Chapter 161: Fiiine, it’s Japanese rice, right?

Tak-tak-tak—the horseshoes nailed into my training shoes rang sharply against the sparsely populated road.

Back in my previous life, the go-to onomatopoeia for a horse running was probably clip-clop, clip-clop. When you run lightly over softer ground, it really does sound like that, so it makes me think—yeah, I really am an Uma Musume.

For the record, when you run on hard asphalt, it comes out as a sharp tak-tak. And when you sprint at full speed, it turns into a heavy thud-thud-thud. Just so you know.

The horses of my previous life and the Uma Musume of this world share quite a few similarities. Considering the setting of the anime I watched back then, maybe that’s only natural.

…Though the world I live in now doesn’t seem to be exactly the same as that anime’s world.

For one thing, the protagonists’ partner trainer, Okino Trainer, isn’t here. And neither are Broye-chan or Golshi-chan.

Maybe this world is something like a derivative—very close to the Uma Musume anime I once watched, but not quite the same.

Well, honestly? I don’t really care about that part.

This is the world I live in now. That’s all that matters.

I might make use of the knowledge I gained from the old anime, but I refuse to be bound or pushed around by it.

…In the past, I probably would’ve complained, “Don’t mess with the source material,” but wow. I’ve really changed.

Anyway, the horses from my previous life and the Uma Musume of this world share many traits. More specifically, we Uma Musume tend to be easily swayed by our wild instincts.

From what Ayumu-san told me, many Uma Musume still retain those animalistic sensitivities—disliking tight spaces, becoming heavily stressed in unfamiliar environments, that sort of thing.

…But I’m a reincarnated, cheat-powered, ultra-strong eight-crown Uma Musume. I refuse to fit into such ordinary rules.

Well, okay. This time, the cheat powers, the strength, and the eight crowns don’t really matter.

It’s probably because my soul—my mind, my ego, something like that—carried over from my previous life. But Hoshino Wilm doesn’t have particularly strong wild instincts in that direction.

If I put my mind to it, I can endure things just fine.

Though in exchange, my instinct to enjoy running seems absurdly strong…

Honestly, I don’t fully understand the logic behind it myself.

What even happened to my soul?

Did I possess the soul that was originally meant to be born as Hoshino Wilm in this world? Did our souls fuse together? Or did I simply reincarnate from nothing?

I don’t really know. I’ve had self-awareness since birth, so I don’t think it’s a body-snatching situation, but still.

…Well, no use overthinking it.

In any case, I don’t really suffer from instinctual stress. I’m fine in enclosed spaces like starting gates, and changes in my surroundings don’t affect me much.

And of course, that holds true even here—somewhere completely different from Japan.

"It really is different from Japan… France."

My breath dissolved into the slightly cooler air—cooler than Japan’s—unnoticed by anyone.

That’s right.

Where I’m running now is 9,500 kilometers away from Japan, somewhere in France.

Apparently the place is called Elbeuf… but honestly, I don’t know much about French geography, so I couldn’t tell you more than that.

Anyway, it’s along a river in France.

About two hours have passed since the plane landed.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Ayumu-san’s car—a brand-new one, different from the one he used in Japan—was already parked in the lot, and our base, fully furnished, was ready to go.

Thus began our life in France, in absurdly perfect preparedness.

While Ayumu-san handled procedures, reports, and calls, I found myself with some free time. So I started jogging—partly to loosen up, partly to get a feel for the area.

On the plane, I’d only been able to stretch. I needed to get used to running locally.

First, I had to learn the terrain around our base and find good spots for independent training.

It was mid-July. This year’s Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe would be held on October 4th.

That meant nearly three months until the main event.

If I couldn’t train independently for that long, I’d lose my mind.

So, to carve out a promising running course, I trotted lightly around the area.

Of course—naturally—I got Ayumu-san’s permission this time.

