School let out in the blink of an eye. Wuyou left Tracen together with Chiemi.
Just like usual, they cooked, chatted for a bit, and then Wuyou headed back to his own place.
Tonight, he'd deliberately wrapped up dinner early for one reason:
He needed time to stream.
Because—joking aside—at this point they were already digging up his online identity. If he kept skipping streams, they might start digging up his real-life identity next.
He opened the streaming app he hadn't touched in two days, adjusted his voice changer, and took a long breath—mentally bracing himself.
Three… two… one.
Live.
"Hey everyone, it's Radish—"
"GWAAAH!!! YOU DEADBEAT PIGEON!!!"
"Two whole days, eighteen hours, thirty-five minutes, and forty-seven seconds! You're finally back!"
"RADISH-SENSEI! MY BELOVED! WHY WOULD YOU HIDE FROM ME?!"
"Please, Radish-sensei! For me—stream forever, okay?!"
In an instant, a chaotic storm of electronic voices detonated inside his headphones.
Even with his freakish, non-human processing power, he still got startled.
It had only been two days. Why were these people acting like they were going through withdrawal…?
He hurriedly lowered the volume and spoke with a wry smile.
"Sorry, sorry. I really have been busy lately… I'll stream longer today to make it up to you."
The chat finally calmed down a little, shifting into rapid-fire greetings and questions.
While responding, Wuyou pulled up his prepared topic for the night: tactical breakdowns of several classic horse girl races.
"Today I want to talk about a common issue in mid-to-long-distance races—pace control."
He loaded up race footage.
"For example, in this Kikuka-sho—pay attention to the transition from the third turn into the final straight…"
He went into detailed commentary on how the runners adjusted cadence, breathing, and stamina allocation.
Then a highlighted comment jumped out:
"Radish-sensei, I've noticed that some horse girls show a brief 'rhythm break' during the final straight—like they hesitate for a split second and then surge again. Is that a tactical mistake, or intentional?"
Wuyou's eyes lit up.
"Great catch! That's a really interesting detail—what you're calling a 'rhythm break' is known in classical training theory as a breathing reset."
The sudden technical term confused a lot of viewers, and questions flooded in.
After asking everyone to hold on, Wuyou began explaining.
"Some horse girls deliberately reset their breathing rhythm right before an all-out sprint. They lose a few tenths of a second, but they get a deeper oxygen intake and better muscular release in return…"
Using slow motion, he pointed out habitual micro-movements from several famous runners.
"Modern training emphasizes maintaining stable rhythm throughout, so this old-school technique is rare now.
But personally, if it's used well, that 'break' can become a unique form of tactical deception—making opponents misread your stamina and timing…"
For the next hour, he expanded from that single question into how training philosophies evolved across eras, and how people weighed efficiency against real-world performance.
The viewers kept asking questions nonstop. Only when it was getting late did Wuyou reluctantly wrap up.
"Alright, that's it for today. Next time—"
"NOOOO!!!"
"Five more minutes! Just five!"
Amid the wailing, pleading, and a final barrage of virtual gifts, Wuyou chuckled and ended the stream.
He took off his headset. The room fell quiet so suddenly it felt unreal.
Wuyou rubbed his slightly aching temples.
It had just been casual analysis and Q&A, yet the fans' enthusiasm still left him tired—though strangely satisfied.
After closing the app, he tapped into his private messages out of habit.
There were plenty of unread messages, but his attention was immediately caught by a familiar ID:
Xuanlan.
He opened their chat.
The latest message had arrived ten minutes ago:
"I was reminded of the classical concept of 'breath and cadence synchronization' when you mentioned that 'rhythm break' during the sprint…"
"Do you think applying it to modern mid-distance training could shape a distinct kind of running aesthetic?"
"Like a sudden slowdown—then a sharp acceleration, that dramatic contrast."
Wuyou couldn't help smiling.
This "Xuanlan" had noticed him shortly after he started streaming.
Back then, Wuyou had casually analyzed a race's tactical details, and—maybe because their ideas didn't align—Xuanlan had sent a long private message arguing against him.
They'd debated for ages, neither giving an inch, arguing until dawn.
But Wuyou hadn't been angry.
He didn't know who Xuanlan was, but from the way they talked, it was obvious they had deep theoretical foundations in horse girl training.
Sometimes they even referenced obscure classical documents.
How to describe it…?
It was as if running itself was this person's aesthetic.
That focused, pure exchange—through a screen, without ceremony—had become a rare kind of relaxation outside of Wuyou's streaming.
They'd gone from arguing training methods to discussing the beauty of running form.
They never interacted publicly on stream, but quietly developed a habit of these private discussions.
Wuyou typed a reply:
"Actually, I've been thinking about that 'aesthetic contrast' you mentioned too. But modern training prioritizes efficiency, and classical rhythm shifts might increase stamina load."
His message barely went through before an immediate reply popped up.
"Then what kind of horse girl do you think could try it?"
Wuyou thought for a moment.
"If it's someone like Mejiro McQueen, who excels at pace variation, it might be converted into a tactical 'false opening'…"
He paused, then added:
"But in the end, isn't the aesthetic of running built on victory? (lol)"
After sending, Wuyou leaned back in his chair.
A few minutes later, the icon blinked again.
Xuanlan replied:
"You're right. Victory is the prerequisite for an aesthetic to truly stand. You always manage to find that subtle balance between the two."
"Thanks," Wuyou answered.
For almost half an hour, they went back and forth like that—training theory, race cases, even niche fragments of running philosophy.
No small talk. No politeness.
Every line stayed on topic, yet there was a tacit understanding that didn't need to be spoken.
