're not saying… you're going to jog with us, are you?" McQueen asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Of course I am." He tightened his laces, giving them both a sharp look. "Grade 1 races are no joke. Not only will there be Umas going all-out for the trophy, there will also be those whose only goal is to make other racers' lives miserable."
Special tilted her head. "So… we're gonna race against troublemakers?"
Akuma smirked, stepping aside to reveal the view ahead—the early morning market just beginning to awaken. Stalls opened their shutters, vendors arranged their wares, and locals bustled about, weaving through the narrow lanes.
"Exactly. And that's what we're going to simulate right now."
The training began with the trio weaving through the market's growing crowd.
At first, Special Week charged ahead, only to nearly collide with a man carrying a crate of apples. Akuma caught her by the collar just in time, pulling her back with a quick, "Control, Special-chan. You can't win a race if you cause a pileup."
McQueen fared better, slipping between shoppers with calculated precision—but she was slow, unwilling to jostle anyone.
"McQueen," Akuma called out, "speed and control. You can't protect your elegance if you're left behind."
As they ran, Akuma barked quick instructions: "Shorten your stride here!" "Pivot left—open lane!" "Cut between them before they close the gap!"
Special Week grinned with growing excitement, starting to find the rhythm of dodging and surging forward. McQueen grumbled but gradually adapted, her movements becoming smoother, her speed picking up without sacrificing her poise.
They darted around delivery carts, sidestepped gossiping groups of housewives, and slipped through narrow spaces between stalls stacked high with goods.
At one point, a vendor holding a tray of steaming buns stepped directly into their path. Special Week ducked low and spun around him, McQueen hopped lightly over a bucket in her way, and Akuma simply vaulted over the man's shoulder, landing in stride without spilling a drop of his coffee.
The trio looped through the market several times, Akuma occasionally stopping to point out how to read crowd movement—when to push through a gap, when to slow down, when to angle for a better lane.
"This," he said between breaths, "is what separates a racer who only runs fast from one who wins races. Power. Precision. Patience."
By the final lap, Special Week's cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining with the thrill of the challenge. McQueen was still panting but held her chin high, a proud glimmer in her gaze.
Akuma slowed to a jog, guiding them toward the edge of the market. "Good. You're getting it." He smirked faintly. "Next time, we'll add people actively trying to block you."
McQueen shot him a look. "Next time?"
Special Week just beamed. "I'm in!"
Akuma's grin widened. "Knew you'd say that."
The air cracked with tension as McQueen and Special Week lined up beside Daiwa Scarlet and Vodka. Scarlet smirked, eyes narrowing with competitive fire, while Vodka rolled her shoulders, sizing them up.
"Try to keep up, rookie," Scarlet taunted, flicking her hair.
"Don't blink," Vodka added, her grin sharp.
The whistle blew. The four bolted forward, shoes pounding the dirt track. McQueen's refined stride and Special's eager bursts matched Scarlet's fierce precision and Vodka's raw power. Akuma, standing at the side with arms crossed, barked pointers.
"Control your inside lane, Special! McQueen, watch Vodka—she's going to cut in!"
The race ended in a near dead heat, all four Uma Musume glaring at each other in silent promise: next time.
The indoor gym was buzzing with activity—McQueen and Special Week on treadmills side by side, beads of sweat starting to form as they focused on their pace. Akuma stood nearby, stopwatch in hand.
"McQueen! Keep your upper body still, don't let your shoulders bounce. Special, stop leaning forward—you'll burn out your calves!" he barked.
Both Uma Musume perked up at his instructions… until their eyes widened.
Because Akuma wasn't standing anymore—he was jogging. On another treadmill.
And that treadmill? It was currently being carried across the room on Mischa's shoulder like a shopping bag.
"Lengthen your stride at the last three seconds, Special!" Akuma called out, unfazed by the fact that he was running while his entire platform tilted slightly with Mischa's casual walk. "McQueen, keep your breathing rhythm to your steps—three in, two out. There, you'll get more speed without stressing your knees."
McQueen glanced at Special, utterly baffled. Special mouthed Is this normal?
Mischa, grinning like a showman, adjusted his grip. "Bossman, little more to your left. I think the incline's uneven."
"Good call," Akuma replied, shifting slightly mid-run without missing a beat.
The girls could only stare in disbelief as their coach kept perfect form—while riding a treadmill that wasn't even touching the floor.
Out on the track, McQueen and Special Week were each tied to massive piles of heavy wheels. Adal and Rice Shower sat proudly on top of them like royalty.
"Don't you dare slow down, dearies~~" Adal called with a smile.
Rice Shower, meanwhile, quietly offered encouragement to Special Week. "You're doing good… but I think Adal's pile is heavier."
McQueen gave Adal a flat glare over her shoulder. "I am aware."
Akuma clapped from the sidelines. "Leg power, ladies! If you can move that, you can move through anyone on a track!"
In the courtyard, Akuma stood with a bag of candy carrots. Without warning, he tossed a handful into the air.
"Catch!"
Special Week leapt forward, snatching three mid-air in an awkward spin. McQueen caught two in her hands with perfect grace, but lost one when Gold Ship—passing by—bit it out of the air like a seagull stealing fries.
Akuma raised an eyebrow at Gold Ship. "…That's for training, not you."
Gold Ship just grinned, chewing noisily. "Free snacks are free snacks!"
The week wrapped up with another relay race. The teams were mixed this time, but McQueen and Special Week were both anchors.
The whistle blew—chaos erupted instantly. Vodka barreled forward, shoving through two runners like a battering ram. Scarlet darted along the edge with nimble footwork. Gold Ship… stopped to wave at a dog.
When the baton finally hit McQueen's hand, she surged forward like a silver arrow, Special Week matching her stride for stride on the other side. Both teams screamed encouragement, the two Uma Musume giving it everything they had, hair whipping behind them as the final stretch loomed—
—only for McQueen to suddenly slow mid-stride, her elegant face twisting in disbelief.
Special Week slowed, confused. "…Where's the finish line?"
Everyone stopped. They looked ahead. There was… nothing. No ribbon. No marker. Not even a cone.
From somewhere on the field, Gold Ship's voice rang out, "Oops! I forgot to set it up again!"
Akuma pinched the bridge of his nose as McQueen and Special Week stood there, panting. "…Third time this year," he muttered.
Scarlet threw her hands up. "What's even the point of training if we never finish?!"
Special Week just laughed, bright and unbothered. "Guess we'll have to race again tomorrow!"
Akuma sighed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah… tomorrow."