We agreed that I wouldn’t stray too far from the base. He insisted I carry not only my smartphone and water, but also a GPS device with a button that would send him an alert if pressed.

Isn’t that a little overprotective?

…Maybe. But honestly, it makes me happy.

Still, I can’t say I don’t understand his worry.

After all, this place really is completely different from Japan.

"It feels pretty different from Japan, city-wise."

The first thing I noticed was how boldly the land was used.

Japan, with its endless mountains, tends to cram buildings and roads tightly together.

France, on the other hand, doesn’t have as many mountains here, so there’s more usable land. The roads and sidewalks are ridiculously wide. Even streets with few pedestrians have dedicated Uma Musume lanes. Some houses have enormous gardens, and there’s plenty of greenery lining the streets.

The air and temperature are different too.

Maybe because there’s more nature compared to central Tokyo, but even though it’s summer, it’s not that hot. Even the air—the scent of it—is different. I just don’t have the vocabulary to describe it properly.

And of course, as you’d expect, there isn’t a single Japanese person among the people I pass.

Most have brown or blonde hair, and their facial features and overall vibe are completely different from Japanese people.

I once heard that humans seek genetic diversity and tend to feel more attracted to people from faraway countries than those nearby…

Looking at things here, that has to be a lie.

Not that the people here lack charm. Sometimes I think, wow, that guy’s handsome.

But Ayumu-san is about a hundred times more handsome. And I love him more. Yep.

Among the passersby, some double-take at me with startled expressions.

It’s not because I’m a rare Japanese Uma Musume.

I’m Hoshino Wilm—the star Uma Musume currently making waves worldwide.

If someone casually glances at a runner and finds a world-famous superstar instead, of course they’d be shocked.

I’m wearing a cap, my hair tucked inside, and low-transparency sunglasses—but it’s impossible to fully hide from fans.

Honestly, I never expected to.

If you overdo a disguise, it just makes you look suspicious. And wigs are annoying while running. Getting recognized to some extent is just a necessary trade-off.

So when particularly sharp-eyed fans notice me, I give them a little wave or slide down my sunglasses with a wink—fan service.

Drivers aside, pedestrians sometimes just freeze and stare dreamily, so in that sense, fans here aren’t much different from Japanese ones.

I may be a mess inside, but my public face—and my running form—are impeccable.

If I move coolly, people eat it up.

As a former otaku, I understand the demand.

…Though the one whose opinion matters most—Ayumu-san—doesn’t like that side of me much.

"That’s the version of you that’s putting on a front. What I love is the real you… the one who shows her natural, age-appropriate self."

Seriously, how does this person say such embarrassing things so casually?

Did he leave his sense of shame behind in his previous life along with his self-consciousness? Is he invincible?

---

Lost in thought while memorizing the scenery, I eventually reached the end of my jog.

I pulled out the local smartphone Ayumu-san had prepared for me and opened a popular map app for racing Uma Musume.

The record of my route nearly filled the entire area Ayumu-san had allowed me to explore.

The sun was starting to dip, and I had plans later.

Since I was already close to our base, I decided to call it a day.

"…Whew. Not bad. I’m in better shape than I expected."

Cooling down, I walked briskly—clip-clip—back toward our base.

About ten minutes later, I arrived at…

An ordinary French house.

A wide structure with a large garden—something a fairly wealthy family might live in.

I placed the spare key in my palm and couldn’t help grinning before sliding it into the keyhole and turning it.

Click.

The door unlocked.

That fairly large house was our base in France.

A rental property Ayumu-san had secured through his connections.

When racing Uma Musume compete overseas, they usually stay in hotels.

Few trainers can prepare a settled residence abroad, and hotels are relatively reliable in terms of safety—so it’s the natural choice.

…Though for Uma Musume like us, even that safety isn’t perfect.

Fans’ passion can be intense—for better or worse.

Apparently, one of my fans even built a large apartment complex and, after obtaining permission, named it after me. Just how much do you have to like someone to do that?

