As a rule, Rampage left the Academy the moment the clock struck the hour. While the rest of the faculty stayed buried in overtime, she walked out alone—a right she had earned by finishing every scrap of her work with surgical precision. A trainer's workload is dictated by the number of girls under their care, and for a team trainer, that burden is usually doubled.
"Ready to call it a day, Kami-chan?"
"Just a few more... okay, done," Kamisurugi replied, stretching. "You've got Team Nemesis on top of Pleiades, so it must be a nightmare. I can help if you want."
"Don't worry about it. I finished their paperwork an hour ago."
"Unbelievable."
The surrounding trainers looked on with expressions ranging from awe to sheer envy. Rampage didn't just run Pleiades; she was the chief coordinator for Team Nemesis, the elite squad coached by Sunday Silence herself. Since Sunday refused to touch a single piece of stationery, Rampage effectively managed two world-class teams solo. They couldn't fathom how she finished earlier than people managing a single trainee.
"Seriously, how are you so fast?" one trainer asked. "Is there a trick to it?"
"Pattern construction," Rampage answered flatly. "I prepare templates for every foreseeable scenario and build a workflow that minimizes wasted movement. After that, it's just a matter of getting used to the rhythm."
"That sounds less like a 'trick' and more like a 'lecture on peak efficiency,'" Kamisurugi noted. "What about the other seniors? Why can't they keep up?"
"They're just not as good at their jobs as I am."
The words pierced the room like the Spear of Longinus. It was a brutal, unvarnished truth: Rampage had more work, yet she left earlier simply because she was better.
"Anyway, you want to grab a drink?" Rampage asked.
"Ah, sorry. I have to go pick up my car from the shop today."
"Well, that's that, then. Why was it in the shop? Did you finally decide to bolt on a turbo?"
"Just a routine inspection."
"Then just call it an inspection, you weirdo."
As the two of them walked out of the staff room, the remaining trainers glared at their retreating backs. But the resentment was short-lived; they quickly realized their own inadequacy was the only thing keeping them at their desks, and they slumped back over their keyboards with heavy sighs.
"Afternoon, Rampage-chan! Is it the usual for tonight?"
"Work's done, so I'm looking forward to a long drink at home," Rampage replied, browsing the stalls of the shopping district near the Academy. "I tried to invite Kami-chan, but he stood me up to go pick up his car."
"Hah! That young lad is wasting his life, turning down an invitation from a beauty like you! He should've offered to take you with him and then treated you to dinner!"
"Flattery won't get you a discount on the next tab, Old Man."
"Gah! You caught me!" the shopkeeper laughed.
Rampage picked up her groceries and continued home. If the world knew a legendary Uma Musume was doing her own grocery shopping in a local district, it would be a scandal—or it would be, if it wasn't already common knowledge. The local shopkeepers were fiercely protective of her; once, when a news crew tried to swarm her, the merchants had collectively roared at them to stop blocking the sidewalk and get lost. It had accidentally been caught on a live broadcast for a different segment, turning the "Protective Shopkeepers" into a minor internet sensation.
"I managed to get some prime cuts today... Tonkatsu it is," she hummed.
Despite her massive wealth—the prize money from her racing days sat in her bank account like a dormant mountain—Rampage lived a remarkably modest life. She had bought her house and her Impreza in cash, which she considered enough of a luxury. Being able to eat Tonkatsu whenever she wanted was her definition of happiness.
"I'm home," she said as she stepped through the door.
It was a habit, even though the house was supposed to be empty. She'd been considering getting a cat just so someone would actually be there to meet her.
"Welcome back."
"Yeah, thanks... Wait."
Rampage froze. A voice had answered. Only two people had spare keys—her grandmother and Su-chan—but neither of them would enter without calling first, and this voice didn't belong to either of them.
Her internal threat level spiked instantly. She slipped her phone out of her pocket, thumb hovering over the emergency dial, and reached for her "Rampage Iron"—a heavy training weight she kept by the door. If she threw it with her strength, it wouldn't just hurt; it would be lethal. And if she missed, the sound of breaking glass would alert the neighbors.
She stepped into the living room, ready for a fight, only to find three women sitting there.
"Hey there, Rampage. I believe the last time we spoke was on that plane in Dubai?"