Finally, Wuyou noticed how late it had gotten and was about to say goodnight when a new message appeared:
"Tonight was enjoyable. But if you disappear again for more than two days like this…"
The message paused for several seconds, as if the sender was choosing their words.
Wuyou couldn't see it, but if he could, the constantly changing "typing…" indicator would've been enough to spook him.
After a long time, the next line arrived:
"I might do something… not very rational."
No emoji at the end.
But Wuyou could practically see the expression behind the words—half threat, half dead serious.
He froze for a beat, then laughed.
This person who always debated with cool rationality… saying something like that?
Wuyou smiled and typed back:
"Uh… I really can't guarantee it. I'm a trainer, after all—my priorities are with my trainees."
"?"
A single question mark came back instantly.
Then the messages started raining down, nonstop:
"You're a trainer? No… with your knowledge, that makes sense."
"Which academy do you work at?"
"Tokyo? Or somewhere else?"
"How many trainees do you have right now?"
Wuyou stared, stunned.
He had never seen Xuanlan this urgent—ever.
Even back when they'd argued until they were practically shouting through text, Xuanlan hadn't bombarded him with eighteen messages a second.
Wuyou considered it, then chose not to answer directly.
This was his real life.
He had absolutely no desire to get cornered at his front door.
After a while, Xuanlan finally calmed down.
"In that case, I respect your choice. Good night."
"Good night," Wuyou replied.
The chat ended.
The room fell completely silent.
Wuyou exhaled, but a strange ripple stirred in his chest.
This person he'd never met—whose voice he'd never even heard—seemed to care about his existence more than he'd imagined.
…
While Wuyou lay down to rest, someone else was far less calm.
Next door—
Chiemi lay on her sofa, holding her phone high overhead. On the screen played the replay of Radish-sensei's stream.
Normally, she'd be watching it with relish.
But now her brow was furrowed, as if she couldn't stop turning something over in her mind.
"Hm… something feels off."
Recently, she'd begun noticing that Radish-sensei's speech patterns—his pauses, his word choices—felt oddly familiar.
Especially his unique insight into training… it reminded her of someone.
She tried to catch that faint déjà vu, but it was like thinking through frosted glass—present, yet unclear.
She even paused several times to listen closely to the tail end of certain syllables, or those tiny pauses mid-sentence, but in the end she shook her head and put the phone aside.
No use. Radish-sensei used a voice changer. It was too hard to tell.
"Forget it… I'm probably overthinking."
She rubbed her sore neck, turned off the living room light, and went to her bedroom.
It was late. Outside the window, only a few scattered lights remained.
Chiemi slipped under the blanket and adjusted her sleeping posture as usual.
When she rolled to face the inner side of the bed, her arm reached out by habit, pulling something into her embrace—
Two coats Wuyou had left here.
The cotton fabric was soft against her cheek, close and comfortable.
She'd washed them clean a while ago.
She just… hadn't returned them.
For the past two days, she'd nearly formed a habit—she could only fall asleep holding them like a body pillow.
Chiemi smiled sweetly, wriggled a few times to find the most comfortable position.
"Mmm… Wuyou's scent is so… espe—wait."
In that instant, a familiar cadence slammed into her mind without warning.
Not through her ears—
Through memory.
Overlapping perfectly with the sensation she was holding in her arms.
Her eyes snapped open.
In the dark, she lay motionless, clutching the coats.
Radish-sensei's gentle-but-casual voice… his occasional awkwardness… his way of explaining things—
Line by line, it echoed with sudden clarity.
And synchronizing with it was Wuyou's usual way of speaking.
The slightly drawn-out ending when he was embarrassed.
The steady, trustworthy tempo when he seriously explained something.
So that "something's off" feeling…
It had been familiarity.
The coats in her arms seemed almost hot.
Chiemi slowly tightened her hold.
A single thought surfaced clearly in the quiet darkness:
"Radish-sensei's way of talking… why does it sound so much like… Wuyou…?"
…
Tokyo, somewhere within an enormous, lavish Western-style estate.
In a city where every inch of land was worth a fortune, owning a manor like this spoke of staggering wealth and status.
This was the famed noble house of the horse girl world—
The Mejiro Family.
Over history, the Mejiro line had produced countless shining figures. Like the Symboli line, they were a household name.
And in this generation, the Mejiro family had seven sisters—each with extraordinary talent—
a "golden generation," as many called them.
In one of the manor's rooms…
The decor was elegant and restrained, several carefully framed oil paintings hanging on the walls—some tranquil pastoral landscapes, others finely detailed still lifes.
An easel stood quietly by the window. A small table beside it held neatly arranged paints, a palette, and brushes.
The air carried a faint scent of turpentine and linseed oil.
The entire space radiated stillness and focus, silently reflecting the refined taste of its owner.
A tall beauty stood before the easel, gazing out at the night sky.
She wore a black, gauzy nightdress, and stood nearly as tall as Chiemi and Symboli Rudolf.
But compared to them, she carried a more elegant, mysterious aura.
Her jet-black hair was pinned up in a mature, capable style, with a single white streak at the front like a shooting star.
And beneath her left eye—
a beauty mark that felt like the finishing touch.
Or rather…
the detail that elevated her nearly bewitching beauty into something even more dangerous.
Her name was Mejiro Takamine, the eldest sister of the house.
Her fingertip lightly traced the smooth surface of a tablet. The screen still displayed her chat window with someone.
And her ID name—
Xuanlan.
"It's not imitation, and it's not just theory piled up…"
Takamine murmured, her voice almost inaudible in the quiet room.
"That angle of attack… that way of solving problems…"
"If you were my trainer…"
"…how wonderful that would be."
....
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