Another option is when a training center has ties with a foreign training center, allowing a semi-study-abroad arrangement—staying in dorms and borrowing training facilities.

It sounds ideal, but for still-adolescent Uma Musume, being thrust into close contact with foreign peers without a shared language carries its own risks.

Of course, if you start talking about risks, every option has them.

So the choice our camp made was simple.

Ayumu-san would personally rent a house and make it our base.

A rental home, free to use, allowing us to recreate an environment close to what we had in Japan—far more comfortable than a hotel.

It was carefully selected based on distance to the racecourse, lesson studios, and stations, as well as safety and location.

And instead of renting it under the Hoshino Wilm camp or the training center’s name, it was leased under Ayumu-san’s name—someone unknown in the industry overseas—to minimize the risk of our base being exposed.

When I first entered a few hours ago, it was renovated so thoroughly I almost thought it was newly built. Furniture and daily necessities were already in place. It felt completely like home.

Apparently, preparations began half a year ago—when my entry into the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe was decided at the start of this year.

…Once again, I was reminded just how incredible this person is.

Meticulous beyond belief. And his financial power is outrageous. So this is what it means to come from a distinguished family.

Anyway—

Right now, I have a place to call home.

And once that happens—what then?

I steadied my breathing in front of the door, then deliberately called out in a slightly dopey voice, "I’m hooome~," as I stepped inside.

"Welcome back, Hoshino Wilm. Dinner and the bath are ready."

Just like that.

My trainer, wearing an apron, was there to greet me.

…Heh.

Hehehe… nhehehehe… uhehehehehe!

Th-this is bad. This hits way harder than I expected!

It’s amazing—when I come home… Ayumu-san is here!

He says, "welcome back!"

He made dinner for me!

The air isn’t cold at all—if anything, it’s warm. No, more than warm—my face is so hot I can barely look straight ahead!

Living together, just the two of us, with the person I love… He makes dinner for me, looks at me with gentle eyes, waits for me at home…!

Isn’t this basically cohabitation?!

Considering we’re overseas, isn’t this basically a honeymoon?!

Are we newlyweds or what?!

And on top of that—

That “welcome back” I used to hear after races.

That word of warmth meant for someone precious.

Now I get to hear it every day.

No… I get to hear it every single day.

So this is… this is happiness?

I see.

So this is what happiness means…!

"I’m back! Ehehe… ehehehe…"

I pressed both hands to my cheeks to stop my face from melting into a grin.

This is bad—my cheeks… my cheeks won’t stop loosening…! Isn’t “your cheeks falling off” supposed to describe eating something delicious?! Mine feel like they’re about to melt right off!!

Seeing me like that, Ayumu-san smiled gently and held out his hand.

"Come on. The food will get cold… and we have a press conference here tonight."

"Yes! …Ehehe, I’ve never had French cuisine before, so I’m really looking forward to it!"

I said that, honestly excited about the unfamiliar dishes awaiting me—

"Eh?"

"Eh?"

For some reason, Ayumu-san was staring at me blankly.

"Why is it Japanese food?!?"

Lined up in the living room was an all-too-familiar spread.

Rice. Miso soup. Mackerel simmered in miso. Spinach dressed with soy sauce. Nikujaga. And a large carrot hamburger steak.

In other words, a perfectly standard, everyday Japanese meal.

"There’s hamburger steak too, so it’s not strictly Japanese."

"That’s not the point! Why are we eating the same things we ate in Japan when we’re all the way in France?! Isn’t this the part where we try local food and go, ‘Wow, so this is the taste of France!’ or something?!"

"Eh, you want that? I can make it. But many French dishes use fairly delicate seasoning. I’m not sure it would suit your palate."

I can make it, he says—wait.

"…Did you make this, Ayumu-san? Not order it or get delivery?"

Lately I’ve grown accustomed to high-end tastes, but at my core, I’m still just a regular person.

