As Shadow Radiance carried the last bag of potatoes into the storage room, her ears twitched instinctively. Outside the window, magnolia blossoms lay scattered across the flagstone path, swept gently by the wind. She paused, watching the petals drift, and suddenly realized—it had been exactly three years since she last saw Rudolf at the Starry Sky Cup.
Three years has passed now. She was nearly ready for her debut now, and it was time to start thinking about getting a Trainer's license.
Ever since that unsettling gaze from Rudolf , Shadow Radiance had spent three months in a state of constant tension, half-convinced she'd show up with a sack and abduct her along with a group of Uma Musume.
Those months were mentally exhausting. But they also taught her something: with her max-level parkour and evasion skills, she didn't believe she could catch her again.
"Radiance Onee-chan, what are you spacing out about?"
Starlight squeezed into the room, lugging a cardboard box taller than herself. The label read: Central District Trainer Equipment Specialist Store.
"Your online order for the training manual arrived!"
Shadow Radiance took the box, her fingertips brushing the words Central District. In three years, Starlight's stamina had climbed from F to D+—a quiet testament to her growth.
She tore open the box. The top booklet read: Tracen Trainer Qualification Exam Syllabus.
When the screen lit up, the words Eligible to register at 18 years old stood out in bold clarity.
Kiryu Ryu, passing by with a bowl in hand, grunted as he glimpsed the screen.
"Why bother with that? Our shop's curry tastes better than anything in Tracen's cafeteria."
"It's not for Tracen." Shadow Radiance replied, clicking on the registration page. Her finger hovered over the Career Direction field. "It's so I can register myself for my debut race."
Starlight leaned in, her tail brushing the keyboard.
"Onee-chan wants to be her own Trainer?"
"Mm." Shadow Radiance smiled. "I can't exactly have Grandpa waving a spatula at the racetrack to cheer me on."
The registration process was surprisingly simple. As she uploaded her ID, the success notification chimed—just as a magnolia petal floated through the window and landed on the keyboard.
For the next three months, Shadow Radiance converted the shop's back room into a study.
By day, she trained with Starlight on the town's outer track. By night, she devoured Racehorse Physiology and Track Tactics Analysis, the scent of curry lingering in the air.
Starlight would doodle little hearts in her notebook during practice questions. When caught, she'd curl her tail into a question mark.
"Is this exam really hard, Onee-chan?"
"Not particularly. But it'll be useful later."
When the results came out, Starlight was more excited than anyone. She ran around the shop hugging the printed certificate, her tail knocking over three stools.
Kiryu Ryu stood at the door, leaning on his cane, apron still stained with curry.
"Alright, now that your wings are strong, go fly. Just don't forget my pickled plums—the food in the Central District won't cut through the richness like these."
At the time, Shadow Radiance nodded quietly.
"Understood, Grandpa."
Back to the present—today was her official debut.
Once she debuted, she could enter formal races. And this time, she was going big.
Over the years, she'd discovered a hidden system feature: passive points could be used as currency in the system store.
After years of accumulation, she purchased a skill—no, a physique—that could be freely controlled.
Skill: [Pain Deficiency]
Allows the user to modify their pain receptors, setting pain to zero. No sensation. No distraction.
It had cost her dearly in passive points, but it was all for one reason: to give Rudolf a surprise she wouldn't forget.
Her plan was simple—and theatrical.
First, at the race's start, she'd wait in place for six seconds, radiating disdain and racking up advanced passive points.
Then, she'd activate her core skill and blow past the pack.
Toward the end, she'd pretend to lose control from sheer speed.
Finally, she'd slide-tackle the finish, pressing her hands to the ground, letting friction tear through her skin—bloodied palms as proof of her "injury," a legitimate excuse to skip the Winner's Stage.
Or maybe she'd skip the slide entirely and just sprint off the track.
Either way, Rudolf would be furious.