The next day, inside Tracen Academy's office—
Wuyou sat at his desk, tapping the floor lightly with his white cane, eyes closed in thought.
Chiyoda Representative's training data from yesterday replayed in his mind.
Her ankles were already in near-perfect condition.
For most Uma Musume, reaching that level would take months—yet Chiyoda had done it in only a few short days. Her talent was obvious.
Of course, it also helped that she'd been through systematic training since childhood.
Over the next few days, what she needed to do was turn that power transfer into muscle memory.
Once her body could reproduce it automatically, she wouldn't just be "doing the movement"—
she'd have learned a skill.
Which meant Wuyou had to start planning the next phase.
Based on what he and Chiyoda had discussed these past two days, they'd decided that once Oguri Cap officially entered training, they would prepare Chiyoda for her debut race.
As a prodigy hailed as someone who could rival Symboli Rudolf, Chiyoda Representative drew countless eyes. People were waiting to see what she would become.
And for Wuyou's team, this was the perfect chance to build momentum.
"What Chiyoda needs now… is running form."
Wuyou opened his eyes slowly. The tapping of his cane stopped.
Chiyoda's base stats—speed, stamina, and the rest—were already far above the average of her peers.
Add her innate talent skill and the new skill she was about to master, and she was basically a max-rank player dropping into a beginner lobby and farming everyone for free.
But raw gifts, without proper guidance, didn't automatically become an overwhelming advantage on the track.
Even if Chiyoda could crush most rookies with pure mechanics and numbers, no one could guarantee she wouldn't meet a real threat.
Like Super Creek under Nase Fumino.
Or Tamamo Cross under Komiyama Katsumi.
Wuyou didn't believe in getting careless just because he had the upper hand.
Steady, disciplined progress—that was the right path.
So the next training focus shouldn't be raising her basic abilities.
It should be optimizing her running posture—
so she could use her superior stats more efficiently and more consistently.
His mind accelerated, sketching out a framework.
Chiyoda's habits still carried traces of her youth training—solid, but a little conservative.
Her stride and cadence were better than most, but at high speed her power rhythm sometimes became uneven.
In long-distance races, that kind of instability translated into unnecessary energy loss late in the run.
If he could adjust her posture—refine her upper-body lean to better match aerodynamics, standardize her arm swing, and smooth out the continuity of her push-off—
then her existing numbers could be fully unleashed.
The same stamina, used with a more economical style, could sustain longer high-speed intervals.
The same speed, with reduced drag, could turn into sharper sprint efficiency.
Stats are funny like that.
A stat monster is terrifying… and also the least terrifying thing in the world.
It's like a swordsman holding a peerless blade that can cut iron like paper—yet all he knows is how to swing wildly.
He might still bully plenty of people who don't understand what they're facing,
but the moment he meets a veteran, he gets toyed with and killed.
Once Chiyoda's running form was perfected—once she could wield her speed and strength with flawless precision—
that "swordsman" would have the kind of killing art that ends fights within ten steps.
So he did it.
Wuyou immediately began writing a personalized training plan for Chiyoda Representative in his notebook.
If any other trainer or Uma Musume were here, the way they looked at him would have gotten… strange.
Most trainers couldn't do what Wuyou did—find improvement from something as fundamental as running form.
And any Uma Musume watching would feel pure envy.
A trainer like this… you'd want him all to yourself.
He was deep in his notes when—
Bang.
The office door slammed open.
Rapid footsteps approached, paired with deliberately restrained breathing, stopping right in front of his desk.
Wuyou's nose twitched.
He recognized the owner of that floral scent instantly.
Air Groove.
Neither of them spoke.
Wuyou lifted his head.
Air Groove stared at that familiar, long-missed smile.
Her heart was a mess.
For days she'd rehearsed what she would say when they met again—every line carefully prepared.
Now, all of it scattered into nothing.
At last, when Wuyou still didn't speak, Air Groove snorted, forcing herself into a hard tone.
"Wuyou. When did you get back?"
"A few days ago," he answered calmly.
Air Groove almost laughed from sheer irritation.
Looking at his face, she really wanted to reach out and pinch him—hard—
but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
So she slumped onto the sofa, deflated.