When you travel abroad, you eat the local cuisine. That’s just common sense.

…Or maybe it’s more accurate to say I never imagined I’d come all the way overseas and still be eating Japanese food.

But Ayumu-san blinked at me in surprise.

"Of course I did. There isn’t any Japanese restaurant around here that perfectly understands your preferences."

Understands my preferences?

Does that mean this whole spread was made specifically to suit my tastes?

"…Did I ever tell you my likes and dislikes?"

I tilted my head. I didn’t remember doing so.

Ayumu-san nodded once.

"You didn’t tell me directly, but I looked into it. I checked the dorm cafeteria menus, asked Nature and Teio which dishes you left unfinished, and paid attention to your reactions when we ate out.

You’re actually quite easy to read when you genuinely like something, so I tried to cook in line with that. …Of course, not every dish is based solely on that."

"W-why would you go that far…?"

"I told you before—being a trainer means there may come a time when you cook for your Uma Musume. Preparing the necessary skills and understanding your tastes in advance is only natural."

Th-that’s just…

"Ayumu-san… don’t you love me a little too much?!"

Gathering information from someone’s friends, checking menus to analyze their preferences—

Generally speaking, that borders on stalking.

But stalking implies one-sided feelings.

In my case, Ayumu-san and I are mutually in lo—well, maybe not in love in the romantic sense. His “love” is probably the kind directed at a racing Uma Musume.

Still.

From my perspective, it’s nothing short of pure devotion.

Actually… it might even be heavy devotion.

Even I wouldn’t go that far. At most, I’d gather intel from Masa-san before Valentine’s Day.

I’ve heard men don’t remember anniversaries, but that’s clearly a lie. Ayumu-san remembers them ridiculously well.

…And I didn’t even know his birthday until this spring.

Yet when he does things like this, I get all happy thinking, He’s been thinking about me.

I’m hopeless. Truly beyond saving.

As I twisted shyly in place, Ayumu-san answered with his usual calm expression.

"Well, I do like you… but in this case, it’s more about being your trainer.

Humans are the same, but living creatures are vulnerable to sudden environmental changes. So first, it’s better for you to acclimate to the air and surroundings. Then, gradually ease into new cuisine."

"Oh… yeah, that makes sense. A little disappointing, but that’s very like you—logical."

If everything changes at once, both mind and body struggle to keep up.

So first adjust to the atmosphere, then slowly adapt the diet.

…Still, researching someone’s tastes and personally cooking for them feels like it goes a bit beyond a trainer’s duties.

Sure, I was the one who threatened him after the Derby with, "Don’t you dare talk about delegating me to another trainer."

But even so, couldn’t this be left to professionals?

When it comes to anything about me, Ayumu-san only delegates Winning Live matters. Everything else, he insists on handling himself.

No wonder he overworks.

---

Anyway, there’s no point in letting dinner get cold.

We took our seats—still unfamiliar chairs in a foreign living room—and pressed our hands together.

"Let’s eat."

First things first… I’ll start with the main dish and rice.

I’m the type who eats her favorites first.

"Mmm… oh, this is amazing! Wait, isn’t this too amazing? No, seriously, this is incredible!"

"I’m glad you like it, thank you—but what’s with that three-tiered escalation of ‘amazing’?"

"No, but hamburger steak was… was it always like this?!"

The first thing that hits my tongue is the sauce coating the surface.

It’s probably demi-glace, but there’s a rich depth to it—like concentrated stock—thick and full-bodied.

Then the meat itself. The first bite has a deeply satisfying firmness, and right after that, juices burst out in a juuicy rush. And yet, the inside stays fluffy and tender, absurdly easy to eat.

To my slightly tired, post-run brain, the juiciness and flavor hit with a bam-bam-bam.

What were all the hamburger steaks I ate before? Junk? Fast food?

That’s honestly how good the one Ayumu-san made was.

