"Mm…" Mizuno thought it over—and suddenly realized he'd been looking at this completely wrong.
His wheelchair only had room for one. If he tried to cram Maruzensky on too, the only option was to have her sit on his lap, pressed against him in an uncomfortably intimate hold.
But… why did they have to squeeze into one seat in the first place?
If Rice Shower had nowhere to sit, Mizuno would absolutely let her perch on his legs. They'd been through so much together; their bond ran deep enough that it made sense.
Maruzensky was different. He'd only known her a few days—and they hadn't even been "siblings" for a full day.
Yes, Mizuno was going to look after her like a little sister. That didn't mean he had to erase all distance from the very start.
When he'd first started caring for Rice Shower, he'd been restrained too—he'd treated her almost the same as the other Umamusume.
Without a foundation, jumping straight to hugs and cuddling wasn't "closeness." It was just being a creep.
So yeah—his approach wasn't just wrong. It was wildly wrong.
He couldn't treat Maruzensky like the current Rice Shower. He had to treat her as Maruzensky—distinct from everyone else, his one-and-only new sworn little sister. Anything else would be unfair, to Maruzensky and to Rice Shower.
And honestly, with the way he could turn an ordinary wheelchair into a street-racing demon, why wouldn't he lean into his strengths and build her a seat?
Once he straightened out their relationship in his head, the solution snapped into focus.
Mizuno took a little time and used materials he'd saved up from before to slap together a small wagon—the kind you see in malls—just the right size for Maruzensky to sit comfortably inside with her knees hugged up.
Then he pulled out a spring rod and linked the wagon to the back of his wheelchair. With the spring acting as a buffer, Maruzensky wouldn't get jolted around even if he accelerated or braked hard.
While Mizuno worked, Maruzensky watched in stunned silence.
Isn't he a Trainer? How does he know how to do this?
For someone whose hobby was taking her sports car out for a spin, there were few things more irresistible than speed and vehicle mods.
Maruzensky wasn't a numbers-chaser—she'd never modified her beloved car purely for performance. But that didn't mean she wasn't fascinated by the whole world around it.
The problem was, none of her friends knew anything about it. That was why she'd joined that amateur racing chat group, just to share the joy with fellow enthusiasts.
She rarely spoke in the group, and she still didn't understand how she'd ended up number one on the leaderboard after entering a few races—so much so that people even started calling her "Boss," which honestly bothered her a little.
Still, just reading the daily chatter and seeing the modded-car photos made joining the group worth it.
So when she saw what Mizuno was doing now, of course she was thrilled.
So this street-racer wheelchair of his… he built it himself, too? Watching Mizuno work with a smooth confidence that looked as effortless as breathing, she couldn't help but marvel.
He didn't even have a blueprint. He was building the thing purely from the design in his head, putting it together piece by piece with absurd precision. His memory and logic were terrifyingly good.
...
About ten minutes later, Maruzensky's custom rear seat was finished.
A sturdy square frame. Four small, shock-absorbing rubber wheels. A roomy seat with a soft cushion. Even a little sunshade umbrella on top.
At a glance, it looked like a noble's carriage—except the roles were reversed. Instead of a horse pulling a person, it was a person in a wheelchair pulling a horse.
"Alright," Mizuno said. "Give it a try."
Maruzensky looked at him, then at the seat, and hesitated.
The design really was good—solid, cute, compact without sacrificing comfort. You could tell Mizuno had actually thought it through.
But there was one problem…
Wasn't this a bit… too grand?
Like she was some ancient princess whose status demanded a dedicated attendant.
For an outgoing person, riding in something this unusual might be a fun novelty.
For an introvert, being paraded around in a conspicuous seat like this was basically being hauled through town in a prisoner cart.
"Ngh…" The moment she imagined all the eyes she'd draw on the road, Maruzensky's skin crawled.
This wasn't enjoyment. It was torture.
"Maybe I'll just… walk," she muttered softly, head drooping.
"You sure?" Mizuno lifted a brow, disappointment flickering in his chest.
He'd worked so hard to build a deluxe rear seat, and she didn't even want to sit in it—just because she was scared of being seen?
It felt like finding the funniest video in the world, sending it to a friend, and getting back: Not interested.
Mizuno almost tried to persuade her—he could add curtains, for example, so nobody could see who was inside.
But when he saw her face—pure fear, every hair on her body screaming refusal—he let the idea go.
"Alright." Mizuno nodded calmly, showing no displeasure at all.
If he pushed, with Maruzensky's timid personality she'd definitely agree and obediently climb in.
But forcing her to do something she didn't want just to satisfy his tiny urge to "share" wasn't what Mizuno wanted.
He lived in a world where Umamusume could jump on you whenever they felt like it—a world overflowing with pushy "love." He'd even experienced plenty of it himself. But it had never made him abandon his own principles.
If Maruzensky didn't want to, he wasn't going to make her.
"At least put the backpack on it," Mizuno suggested, sounding exactly like an older brother picking his sister up after school.
"Mm…" Seeing how easygoing he was, Maruzensky finally let out the breath she'd been holding.
She'd noticed that flash of disappointment in him—the moment her refusal landed.
Of course he'd be unhappy. He'd built her a seat, and she was too scared to use it. She'd wasted his goodwill.
When she'd suggested walking, she'd already braced herself to hear Mizuno sigh sadly.
Instead, he didn't show the slightest irritation. More than that—he gave her a graceful way out.
And that made Maruzensky feel ashamed.
If someone rejected her, could she really be that open-minded?
Last night, when Mizuno refused to let her install cameras in his room… she'd even thought about forcing her way in.
"Ngh…" Maruzensky slipped the backpack off, set it onto the rear seat, and stole a glance at Mizuno.
She was starting to understand why her friend Symboli Rudolf liked him so much…