"If you were back… then why didn't you come see me…?"
It sounded like an accusation, but the end of her sentence trembled.
Yes. She was angry.
He'd been back for days—days—and it was like he had no intention of seeing her.
Meanwhile she'd been anticipating him on her own, breaking down on her own, feeling ridiculous and miserable.
And mixed into that anger was something else.
A quiet, stubborn ache.
Back then, when he left—
she was the only one who tried to make him stay.
So in her eyes, his avoidance now felt like indifference.
Like their separation, their reunion… meant nothing.
The more she thought about it, the blurrier her vision became.
Tap.
A cup of richly scented black tea was set down on the table in front of her.
Air Groove bit her lip, stubbornly refusing to lift her head.
Then Wuyou sat beside her—
and her entire body went rigid.
"Darjeeling. I prepared it specifically for you," Wuyou said with a gentle smile.
Her heart softened despite herself.
She really did love that tea.
But since he still had no sign of apologizing, she turned her face away, pretending she hadn't heard.
Wuyou—who couldn't see her expression anyway—continued as if nothing was wrong.
"Oh, and I've got some sweets too. Same as always—how's that?"
He started to stand—
and then froze.
Someone had grabbed the hem of his clothes and wouldn't let go.
If he could see, he would've found Air Groove staring at him with reddened eyes.
Tracen's "Empress" looked like a wronged girl who'd been hurt by a scumbag boyfriend.
"I… I just wanted you to apologize," she choked out. "Is that really so hard?"
Wuyou didn't say "I'm sorry."
Instead, he reached beneath the desk and took out something.
A small wooden box—antique, finely made.
He slid the lid open.
Inside, several neatly wrapped cloth bundles sat in rows, and a green, youthful fragrance rose into the air.
Air Groove sniffed, stunned.
"These… are tea leaves?"
As a flower-lover and a black-tea fanatic, she recognized it instantly.
The quality wasn't necessarily the highest—
but every kind in the box was extremely rare.
Wuyou took one bundle out and spoke slowly.
"This is an ancient-tree black tea I brought back from Yunnan last year. I remembered you said you like a mellow taste with a honeyed floral note."
Air Groove's gaze drifted to the package without her permission.
"And this one—during my trip through the Central Plains, I searched forever to find the most authentic maojian."
"And this…"
He introduced them one by one.
Air Groove listened in silence.
The resentment in her eyes dissolved, replaced by something scorching—like it could melt him.
His voice was soft, but clear.
Every detail wove itself into her chest like thread:
treacherous mountain roads, unfamiliar tea houses, repeated tastings, stubborn persistence—
even a scratch on the box, left behind by a fall.
Everything became painfully real.
Real enough that she could almost feel the warmth of his fingertips.
Almost see him, under dim lights in a foreign place, carefully sealing those tea bundles—his lashes lowered, his focus gentle.
Her vision blurred completely.
Tears slipped down her cheeks soundlessly, falling onto the backs of her tightly clasped hands.
She bit her lower lip, but the small, broken sound of her breathing still escaped.
"…Idiot."
Her voice shook as she finally spoke.
She raised a hand and wiped her eyes hard—
only for the tears to come faster.
"Who told you to do something that dangerous…? If something happened to you in the mountains, I…"
She couldn't finish.
Instead, she leaned forward and hugged him tightly.
There was none of the Empress's usual pride or dominance in that embrace.
Only dependence.
Only fear.
Only aching tenderness.
Wuyou lifted his hand slowly and patted her back, like soothing a wounded bird that had finally found its way home.
"These past two years… whenever I reached a new place, I went to find the best tea there."
"I can't see anymore, but every time I taste one, I can still imagine the expression you'd make if you drank it."
Air Groove only sobbed.
She hadn't gotten his "I'm sorry."
But every calm sentence he spoke was heavier than an apology—hotter than an apology.
So he hadn't been indifferent.
He hadn't forgotten.
In the blank years, he'd kept her in his heart—like this.
Walking across mountains and rivers.
Gathering a single thread of tea fragrance.
Just so that, at reunion, he could place this clumsy, burning sincerity into her hands.