A cheerful-looking Uma Musume with bronze skin and red hair marked by a white star smiled at her.
"Greetings. We have been watching over you quite closely."
Beside her sat a woman with beautiful, flowing blue hair and a serene, constant smile.
"Please forgive our unauthorized entry," the third woman said. She had short bay hair and a distinctive scar over her left eye. She looked genuinely apologetic. "We have no ill intent. We simply required a private, indoor space for this conversation."
Rampage knew them. Every Uma Musume on the planet knew them. In the history of the turf, almost every Thoroughbred can trace its lineage back to three foundational sires. In this world, they were the Three Goddesses, the divine ancestors of all Uma Musume, immortalized in statues across every campus.
Darley Arabian. Godolphin Barb. Byerley Turk.
"First I see an evil spirit in England, and now the Three Goddesses are in my living room... Great."
"Calling your past self—before you found peace—an 'evil spirit' is a bit harsh, don't you think, little lamb?" Darley Arabian chuckled.
"An 'evil spirit' is being generous. Anyone who tries to pull the ultimate act of filial impiety by throwing their life away is a scoundrel in my book."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Byerley Turk said softly. "Under those conditions, no one could have made a rational judgment."
"I agree," Godolphin Barb added.
Rampage stood there, realized she was having a perfectly casual conversation with divinity. They knew about her past life. They knew about her trauma. This wasn't a dream or a hallucination—this was real.
"Okay... look, I have a million questions, but I'll grant you that my living room is better for this than a public park. I'll accept that for now."
"We appreciate your pragmatism," Byerley said.
"So... I was just about to start dinner. Do you guys... eat?"
Rampage decided that the only way to stay sane was to proceed with her routine. She had just invited the Three Goddesses to dinner. The sentence made zero sense in her head, but she figured she might as well.
"Oh! Are you offering?" Darley asked, eyes lighting up. "I'd love some! What's on the menu?"
"Don't be so shameless," Byerley scolded her. Then she looked at Rampage. "...But I am not entirely uninterested."
"I'll help you prepare!" Godolphin offered with a smile.
"So you can eat," Rampage muttered.
Apparently, they could. In fact, they seemed to have been expecting the invite. She was suddenly glad she'd bought a bulk pack of meat.
"I'm making Tonkatsu. Is that okay?"
"We have no dislikes, so please, feel free," Darley said.
"No, I meant... do you have religious restrictions or something?"
"We are the religion," Godolphin pointed out gently. "So we're telling you: it's fine."
"Right. That tracks."
"I understand the urge to abandon all logic," Byerley said to Rampage, "but please, pull yourself together. Don't leave me alone with these two."
The next hour was surreal. Rampage found herself frying pork cutlets while the Three Goddesses helped. Byerley Turk was focused on shredding cabbage with a slicer, Darley Arabian was poking at the miso soup with intense curiosity, and Godolphin Barb was debating the merits of various salad dressings.
Finally, dinner was served.
"Oho! So this is modern Japanese cuisine? It looks magnificent!" Darley exclaimed.
"Hmm... a well-balanced nutritional profile," Byerley noted.
"I hope it's to your liking," Rampage said, sitting down.
"Fufu, you made it for us," Godolphin smiled. "We shall cherish every bite."
And so, Mejiro Rampage sat down to dinner with the Three Goddesses. Byerley Turk struggled valiantly with her chopsticks; Darley Arabian gave up and used a fork; and Godolphin Barb savored the miso soup while contemplating whether to put mayonnaise on her cabbage.
Rampage stared at the scene, her brain finally catching up to the absurdity.
"...What the hell is my life?"
[Postscript: Mejiro Rampage After Retirement]
Rampage was known for her intelligence and her generally polite, if distant, demeanor. However, there was one thing she absolutely loathed: "Idols." Whether they were men or women, if an idol group came to the farm for a segment, she gave them the cold shoulder. She became known as the "Idol-Hating Idol Horse."
However, there was one exception. When a certain "Farmer-turned-Idol" (well-known for a show about building a village in the countryside) visited the farm with a heavy-duty work horse to do some yard work, Rampage was reportedly overjoyed and followed them around like a puppy. The farm staff were left scratching their heads, wondering exactly where she drew the line.
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