Before I knew it, I’d stopped talking entirely, shoveling bite after bite into my mouth. Ayumu-san watched with a gentle smile.

"I spent quite a bit of time making it. The cafeteria at Tracen Academy is relatively high quality, but I have no intention of losing to meals optimized for nutrition, cost, and efficiency."

Oh? A little smug. That’s rare.

"Ayumu-san… you’re seriously good at cooking."

"Hm? I’ve cooked for you before, haven’t I?"

"You have, and it was delicious then too. But this feels even better."

"Perhaps because I spent more time on it—and my research into your preferences has progressed."

"And maybe the power of love?"

"Willm? …At this rate it will get cold. Go on, eat."

Just as he said, I took a bite of the miso-simmered mackerel with rice.

Yeah, this is incredible too. Compared to this, the mackerel at Tracen is crumbs—! …Okay, sorry, that’s rude even as a joke. It’s good too. Really.

But this one is seasoned exactly the way I like it—nice and bold. You can feel the care in it.

It tastes like Japan.

Not that I’ve been gone long. It hasn’t even been a full day.

…Wait.

Now that I think about it, this mackerel, the rice—even the hamburger steak—don’t they taste too much like Japan?

Even if you cook the same dish, wouldn’t the local ingredients give it a slight regional twist?

"Um, where did you buy these ingredients? A nearby supermarket?"

"I had them shipped from Japan and stored in a warehouse nearby."

"From Japan? All of it? That must’ve been an insane amount."

"For three months’ worth, yes. The shipping costs were… significant."

When he says “significant,” that’s terrifying.

"Didn’t you consider just buying from a local supermarket?"

"I wasn’t certain it would suit your palate. And considering the risk of food poisoning…"

I understand the sentiment, but wouldn’t most people give up once they saw the cost and effort involved?

Does this person not understand cost performance?

…No. He probably thinks any expense is acceptable if it supports me.

That makes me happy.

And also a little scared.

I sipped the miso soup with complicated feelings—and of course, it was perfectly to my taste.

…Oh.

I just thought of something.

"I could drink this miso soup every day… just kidding!"

"Understood. I’ll prepare it daily starting tomorrow. Tell me if you grow tired of it."

"That’s not what I meant…"

I clutched my head.

Ugh, this dense person. Completely unshakable.

I need a stronger attack. Power versus power!

"Oh! Then at least do an ‘aaahn’ with me! Since it’s just the two of us, let’s do things we normally can’t!!"

"You’re still rather hyped, aren’t you? Fine… but don’t chicken out at the last second."

"I won’t! I suggested it! H-here! Open up! A-aaahn!"

"Aaahn."

"…………I—I can’t after all!!"

I self-destructed.

---

Yes, we were flirting and messing around like that, but—

Let’s not forget.

We are a racing Uma Musume and her trainer.

We didn’t come to France on some n-newlywed—newlywed!—vacation.

…Though spending three months living together kind of feels like more than that.

Anyway, after finishing dinner and cleaning up together, we changed into formal attire and stepped out into the French night.

Our destination: the battlefield three months from now—Longchamp Racecourse.

There, we were scheduled to give our first interview in this country ahead of the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe.

We got into the car Ayumu-san had prepared and headed toward the outskirts of Paris.

Just because it was work didn’t mean we were stiff about it.

"Still, the interview’s going to be in French, right? Maybe I should’ve studied enough to at least speak a little French?"

"Easier said than done. You couldn’t even manage English after studying it for three years."

"I—I can too! I can speak English!!!"

"‘I will stake Japan’s honor on winning this battle known as the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe.’ In English, please."

"I WIN VERY VERY ARC-DE-TRIOMPHE AND STAKE JAPAN HONOR AHHH!!"

"That’s so reckless it sounds like a badly translated overseas edition. …Though this time we’ll have English interpretation, so perhaps it will be fine."

Laughing and teasing each other like that, we passed the time in the car—together—on our way to the next battlefield.