It carried more weight than any apology ever could.
And yet—
Air Groove still had to "act proud" at least a little.
She pressed her lips together, and after a long time, muttered:
"…Then why won't you apologize now?"
Wuyou smiled lightly.
"Because after 'I'm sorry,' I'd have to say 'It won't happen again.'"
"Then say it," she whispered.
"But I think those words need to be proven with action."
He opened one bundle, felt the leaves, and placed them into a cup.
His hands found the kettle with practiced certainty, and he poured the hot water in.
Steam rose with the tea's fragrance, the leaves tumbling and unfurling like dance.
"Like this tea," he said quietly. "You can't know what it tastes like until you drink it."
He brought the cup to Air Groove.
"Will you give me time… to steep my apology into every day from here on?"
Air Groove lifted her hands and took the warm cup.
Her lips touched the rim.
The mellow fragrance flowed down her throat and into her heart—
and the lake inside her that had been still for so long erupted with ripples.
Her tears hadn't dried yet,
but the slightest curve lifted at the corner of her mouth.
…I survived, Wuyou thought with a quiet exhale of relief.
Truth was, he'd avoided seeing Air Groove on purpose.
Not like with Gold Ship—he wasn't dodging her because she was troublesome.
He was dodging her because he understood her too well.
Did he really think a simple "sorry" would calm her down?
If he did, he'd be dead wrong.
The Empress had seen every kind of scene.
A plain apology couldn't fill the emotional void of two years.
He needed a method that belonged to her alone.
A sharp, deliberate contrast—holding back, then striking straight into her heart.
Of course, it carried risk.
If he pushed it too far—if he never apologized and crossed the line—
he'd be very close to death.
Thankfully…
he'd gambled right.
But just as Wuyou relaxed—
Knock knock.
Someone knocked on the door.
Then, without waiting for an answer, the person pushed it open like this place belonged to her.
"Yuu, are you free right now?"
A familiar voice rang out.
Wuyou and Air Groove went stiff at the same time.
Symboli Rudolf stepped in.
She wore the standard Tracen sailor uniform—
but her lips, usually natural and unadorned, looked glossy and plush, almost like jelly.
The Empress—who was practically always barefaced—
was wearing makeup.
But the moment she entered, the warm smile on her face froze.
Air Groove sat beside Wuyou, eyes red, tear tracks not fully gone, yet smiling—
and Wuyou himself was seated shoulder-to-shoulder with her in a way that looked far too intimate.
Symboli Rudolf's violet eyes reflected the two of them.
Like she was seeing something she couldn't process.
Air Groove's state was no better.
Her body snapped rigid, her tea cup almost slipping from her hands.
She practically bounced away from Wuyou, wiping at the remaining tears in panic, trying to restore her usual calm, controlled "Empress" demeanor.
But the fluster only made it more obvious.
Symboli Rudolf's gaze moved slowly between them.
And all at once, she had an absurd thought—
This feels like a weary office worker coming home after a long day… and finding her beautiful husband pressed up against her best friend.
Is this… NTR?!
She forcibly crushed the flare of emotion—and the strange flutter that came with it—and reclaimed her composure.
First, she looked at Air Groove. In her normally gentle, steady eyes, something complicated flashed.
Surprise.
Understanding.
And a faint, barely perceptible…
displeasure.
Then her gaze shifted to Wuyou, lingering on his calm face.
Finally, it dropped to the open wooden box on the table—
and the cup of tea still steaming beside it.
"I see," Symboli Rudolf said at last.
Her voice was calm enough to sound emotionless, but her hands at her sides had already tightened slightly.
"Air Groove… when did you find out Yuu was back?"
"P-President! I—" Air Groove's eyes darted away on instinct.
Guilt and an unspeakable thrill tangled together in her chest.
So this is… the happiness of a sneaking cat?
But then, something felt wrong.
Symboli Rudolf had walked in without waiting, and she'd called him "Yuu" so naturally.
And judging by her reaction—if Air Groove hadn't been here, Rudolf's response to seeing him would've been perfectly normal.
Which meant…
The President already met Yuu before?!
....
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